"Loved one! bid death welcome, and defy fear: but forget not that you are the wedded wife of a Neapolitan cavalier!" "Farewell, dearest,—Laura will soon follow thee." "Thou wilt have me then?" exclaimed Petronio, with fierce triumph. "Never!" replied Laura, faintly, as she swooned and sank senseless in his arms. "Then away to Satan, thou!" cried the priest, as he fired at my head: but at that moment the pirate Lancelloti (or Carora), renegade and ruffian as he was—touched by one of those qualms of conscience which at times trouble even the most hardened villains, or, perhaps, moved to pity by the exceeding beauty and agony of Laura—struck up the weapon, and the ball passed through the deck above. The priest turned furiously upon his partner in crime: but the distant report of a cannon, and the cry of "a sail on the weather beam," diverted their mutual anger for the time. Confused by the explosion of the pistol, I was dragged back to the ring-bolt on deck; where I remained, helplessly, during all the horrors of the battle which ensued. Laura,—it was the last I beheld of her—the last! O, Madonna mia and Thou whose power enabled me to survive such an accumulation of woe, teach me how, at this distance of time, to look upon the events of that day with resignation and calmness! The corsair had fallen in with a Maltese corvette of twenty guns, bearing a knight-commander’s pennon at the foremast head. She proved to be the _Gierusalemme_, commanded by the brave Calabrian, Marco of Castelermo; and an engagement being unavoidable, the corsair, which had an equal number of guns, prepared for action. Five hundred of the greatest villains under the sun stood to quarters: the ports were hauled up, the guns double-shotted, the tackles laid across the deck, while round-shot, wadding, grape, and cannister lay between them in profusion. The crimson flag of Algeria was displayed from the mizzen peak. The renegade seemed in his glory, and swaggered about with scymetar and speaking-trumpet; while the once meek and holy Petronio, with a cutlass and priming-box buckled to his waist, officiated as captain of a gun; and Truffi, the hunchback, crawled like a gigantic toad about the deck, bearing an immense basket filled with shot-plugs and oakum. Thus prepared, the Algerines awaited the attack of the corvette; for whose success I prayed with the holiest fervour. On came the _Gierusalemme_, the water flashing; under her bows, and her taut canvass shining like snow in the noonday sun: both vessels as they neared shortened sail. The first cannon-ball passed close to my ear, and, stupified by its wind, I grovelled on the deck in despair. The corsair, after failing to weather her adversary, steered under her lee. "Base infidels, surrender or sink!" cried a voice from the corvette, as we crossed on opposite tacks.