right, am I reproached with the most scandalous infamy that can befall a man?' 'Well, sir,' replied Sebastian, 'is this all you have to charge this gentleman with?' At which he bowed, and was silent——and Sebastian continued—'If your wife, sir, have a mind to my nephew, or he to her, it should have been your care to have forbid it, or prevented it, by keeping her under lock and key, if no other way to be secured; and, sir, we do not sit here to relieve fools and cuckolds; if your lady will be civil to my nephew, what is that to us: let her speak for herself: what say you, madam?'—'I say,' replied Sylvia, 'that this fellow is mad and raves, that he is my vassal, my servant, my slave; but, after this, unworthy of the meanest of these titles.' This she spoke with a disdain that sufficiently shewed the pride and anger of her soul——'La you, sir,' replied Sebastian, 'you are discharged your lady's service; it is a plain case she has more mind to the young Count than the husband, and we cannot compel people to be honest against their inclinations.' And coming down from the seat where he sat, he embraced Octavio a hundred times, and told the board, he was extremely glad they found the mighty plot, but a vagary of youth, and the spleen of a jealous husband or lover, or whatsoever other malicious thing; and desired the angry man might be discharged, since he had so just a provocation as the loss of a mistress. So all laughing at the jest, that had made so great a noise among the grave and wise, they freed them all: and Sebastian advised his nephew, that the next cuckold he made, he would make a friend of him first, that he might hear of no more complaints against him. But Octavio very gravely replied; 'Sir, you have infinitely mistaken the character of this lady, she is a person of too great quality for this raillery; at more leisure you shall have her story.' While he was speaking this, and their discharges were making, Sylvia confounded with shame, indignation, and anger, goes out, and taking Octavio's coach that stood at the gate, went directly to his house; for she resolved to go no more where Brilliard was. After this, Sebastian fell seriously to good advice, and earnestly besought his darling to leave off those wild extravagancies that had so long made so great a discourse all the province over, where nothing but his splendid amours, treats, balls, and magnificences of love, was the business of the town, and that he had forborne to tell him of it, and had hitherto justified his actions, though they had not deserved it; and he doubted this was the lady to whom for these six or eight months he heard he had so entirely dedicated himself. He desires him to quit this lady, or if he will pursue his love, to do it discreetly, to love some unmarried woman, and not injure his neighbours; to all which he blushed and bowed, and silently seemed to thank him for his grave counsel. And Brilliard having received his discharge, and advice how he provoked the displeasure of the States any more, by accusing of great persons, he was ordered to ask Octavio's pardon; but, in lieu of that, he came up to him, and challenged him to fight him for the injustice he had done him, in taking from him his wife; for he was sure he was undone in her favour, and that thought made him mad enough to put himself on this second extravagancy: however, this was not so silently managed but Sebastian perceived it, and was so enraged at the young fellow for his second insolence, that he was again confined, and sent back to prison, where he swore he should suffer the utmost of the law; and the Council breaking up, every one departed to his own home. But never was man ravished with excess of joy as Octavio was, to find Sylvia meet him with extended arms on the stair-case, whom he did not imagine to have found there, nor knew he how he stood in the heart of the charmer of his own, since the affront she had received in the court from those that however did not know her; for they did not imagine this was that lady, sister to Philander, of whose beauty they had heard so much, and her face being turned from the light, the old gentleman did not so much consider or see it. Sylvia came into his house the back way, through the stables and garden, and had the good fortune to be seen by none of his family but the coachman, who brought her home, whom she conjured not to speak of it to the rest of his servants: and unseen of any body she got into his apartment, for often she had been there at treats and balls with Philander. She was alone; for Antonet stayed to see what became of her false lover, and, after he was seized again, retired to her lodging the most disconsolate woman in the world, for having lost her hopes of Brilliard, to whom she had engaged all that honour she had. But when she missed her lady there, she accused herself with all the falsehood in the world, and fell to repent her treachery. She sends the page to inquire at Ocatvio's house, but no body there could give him any intelligence; so that the poor amorous youth returning without hope, endured all the pain of a hopeless lover; for Octavio had anew charmed his coachman: and calling up an ancient woman who was his house-keeper, who had been his nurse, he acquainted her with the short history of his passion for Sylvia, and ordered her to give her attendance on the treasure of his life; he bid her prepare all things as magnificent as she could in that apartment he designed her, which was very rich and gay, and towards a fine garden. The hangings and beds all glorious, and fitter for a monarch than a subject; the finest pictures the world afforded, flowers in-laid with silver and ivory, gilded roofs, carved wainscot, tables of plate, with all the rest of the movables in the chambers of the same, all of great value, and all was perfumed like an altar, or the marriage bed of some young king. Here Sylvia was designed to lodge, and hither Octavio conducted her; and setting her on a couch while the supper was getting ready, he sits himself down by her, and his heart being ready to burst with grief, at the thought of the claim which was laid to her by Brilliard, he silently views her, while tears were ready to break from his fixed eyes, and sighs stopped what he would fain have spoke; while she (wholly confounded with shame, guilt, and disappointment, for she could not imagine that Brilliard could have had the impudence to have claimed her for a wife) fixed her fair eyes to the earth, and durst not behold the languishing Octavio. They remained thus a long time silent, she not daring to defend herself from a crime, of which she knew too well she was guilty, nor he daring to ask her a question to which the answer might prove so fatal; he fears to know what he dies to be satisfied in, and she fears to discover too late a secret, which was the only one she had concealed from him. Octavio runs over in his mind a thousand thoughts that perplex him, of the probability of her being married; he considers how often he had found her with that happy young man, who more freely entertained her than servants use to do. He now considers how he had seen them once on a bed together, when Sylvia was in the disorder of a yielding mistress, and Brilliard of a ravished lover; he considers how he has found them alone at cards and dice, and often entertaining her with freedoms of a husband, and how he wholly managed her affairs, commanded her servants like their proper master, and was in full authority of all. These, and a thousand more circumstances, confirm Octavio in all his fears: a thousand times she is about to speak, but either fear to lose Octavio by clear confession, or to run herself into farther error by denying the matter of fact, stops her words, and she only blushes and sighs at what she dares not tell; and if by chance their speaking eyes meet, they would both decline them hastily again, as afraid to find there what their language could not confess. Sometimes he would press her hand and sigh.—'Ah, Sylvia, you have undone my quiet'; to which she would return no answer, but sigh, and now rising from the couch, she walked about the chamber as sad and silent as death, attending when he should have advanced in speaking to her, though she dreads the voice she wishes to hear, and he waits for her reply, though the mouth that he adores should deliver poison and daggers to his heart. While thus they remained in the most silent and sad entertainment (that ever was between lovers that had so much to say) the page, which Octavio only trusts to wait, brought him this letter.

