He was dreadfully exhausted and agitated. Castelermo might well term Luisa fair: one excepted, her face appeared to me the most enchanting I had yet seen in Calabria. Though less showy and stately than the three sisters D’Alfieri, her beauty was, perhaps, more touching and girlish. A tight satin vest, with sleeves that reached only to the elbow, displayed the full outline of her bust; whose whole proportions were equally just and delicate. The thick white lace which edged her boddice, and fell in folds from her short sleeves, could not rival in whiteness the snowy arms and swelling bosom; of which her disordered attire revealed rather more than usual. Her complexion was remarkably pale for an Italian girl: but the arch of her brown eyebrows, the length of her lashes, and the delicate little lids they fringed were perfectly beautiful; her cheeks were full and round, almost imperceptibly tinged with red, and, as Marco said of her mouth, so pretty and pouting, it "seemed formed only for kisses." The girl was a very Hebe! and not more than sixteen. The glossy ringlets of her long hair streamed in the sunlight, like a golden shower, over the shoulder of the old man on whose arm she rested, and who hung over her with all the tenderness and anxiety she merited. After a time she sighed deeply, disclosing a row of little white teeth, pure as those of an infant, and opening her eyes she became at once alive to the scene around her. The vivacity which sparkled in those bright blue orbs, together with the crimson blush which overspread her face and polished neck, made her appear a thousand times more attractive than before. "It was the hectic of a moment:" it died away. Alas! the poor girl was utterly exhausted, and almost speechless. "My daughter! have I saved you only to see you perish from fatigue?" said Gismondo, in a faltering voice. "Luisa, look up—’tis your poor father who speaks! Hear me, little one!" She embraced him closely and burst into tears. "Luisa!" "Caro padre, are they near us yet?" "About three leagues in the rear, perhaps," he replied in a troubled voice. "And these gentlemen?" "Our friends, and I trust our saviours! You remember the Signor di Castelermo?" "O yes; and Signor Claude," she added, in a faint voice. "May their timely presence and intervention avert that most dread catastrophe, of which even the contemplation is horror." "You may depend upon us—ay, to the death!" said we both at once. "You are pursued, I have reason to believe;" added the Maltese knight. "Yes, and wish to continue our journey." "Where to, signor?"