“Rose, dear, I am no kidnapper, no pirate. I will take with me no unwilling companion. Speak, Rose, you shall have your will in this. Listen, dear, the Arrow steamboat in which we embark to-morrow morning, the boat that is to take me to Norfolk where the brig Argus awaits to convey me across the Atlantic to my destination on the Mediterranean—that boat you will recollect passes immediately by Churchill Point—how easy, Rose, to put you ashore there, where you are already expected—where Mrs. Buncombe already looks for you with impatience.” Rosalia shook as with an ague fit. “Where your betrothed, who has, no doubt, already reached there on his way to the Rialto, and who, having heard of your hourly expected arrival, awaits you with all a lover’s ardor, will meet you with all a lover’s enthusiasm—come, what do you say, Rose? come, Rose, come? I have a letter to write in which I must be guided by your decision! Come, Rose! come! Shall I put you on shore at Churchill Point?” “_Now_!” she exclaimed, in a tone of bitterest anguish. “_Now!_” “Well, then go back to the Rialto, return to Hagar.” “To Hagar!” she gasped, as a sharp spasm convulsed her features. “To Hagar! great God! death, _death_ rather.” He waited until her fearful excitement subsided, and then, while he gently and softly caressed and soothed her into quietude, he murmured in a low, sedative tone, “I know it all, dear—I know how utterly impossible it is for you to go to either. I only set the plans before you, that you might _feel_ the impossibility as deeply as I knew the impracticability of either project—and now you _do_ feel it! and now, my gentle dove, be quiet—nestle sweetly in the only bosom open to you in the whole world;” and he drew her within his arms and kissed away her tears. Presently, arising, he said, “Now I must leave you, to write a letter, love.” And going to his chamber he sat down and penned a short missive to Hagar. It was as follows:— INDIAN QUEEN HOTEL, } Washington City, Jan. 22, 182-. } Dearest Hagar, mine only one—