BRILLIARD to OCTAVIO.

My Lord,

I am too sensible of my many high offences to your lordship, and have as much penitence for my sin committed towards you as it is possible to conceive; but when I implore a pardon from a lover, who by his own passion may guess at the violent effects of my despairing flame, I am yet so vain to hope it. Antonet gave me the intelligence of your design, and raised me up to a madness that hurried me to that barbarity against your unspotted honour. I own the baseness of the fact, but lovers are not, my lord, always guided by rules of justice and reason; or, if I had, I should have killed the fair adulteress that drew you to your undoing, and who merits more your hate than your regard; and who having first violated her marriage-vow to me with Philander, would sacrifice us both to you, and at the same time betray you to a marriage that cannot but prove fatal to you, as it is most unlawful in her; so that, my lord, if I have injured you, I have at the same time saved you from a sin and ruin, and humbly implore that you will suffer the good I have rendered you in the last, to atone for the ill I did you in the first. If I have accused you of a design against the State, it was to save you from that of the too subtle and too charming Sylvia, which none but myself could have snatched you from. It is true, I might have acted something more worthy of my birth and education; but, my lord, I knew the power of Sylvia; and if I should have sent you the knowledge of this, when I sent the warrant for the security of your person, the haughty creature would have prevailed above all my truths with the eloquence of love, and you had yielded and been betrayed worse by her, than by the most ungenerous measures I took to prevent it. Suffer this reason, my lord, to plead for me in that heart where Sylvia reigns, and shews how powerful she is every where. Pardon all the faults of a most unfortunate man undone by love, and by your own, guess what his passion would put him on, who aims or wishes at least for the entire possession of Sylvia, though it was never absolutely hoped by the most unfortunate

BRILLIARD.

At the beginning of this letter Octavio hoped it contained the confession of his fault in claiming Sylvia; he hoped he would have owned it done in order to his service to his lord, or his love to Sylvia, or any thing but what it really was; but when he read on—and found that he yet confirmed his claim, he yielded to all the grief that could sink a heart over-burdened with violent love; he fell down on the couch where he was sat, and only calling Sylvia with a dying groan, he held out his hand, in which the letter remained, and looked on her with eyes that languished with death, love, and despair; while she, who already feared from whom it came, received it with disdain, shame, and confusion: and Octavio recovering a little—cried in a faint voice—'See charming, cruel fair—see how much my soul adores you, when even this—cannot extinguish one spark of the flame you have kindled in my soul.' At this she blushed, and bowed with a graceful modesty that was like to have given the lie to all the accusations against her: she reads the letter, while he greedily fixes his eyes upon her face as she reads, observing with curious search every motion there, all killing and adorable. He saw her blushes sometimes rise, then sink again to their proper fountain, her heart; there swell and rise, and beat against her breast that had no other covering than a thin shirt, for all her bosom was open, and betrayed the nimble motion of her heart. Her eyes sometimes would sparkle with disdain, and glow upon the fatal tell-tale lines, and sometimes languish with excess of grief: but having concluded the letter, she laid it on the table, and began again to traverse the room, her head declined, and her arms a-cross her bosom, Octavio made too true an interpretation of this silence and calm in Sylvia, and no longer doubted his fate. He fixes his eyes eternally upon her, while she considers what she shall say to that afflicted lover; she considers Philander lost, or if he ever returns, it is not to love; to that he was for ever gone; for too well she knew no arts, obligations, or industry, could retrieve a flying Cupid: she found, if even that could return, his whole fortune was so exhausted he could not support her; and that she was of a nature so haughty and impatient of injuries, that she could never forgive him those affronts he had done her honour first, and now her love; she resolves no law or force shall submit her to Brilliard; she finds this fallacy she had put on Octavio, has ruined her credit in his esteem, at least she justly fears it; so that believing herself abandoned by all in a strange country, she fell to weeping her fate, and the tears wet the floor as she walked: at which sight so melting Octavio starts from the couch, and catching her in his trembling arms, he cried, 'Be false, be cruel, and deceitful; yet still I must, I am compelled to adore you——' This being spoken in so hearty and resolved a tone, from a man of whose heart she was so sure, and knew to be generous, gave her a little courage—and like sinking men she catches at all that presents her any hope of escaping. She resolves by discovering the whole truth to save that last stake, his heart, though she could pretend to no more; and taking the fainting lover by the hand, she leads him to the couch: 'Well,' said she, 'Octavio, you are too generous to be imposed on in any thing, and therefore I will tell you my heart without reserve as absolutely as to heaven itself, if I were interceding my last peace there.' She begged a thousand pardons of him for having concealed any part of her story from him, but she could no longer be guilty of that crime, to a man for whom she had so perfect a passion; and as she spoke she embraced him with an irresistible softness that wholly charmed him: she reconciles him with every touch, and sighs on his bosom a thousand grateful vows and excuses for her fault, while he weeps his love, and almost expires in her arms; she is not able to see his passion and his grief, and tells him she will do all things for his repose. 