“It was past twelve o’clock when I took the boy up from a sweet sleep, and fastening the wherry near the foot of the rock, with one hand I climbed the steep ascent, while with the other I carefully held the child. In one part the cliff is almost perpendicular: my foot slipped, and I was in danger of falling; but I recovered myself with much exertion. There was no moon; and the wind whistled loud and shrilly through the churchyard. It is, I believe, two miles from thence to the castle; but through the thick wood I now and then caught a glimpse of its lighted portico; and, remembering its former gaiety, ‘you rejoice to-night,’ I thought, ‘with music and dancing, regardless of my sorrows, or the hardships of others, even more wretched than I: but to-morrow, the black foot of care shall tread heavy even upon you.’ “The wind rustled among the trees. This was the spot in which I was to meet my employer. I heard a step; it approached; and I pressed the child nearer to my bosom. ‘Some mother is weeping for you surely, little boy,’ I said; ‘and would give all she is worth to see that pretty face again. She little dreams of your hard fate, or into what rough hands her treasure has fallen; but I will not harm thee, boy. Hard must be the heart that could.’ Such were my thoughts: God be witness, such were my intentions at that moment. I now saw La Crusca; and well I knew by the villain’s countenance his horrible intentions: the lantern he carried glimmered through the trees; his eyes glared as in a low voice he enquired for the boy: and, as he was still concealed from him under my cloak, he seized me by the arm, and asked me why I trembled. He urged me instantly to deliver the child to him; but finding that I hesitated, he rudely grasped him; and the boy waking suddenly, cried aloud. ‘Did not our master tell you to prevent this?’ said the Italian, enraged, as, bidding the child be at peace, he abruptly fled with it. I heard not long after one piteous shriek, and then all was silent. “I returned to the boat. All there looked desolate. The little companion who had cheered the lonely hours was no more. The mantle remained. I threw myself upon it. Suddenly, upon the waves I thought I saw the figure of the child. I heard its last cry. I ever hear that piteous cry. The night was dark: the winds blew chilly over the vast water: my own name was pronounced in a low voice from the cliff.