'Ah, Sylvia' sighed he,'talk not of my repose, when you confess yourself wife to one and mistress to another, in either of which I have alas no part: ah, what is reserved for the unfortunate Octavio, when two happy lovers divide the treasure of his soul? Yet tell me truth, because it will look like love; shew me that excellent virtue so rarely found in all your fickle sex. O! tell me truth, and let me know how much my heart can bear before it break with love; and yet, perhaps, to hear thee speak to me, with that insinuating dear voice of thine, may save me from the terror of thy words; and though each make a wound, their very accents have a balm to heal! O quickly pour it then into my listening soul, and I will be silent as over-ravished lovers, whom joys have charmed to tender sighs and pantings.' At this, embracing her anew, he let fall a shower of tears upon her bosom, and sighing, cried—'Now I attend thy story': she then began anew the repetition of the loves between herself and Philander, which she slightly ran over, because he had already heard every circumstance of it, both from herself and Philander; till she arrived to that part of it where she left Bellfont, her father's house: 'Thus far,' said she, 'you have had a faithful relation; and I was no sooner missed by my parents, but you may imagine the diligent search that would be made, both by Foscario, whom I was to have married the next day, and my tender parents; but all search, all hue-and-cries were vain; at last, they put me into the weekly Gazette, describing me to the very features of my face, my hair, my breast, my stature, youth, and beauty, omitting nothing that might render me apparent to all that should see me, offering vast sums to any that should give intelligence of such a lost maid of quality. Philander, who understood too well the nature of the common people, and that they would betray their very fathers for such a proffered sum, durst trust me no longer to their mercy: his affairs were so involved with those of Cesario, he could not leave Paris; for they every moment expected the people should rise against their king, and those glorious chiefs of the faction were obliged to wait and watch the motions of the dirty crowd. Nor durst he trust me in any place from him; for he could not live a day without me'; (at that thought she sighed, and then went on); 'so that I was obliged to remain obscurely lodged in Paris, where now I durst no longer trust myself, though disguised in as many shapes as I was obliged to have lodgings. At last we were betrayed, and had only the short notice given us to yield, or secure ourselves from the hand of justice by the next morning, when they designed to surprise us. To escape we found almost impossible, and very hazardous to attempt it; so that Philander, who was raving with fears, called myself and this young gentleman, Brilliard (then Master of his Horse) and one that had served us faithfully through the whole course of our lives, to council: many things were in vain debated, but at last this hard shift was found out of marrying me to Brilliard, for to Philander it was impossible; so that no authority of a father could take me from the husband. I was at first extremely unwilling, but when Philander told me it was to be only a mock-marriage, to secure me to himself, I was reconciled to it, and more when I found the infinite submission of the young man, who vowed he would never look up to me with the eyes of a lover or husband, but in obedience to his lord did it to preserve me entirely for him; nay farther, to secure my future fear, he confessed to me he was already married to a gentlewoman by whom he had two children.' 'Oh!——tell me true, my Sylvia, was he married to another!' cried out the overjoyed lover. 'Yes, on my life,' replied Sylvia; 'for when it was proved in court that I was married to Brilliard (as at last I was, and innocently bedded) this lady came and brought her children to me, and falling at my feet, wept and implored I would not own her husband, for only she had right to him; we all were forced to discover to her the truth of the matter, and that he had only married me to secure me from the rage of my parents, that if he were her husband she was still as entirely possessed of him as ever, and that he had advanced her fortune in what he had done, for she should have him restored with those advantages that should make her life, and that of her children more comfortable; and Philander making both her and the children considerable presents, sent her away very well satisfied. After this, before people, we used him to a thousand freedoms, but when alone, he retained his respect entire; however, this used him to something more familiarity than formerly, and he grew to be more a companion than a servant, as indeed we desired he should, and of late have found him more presumptuous than usual. And thus much more, I must confess, I have reason to believe him a most passionate lover, and have lately found he had designs upon me, as you well know.

'Judge now, oh dear Octavio, how unfortunate I am; yet judge too, whether I ought to esteem this a marriage, or him a husband?' 'No,' replied Octavio, more briskly than before, 'nor can he by the laws of God or man pretend to such a blessing, and you may be divorced.' Pleased with this thought, he soon assumed his native temper of joy and softness, and making a thousand new vows that he would perform all he had sworn on his part, and imploring and pressing her to renew those she had made to him, she obeys him; she makes a thousand grateful returns, and they pass the evening the most happily that ever lovers did. By this time supper was served up, noble and handsome, and after supper, he led her to his closet, where he presented her with jewels and other rarities of great value, and omitted nothing that might oblige an avaricious designing woman, if Sylvia had been such; nor any thing that might beget love and gratitude in the most insensible heart: and all he did, and all he gave, was with a peculiar grace, in which there lies as great an obligation as in the gift itself: the handsome way of giving being an art so rarely known, even to the most generous. In these happy and glorious moments of love, wherein the lover omitted nothing that could please, Philander was almost forgotten; for it is natural for love to beget love, and inconstancy its likeness or disdain: and we must conclude Sylvia a maid wholly insensible, if she had not been touched with tenderness, and even love itself, at all these extravagant marks of passion in Octavio; and it must be confessed she was of a nature soft and apt for impression; she was, in a word, a woman. She had her vanities and her little foiblesses, and loved to see adorers at her feet, especially those in whom all things, all graces, charms of youth, wit and fortune agreed to form for love and conquest: she naturally loved power and dominion, and it was her maxim, that never any woman was displeased to find she could beget desire.

It was thus they lived with uninterrupted joys, no spies to pry upon their actions, no false friends to censure their real pleasures, no rivals to poison their true content, no parents to give bounds or grave rules to the destruction of nobler lavish love; but all the day was passed in new delights, and every day produced a thousand pleasures; and even the thoughts of revenge were no more remembered on either side; it lessened in Sylvia's heart as love advanced there, and her resentment against Philander was lost in her growing passion for Octavio: and sure if any woman had excuses for loving and inconstancy, the most wise and prudent must allow them now to Sylvia; and if she had reason for loving it was now, for what she paid the most deserving of his sex, and whom she managed with that art of loving (if there be art in love) that she gained every minute upon his heart, and he became more and more her slave, the more he found he was beloved: in spite of all Brilliard's pretension he would have married her, but durst not do it while he remained in Holland, because of the noise Brilliard's claim had made, and he feared the displeasure of his uncle; but waited for a more happy time, when he could settle his affairs so as to remove her into Flanders, though he could not tell how to accomplish that without ruining his interest: these thoughts alone took up his time whenever he was absent from Sylvia, and would often give him abundance of trouble; for he was given over to his wish of possessing of Sylvia, and could not live without her; he loved too much, and thought and considered too little. These were his eternal entertainments when from the lovely object of his desire, which was as seldom as possible; for they were both unwilling to part, though decency and rest required it, a thousand soft things would hinder him, and make her willing to retain him, and though they were to meet again next morning, they grudge themselves the parting hours, and the repose of nature. He longs and languishes for the blessed moment that shall give him to the arms of the ravishing Sylvia, and she finds but too much yielding on her part in some of those silent lone hours, when love was most prevailing, and feeble mortals most apt to be overcome by that insinuating god; so that though Octavio could not ask what he sighed and died for, though for the safety of his life, for any favours; and though, on the other side, Sylvia resolved she would not grant, no, though mutual vows had passed, though love within pleaded, and almost irresistible beauties and inducements without, though all the powers of love, of silence, night and opportunity, though on the very point a thousand times of yielding, she had resisted all: but oh! one night; let it not rise up in judgement against her, ye bashful modest maids, who never yet tried any powerful minute; nor ye chaste wives, who give no opportunities; one night——they lost themselves in dalliance, forgot how very near they were to yielding, and with imperfect transports found themselves half dead with love, clasped in each other's arms, betrayed by soft degrees of joy to all they wished. It would be too amorous to tell you more; to tell you all that night, that happy night produced; let it suffice that Sylvia yielded all, and made Octavio happier than a god. At first, he found her weeping in his arms, raving on what she had inconsiderately done, and with her soft reproaches chiding her ravished lover, who lay sighing by; unable to reply any other way, he held her fast in those arms that trembled yet, with love and new-past joy; he found a pleasure even in her railing, with a tenderness that spoke more love than any other language love could speak. Betwixt his sighs he pleads his right of love, and the authority of his solemn vows; he tells her that the marriage-ceremony was but contrived to satisfy the ignorant, and to proclaim his title to the crowd, but vows and contracts were the same to heaven: he speaks——and she believes; and well she might; for all he spoke was honourable truth. He knew no guile, but uttered all his soul, and all that soul was honest, just and brave; thus by degrees he brought her to a calm.

In this soft rencounter, he had discovered a thousand new charms in Sylvia, and contrary to those men whose end of love is lust (which extinguish together) Octavio found increase of tenderness from every bliss she gave; and grew at last so fond—so doting on the still more charming maid, that he neglected all his interest, his business in the State, and what he owed his uncle, and his friends, and became the common theme over all the United Provinces, for his wantonness and luxury, as they were pleased to call it, and living so contrary to the humour of those more sordid and slovenly men of quality, which make up the nobility of that parcel of the world. For while thus he lived retired, scarce visiting any one, or permitting any one to visit him, they charge him with a thousand crimes of having given himself over to effeminacy; as indeed he grew too lazy in her arms; neglecting glory, arms, and power, for the more real joys of life; while she even rifles him with extravagancy; and grows so bold and hardy, that regarding not the humours of the stingy censorious nation, his interest, or her own fame, she is seen every day in his coaches, going to take the air out of town; puts him upon balls, and vast expensive treats; devises new projects and ways of diversion, till some of the more busy impertinents of the town made a public complaint to his uncle, and the rest of the States, urging he was a scandal to the reverend and honourable society. On which it was decreed, that he should either lose that honour, or take up, and live more according to the gravity and authority of a senator: this incensed Sebastian, both against the States and his nephew; for though he had often reproved and counselled him; yet he scorned his darling should be schooled by his equals in power. So that resolving either to discard him, or draw him from the love of this woman; he one morning goes to his nephew's house, and sending him up word by his page he would speak to him, he was conducted to his chamber, where he found him in his night-gown: he began to upbraid him, first, with his want of respect and duty to him, and next, of his affairs, neglecting to give his attendance on the public: he tells him he is become a scandal to the commonwealth, and that he lived a lewd life with another man's wife: he tells him he has all her story, and she was not only a wife, but a scandalous mistress too to Philander. 'She boasts,' says he, 'of honourable birth; but what is that, when her conduct is infamous? In short, sir,' continued he, 'your life is obnoxious to the whole province: why what, sir——cannot honest men's daughters' (cried he more angrily) 'serve your turn, but you must crack a Commandment? Why, this is flat adultery: a little fornication in a civil way might have been allowed, but this is stark naught. In fine, sir, quit me this woman, and quit her presently; or, in the first place, I renounce thee, cast thee from me as a stranger, and will leave thee to ruin, and the incensed States. A little pleasure—a little recreation, I can allow: a layer of love, and a layer of business—But to neglect the nation for a wench, is flat treason against the State; and I wish there were a law against all such unreasonable whore-masters—that are statesmen—for the rest it is no great matter. Therefore, in a word, sir, leave me off this mistress of yours, or we will secure her yet for a French spy, that comes to debauch our commonwealth's men——The States can do it, sir, they can——' Hitherto Octavio received all with a blush and bow, in sign of obedience; but when his uncle told him the States would send away his mistress; no longer able to contain his rage, he broke out into all the violence imaginable against them, and swore he would not now forgo Sylvia to be monarch over all the nasty provinces, and it was a greater glory to be a slave at her feet. 'Go, tell your States,' cried he,—'they are a company of cynical fops, born to moil on in sordid business, who never were worthy to understand so great a happiness of life as that of nobler love. Tell them, I scorn the dull gravity of those asses of the commonwealth, fit only to bear the dirty load of State-affairs, and die old busy fools.' The uncle, who little expected such a return from him who used to be all obedience, began more gently to persuade him with more solid reason, but could get no other answer from him, than that what he commanded he should find it difficult to disobey; and so for that time they parted. Some days after (he never coming so much as near their Councils) they sent for him to answer the contempt: he came, and received abundance of hard reproaches, and finding they were resolved to degrade him, he presently rallied them in answer to all they said; nor could all the cautions of his friends persuade him to any submission, after receiving so rough and ill-bred a treatment as they gave him: and impatient to return to Sylvia, where all his joys were centred, he was with much ado persuaded to stay and hear the resolution of the Council, which was to take from him those honours he held amongst them; at which he cocked and smiled, and told them he received what he was much more proud of, than of those useless trifles they called honours, and wishes they might treat all that served them at that ungrateful rate: for he that had received a hundred wounds, and lost a stream of blood for their security, shall, if he kiss their wives against their wills, be banished like a coward: so hasting from the Council, he got into his coach and went to Sylvia.

This incensed the old gentlemen to a high degree, and they carried it against the younger party (because more in number) that this French lady, who was for high-treason, as they called it, forced to fly France, should be no longer protected in Holland. And in order to her removal, or rather their revenge on Octavio, they sent out their warrant to apprehend her; and either to send her as an enemy to France, or force her to some other part of the world. For a day or two Sebastian's interest prevailed for the stopping the warrant, believing he should be able to bring his nephew to some submission; which when he found in vain, he betook himself to his chamber, and refused any visits or diversions: by this time, Octavio's rallying the States was become the jest of the town, and all the sparks laughed at them as they passed, and lampooned them to damnable Dutch tunes, which so highly incensed them, that they sent immediately, and served the warrant on Sylvia, whom they surprised in Octavio's coach as she was coming from taking the air. You may imagine what an agony of trouble and grief our generous and surprised lover was in: it was in vain to make resistance, and he who before would not have submitted to have saved his life, to the States, now for the preservation of one moment's content to Sylvia, was ready to go and fall at their feet, kiss their shoes, and implore their pity. He first accompanies her to the house of the messenger, where he only is permitted to behold her with eyes of dying love, and unable to say any thing to her, left her with such gifts, and charge to the messenger's care, as might oblige him to treat her well; while Sylvia less surprised, bid him, at going from her, not to afflict himself for any thing she suffered; she found it was the malice of the peevish old magistrates, and that the most they could do to her, was to send her from him. This last she spoke with a sigh, that pierced his heart more sensibly than ever any thing yet had done; and he only replied (with a sigh) 'No, Sylvia, no rigid power on earth shall ever be able to deprive you of my eternal adoration, or to separate me one moment from Sylvia, after she is compelled to leave this ungrateful place; and whose departure I will hasten all that I can, since the land is not worthy of so great a blessing.' So leaving her for a little space, he hasted to his uncle, whom he found very much discontented: he throws himself at his feet, and assails him with all the moving eloquence of sighs and tears; in vain was all, in vain alas he pleads. From this he flies to rage—and says all a distracted lover could pour forth to ease a tortured heart; what divinity did he not provoke? Wholly regardless even of heaven and man, he made a public confession of his passion, denied her being married to Brilliard, and weeps as he protests her innocence: he kneels again, implores and begs anew, and made the movingest moan that ever touched a heart, but could receive no other return but threats and frowns: the old gentleman had never been in love since he was born, no not enough to marry, but bore an unaccountable hate to the whole sex, and therefore was pitiless to all he could say on the score of love; though he endeavours to soften him by a thousand things more dear to him. 'For my sake, sir,' said he, 'if ever my lost plea were grateful to you, when all your joy was in the young Octavio; release, release the charming Sylvia; regard her tender youth, her blooming beauty, her timorous helpless sex, her noble quality, and save her from rude assaults of power——Oh save the lovely maid!' Thus he uttered with interrupting sighs and tears, which fell upon the floor as he pursued the obdurate on his knees: at last pity touched his heart, and he said—'Spare, sir, the character of your enchanting Circe; for I have heard too much of her, and what mischief she has bred in France, abandoning her honour, betraying a virtuous sister, defaming her noble parents, and ruining an illustrious young nobleman, who was both her brother and her lover. This, sir, in short, is the character of your beauteous innocent.' 'Alas, sir,' replied Octavio, 'you never saw this maid; or if you had, you would not be so cruel.' 'Go to, sir,' replied the old gentleman, 'I am not so soon softened at the sight of beauty.' 'But do but see her, sir,' replied Octavio, 'and then perhaps you will be charmed like me——' 'You are a fop, sir,' replied Sebastian, 'and if you would have me allow any favour to your enchanting lady, you must promise me first to abandon her, and marry the widow of Monsieur —— who is vastly rich, and whom I have so often recommended to you; she loves you too, and though she be not fair, she has the best fortune of any lady in the Netherlands. On these terms, sir, I am for a reconciliation with you, and will immediately go and deliver the fair prisoner; and she shall have her liberty to go or stay, or do what she please—and now, sir, you know my will and pleasure'— Octavio found it in vain to pursue him any farther with his petitions; only replied, it was wondrous hard and cruel. To which the old one replied; 'It is what must be done; I have resolved it, or my estate, in value above two hundred thousand pounds, shall be disposed of to your sister, the Countess of Clarinau:' and this he ended with an execration on himself if he did not do; and he was a man that always was just to his word.

Much more to this ungrateful effect he spoke, and Octavio had recourse to all the dissimulation his generous soul was capable of; and it was the first base thing, and sure the last that ever he was guilty of. He promises his uncle to obey all his commands and injunctions, since he would have it so; and only begged he might be permitted but one visit, to take his last leave of her. This was at first refused, but at last, provided he might hear what he said to her, he would suffer him to go: 'For,' said the crafty old man, (who knew too well the cunning of youth,) 'I will have no tricks put upon me; I will not be outwitted by a young knave:' this was the worst part of all; he knew, if he alone could speak with her, they might have contrived, by handsome agreeing flattery, to have accomplished their design; which was, first, by the authority of the old gentleman to have freed her from confinement; and next, to have settled his affairs in the best posture he could, and without valuing his uncle's fortune, his own being greater, he resolved to go with her into Flanders or Italy; but his going with him to visit her would prevent whatever they might resolve: but since the liberty of Sylvia was first to be considered, he resolves, since it must be so and leaves the rest to time and his good fortune. 'Well then, sir,' said Octavio, 'since you have resolved yourself, to be a witness of those melancholy things, I shall possibly say to her, let us haste to end the great affair'—'Hang it,' cried Sebastian, 'if I go I shall abuse the young hussy, or commit some indecency that will not be suitable to good manners——' 'I hope you will, sir'——replied Octavio——'Whip them, whip them,' replied the uncle, 'I hate the young cozening baggages, that wander about the world undoing young and extravagant coxcombs; gots so they are naught, stark naught——Be sure dispatch as soon as you can; and—do you hear—let's have no whining.' Octavio, overjoyed he should have her released to-night, promised lavishly all he was urged to: and his coach being at the gate, they both went immediately to the house of the messenger; all the way the old gentleman did nothing but rail against the vices of the age, and the sins of villainous youth; the snares of beauty, and the danger of witty women; and of how ill consequences these were to a commonwealth. He said, if he were to make laws he would confine all young women to monasteries, where they should never see man till forty, and then come out and marry for generation-sake, no more: for his part, he had never seen the beauty that yet could inspire him with that silly thing called love; and wondered what the devil ailed all the young fellows of this age, that they talked of nothing else. At this rate they discoursed till they arrived at the prison, and calling for the messenger, he conducted them both to the chamber of the fair prisoner, who was laid on a couch, near which stood a table with two candles, which gave a great light to that part of the room, and made Sylvia appear more fair than ever, if possible. She had not that day been dressed but in a rich night-gown, and cornets of the most advantageous fashion. At his approach she blushed (with a secret joy, which never had possessed her soul for him before) and spread a thousand beauties round her fair face. She was leaping with a transported pleasure to his arms, when she perceived an old grave person follow him into the room; at which she reassumed a strangeness, a melancholy languishment, which charmed no less than her gaiety. She approaches them with a modest grace in her beautiful eyes; and by the reception Octavio gave her, she found that reverend person was his uncle, or at least somebody of authority; and therefore assuming a gravity unusual, she received them with all the ceremony due to their quality: and first, she addressed herself to the old gentleman, who stood gazing at her, without motion; at which she was a little out of countenance. When Octavio perceiving it, approached his uncle and cried, 'Sir, this is the lady——' Sebastian, starting as from a dream, cried—'Pardon me, madam, I am a fellow whom age hath rendered less ceremonious than youth: I have never yet been so happy as to have been used to a fair lady. Women never took up one minute of my more precious time, but I have been a satyr upon the whole sex; and, if my treatment of you be rougher than your birth and beauty merits, I beseech you——fair creature, pardon it, since I come in order to do you service.' 'Sir,' replied Sylvia, (blushing with anger at the presence of a man who had contributed to the having brought her to that place) 'I cannot but wonder at this sudden change of goodness, in a person to whom I am indebted for part of my misfortune, and which I shall no longer esteem as such, since it has occasioned me a happiness, and an honour, to which I could no other way have arrived.' This last she spoke with her usual insinuating charms; the little affectation of the voice sweetened to all the tenderness it was possible to put on, and so easy and natural to Sylvia: and if before the old gentleman were seized with some unusual pleasure, which before he never felt about his icy and insensible heart, and which now began to thaw at the fire of her eyes——l say, if before he were surprised with looking, what was he when she spoke—with a voice so soft, and an air so bewitching? He was all eyes and ears, and had use of no other sense but what informed those. He gazes upon her, as if he waited and listened what she would farther say, and she stood waiting for his reply, till ashamed, she turned her eyes into her bosom, and knew not how to proceed. Octavio views both by turns, and knows not how to begin the discourse again, it being his uncle's cue to speak: but finding him altogether mute—he steps to him, and gently pulled him by the sleeve—but finds no motion in him; he speaks to him, but in vain; for he could hear nothing but Sylvia's charming voice, nor saw nothing but her lovely face, nor attended any thing but when she would speak again, and look that way. At this Octavio smiled, and taking his adorable by the hand, he led her nearer her admiring adversary; whom she approached with modesty and sweetness in her eyes, that the old fellow, having never before beheld the like vision, was wholly vanquished, and his old heart burnt in the socket, which being his last blaze made the greater fire. 'Fine lady,' cried he—'or rather fine angel, how is it I shall expiate for a barbarity that nothing could be guilty of but the brute, who had not learned humanity from your eyes: what atonement can I make for my sin; and how shall I be punished?' 'Sir,' replied Sylvia, 'if I can merit your esteem and assistance, to deliver me from this cruel confinement, I shall think of what is past as a joy, since it renders me worthy of your pity and compassion.' 'To answer you, madam, were to hold you under this unworthy roof too long; therefore let me convince you of my service, by leading you to a place more fit for so fair a person.' And calling for the messenger, he asked him if he would take his bail for his fair prisoner? Who replied, 'Your lordship may command all things:' so throwing him a little purse, about thirty pounds in gold, he bid him drink the lady's health; and without more ceremony or talk, led her to the coach; and never so much as asking her whether she would go, insensibly carries her, where he had a mind to have her, to his own house. This was a little affliction to Octavio, who nevertheless durst not say any thing to his uncle, nor so much as ask him the reason why: but being arrived all thither, he conducts her to a very fair apartment, and bid her there command that world he could command for her: he gave her there a very magnificent supper, and all three supped together. Octavio could not imagine that his uncle, who was a single man, and a grave senator, one famed for a womanhater, a great railer at the vices of young men, should keep a fair, young, single woman in his house: but it growing late, and no preparation for her departing, she took the courage to say—'Sir, I am so extremely obliged to you, and have received so great a favour from you, that I cannot flatter myself it is for any virtue in me, or merely out of compassion to my sex, that you have done this; but for some body's sake, to whom I am more engaged than I am aware of; and when you passed your parole for my liberty, I am not so vain to think it was for my sake; therefore pray inform me, sir, how I can pay this debt, and to whom; and who it is you require should be bound for me, to save you harmless.' 'Madam,' cried Sebastian, 'though there need no greater security than your own innocence, yet lest that innocence should not be sufficient to guard you from the outrage of a people approaching to savages, I beg, for your own security, not mine, that you will make this house your sanctuary; my power can save you from impending harms; and all that I call mine, you shall command.' At this she blushing bowed, but durst not make reply to contradict him: she knew, at least, that there she was safe and well, from fear of the tyranny of the rest, or any other apprehension. It is true, she found, by the shyness of Octavio towards her before his uncle, that she was to manage her amour with him by stealth, till they could contrive matters more to their advantage: she therefore finding she should want nothing, but as much of Octavio's conversation as she desired, she begged he would give her leave to write a note to her page, who was a faithful, sober youth, to bring her jewels and what things she had of value to her, which he did, and received those and her servants together; but Antonet had like to have lost her place, but that Octavio pleaded for her, and she herself confessing it was love to the false Brilliard that made her do that foolish thing (in which she vowed she thought no harm, though it was like to have cost her so dear) she was again received into favour: so that for some days Sylvia found herself very much at her ease with the old gentleman, and had no want of any thing but Octavio's company: but she had the pleasure to find, by his eyes and sighs, he wanted hers more: he died every day, and his fair face faded like falling roses: still she was gay; for if she had it not about her, she assumed it to keep him in heart: she was not displeased to see the old man on fire too, and fancied some diversion from the intrigue. But he concealed his passion all he could, both to hide it from his nephew, and because he knew not what he ailed. A strange change he found, a wondrous disorder in nature, but could not give a name to it, nor sigh aloud for fear he should be heard, and lose his reputation; especially for this woman, on whom he had railed so lavishly. One day therefore, after a night of torment, very incommode to his age, he takes Octavio into the garden alone, telling him he had a great secret to impart to him. Octavio guessing what it might be, put his heart in as good order as he could to receive it. He at least knew the worst was but for him at last to steal Sylvia from him, if he should be weak enough to dote on the young charmer, and therefore resolved to hear with patience. But if he were prepared to attend, the other was not prepared to begin, and so both walked many silent turns about the garden. Sebastian had a mind to ask a thousand questions of his nephew, who he found, maugre all his vows of deserting Sylvia, had no power of doing it: he had a mind to urge him to marry the widow, but durst not now press it, though he used to do so, lest he should take it for jealousy in him; nor durst he now forbid him seeing her, lest he should betray the secrets of his soul: he began every moment to love him less, as he loved Sylvia more, and beholds him as an enemy to his repose, nay his very life. At last the old man (who thought if he brought his nephew forth under pretence of a secret, and said nothing to him, it would have looked ill) began to speak. 'Octavto,' said he, 'I have hitherto found you so just in all you have said, that it were a sin to doubt you in what relates to Sylvia. You have told me she is nobly born; and you have with infinite imprecations convinced me she is virtuous; and lastly, you have sworn she was not married'——At this he sighed and paused, and left Octavio trembling with fear of the result: a thousand times he was like to have denied all, but durst not defame the most sacred idol of his soul: sometimes he thought his uncle would be generous, and think it fit to give him Sylvia; but that thought was too seraphic to remain a moment in his heart. 'Sir,' replied Octavio, 'I own I said so of Sylvia, and hope no action she has committed since she had a protection under your roof has contradicted any thing I said. 'No,' said Sebastian, sighing—and pausing, as loath to speak more: 'Sir,' said Octavio, 'I suppose this is not the secret you had to impart to me, for which you separate me to this lonely walk; fear not to trust me with it, whatever it be; for I am so entirely your own, that I will grant, submit, prostrate myself, and give up all my will, power, and faculties to your interest or designs.' This encouraged the old lover, who replied—'Tell me one truth, Octavio, which I require of you, and I will desire no more——have not you had the possession of this fair maid? You apprehend me.' Now it was that he feared what design the amorous old gentleman had in his head and heart; and was at a loss what to say, whether to give him some jealousy that he had known and possessed her, and so prevent his designs on her; or by saying he had not, to leave her defenceless to his love. But on second thoughts, he could not resolve to say any thing to the disadvantage of Sylvia, though to save his own life; and therefore assured his uncle, he never durst assume the boldness to ask so rude a question of a woman of quality: and much more he spoke to that purpose to convince him: that it is true, he would have married her, if he could have gained his consent; maugre all the scandal that the malicious world had thrown upon her. But since he was positive in his command for the widow, he would bend his mind to obedience. 'In that,' replied Sebastian, 'you are wise, and I am glad all your youthful fires are blown over; and having once fixed you in the world as I design, I have resolved on an affair——' At this again he paused——'I am,' says he, 'in love—I think it is love, or that which you call so: I cannot eat, nor sleep, nor even pray, but this fair stranger interposes; or, if by chance I slumber, all my dreams are of her, I see her, I touch her, I embrace her, and find a pleasure, even then, that all my waking thoughts could never procure me. If I go to the state-house, I mind nothing there, my heart's at home with the young gentlewoman; or the change, or wheresoever I go, my restless thoughts present her still before me: and prithee tell me, is not this love, Octavio? 'It may arrive to love,' replied the blushing youth, 'if you would fondly give way to it: but you are wise and grave, should hate all women, sir, till about forty, and then for generation only: you are above the follies of vain youth. And let me tell you, sir, without offending, already you are charged with a thousand little vanities, unsuitable to your years, and the character you have had, and the figure you have made in the world. I heard a lampoon on you the other day,—(Pardon my freedom, sir,) for keeping a beauty in your house, who they are pleased to say was my mistress before.' And pulling out a lampoon, which his page had before given him, he gave it his uncle. But instead of making him resolve to quit Sylvia, it only served to incense him against Octavio; he railed at all wits, and swore there was not a more dangerous enemy to a civil, sober commonwealth: that a poet was to be banished as a spy, or hanged as a traitor: that it ought to be as much against the law to let them live, as to shoot with white powder; and that to write lampoons should be put into the statute against stabbing. And could he find the rogue that had the wit to write that, he would make him a warning to all the race of that damnable vermin; what! to abuse a magistrate, one of the States, a very monarch of the commonwealth!— It was abominable, and not to be borne,—and looking on his nephew— and considering his face a while, he cried—'I fancy, sir, by your physiognomy, that you yourself have a hand in this libel:' at which Octavio blushed, which he taking for guilt, flew out into terrible anger against him, not suffering him to speak for himself, or clear his innocence. And as he was going in this rage from him, having forbidden him ever to set his foot within his doors, he told him,— 'If,' said he, 'the scandalous town, from your instructions, have such thoughts of me, I will convince it by marrying this fair stranger the first thing I do: I cannot doubt but to find a welcome, since she is a banished woman, without friends or protection; and especially, when she shall see how civilly you have handled her here, in your doggerel ballad: I will teach you to be a wit, sir; and so your humble servant.'—And leaving him almost wild with his fears, he went directly to Sylvia, where he told her his nephew was going to make up the match between himself and madam the widow of —— and that he had made a scandalous lampoon on her fair self. He forgot nothing that might make her hate the amiable young nobleman, whom she knew too well to believe that any thing of this was other than the effects of his own growing passion for her. For though she saw Octavio every day, in this time she had remained at his uncle's, yet the old lover so watched their very looks, that it was impossible almost to tell one another's heart by the glance there. But Octavio had once in this time conveyed a letter to her, which having opportunity to do, he put it into her comb-box, when he was with his uncle one day in her dressing-room; for she durst not trust her page, and less Antonet, who had before betrayed them: and having for Sylvia's release so solemnly sworn to his uncle, (to which vows he took religious care to keep him,) he had so perfect an awe upon his spirits from every look and command of his uncle's, he took infinite heed how he gave him any umbrage by any action of his; and the rather, because he hoped when time should serve, to bring about his business of stealing Sylvia from him; for she was kept and guarded like a mighty heiress; so that by this prudent management on both sides, they heightened the growing love in every heart. In that billet, which he dropped in her comb-box, he did not only make ten thousand vows of eternal passion and faith, and beg the same assurance of her again; but told her he was secured (so well he thought of her) from fears of his uncle's addresses to her, and begged she would not let them perplex her, but rather serve her for her diversion; that she should from time to time write him all he said to her, and how he treated her when alone; and that since the old lover was so watchful, she should not trust her letters with any body; but as she walked into the garden, she should in passing through the hall, put her letter in at the broken glass of an old sedan that stood there, and had stood for several years; and that his own page, whom he could trust, should, when he came with him to his uncle's, take it from thence. Thus every day they writ, and received the dearest returns in the world; where all the satisfaction that vows oft repeated could give, was rendered each other; with an account from Sylvia that was very pleasant, of all the passion of the doting old Sebastian, the presents he made her, the fantastic youth he would assume, and unusual manner of his love, which was a great diversion to both; and this difficulty of speaking to Sylvia, and entertaining her with love, though it had its pains, had its infinite pleasure too; it increased their love on both sides, and all their wishes. But now by this last banishment from the house where she was, to lose that only pleasure of beholding the adorable maid, gave him all the pains, without the hope of one pleasure; and he began to fear he should have a world of difficulty to secure the dear object of his continual thoughts: he found no way to send to her, and dreads all his malicious uncle and rival may say to his disadvantage: he dreads even that infinite tenderness and esteem he had for the good old man, who had been so fond a parent to him; lest even that should make him unwilling to use that extremity against him in regaining Sylvia, which he could use to any other man. Oh, how he curses the fatal hour that ever he implored his aid for her release; and having overcome all difficulties, even that of his fears of Philander, (from whom they had received no letter in two months) and that of Sylvia's disdain, and had established himself in her soul and her arms; he should, by employing his uncle's authority for Sylvia's service, be so unfortunate to involve them into new dangers and difficulties, of which he could foresee no other end, than that which must be fatal to some of them. But he believed half his torture would be eased, could he but write to Sylvia, for see her he could not hope: he bethought himself of a way at last.

His uncle had belonging to his house the most fine garden of any in that province, where those things are not much esteemed; in which the old gentleman took wonderful delight, and kept a gardener and his family in a little house at the farther end of the garden, on purpose to look to it and dress it. This man had a very great veneration for Octavio, whom he called his young lord. Sure of the fidelity of this gardener, when it was dark enough to conceal him, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and got him thither by a back way, where with presents, he soon won those to his interest, who would before have been commanded by him in any service. He had a little clean room, and some little French novels which he brought; and there he was as well concealed as if he had been in the Indies; he left word at home, that he was gone out of the town. He knew well enough that Sylvia's, lodgings looked that way; and when it was dark enough, he walked under her window, till he saw a candle lighted in Sylvia's bed-chamber, which was as great a joy to him as the star that guides the traveller, or wandering seaman, or the lamp at Sestos, that guided the ravished lover over the Hellespont. And by that time he could imagine all in bed, he made a little noise with a key on the pummel of his sword; but whether Sylvia heard it or not, I cannot tell, but she anon came to the window, and putting up the sash, leaned on her arms and looked into the garden. Oh! Who but he himself that loved so well as Octavio, can express the transports he was in, at the sight? Which, more from the sight within than that without, he saw was the lovely Sylvia; whom calling softly by her name, answered him, as if she knew the welcome voice, and cried—'Who is there, Octavio? She was soon answered you may imagine. And they began the most endearing conversation that ever love could dictate. He complains on his fate that sets them at that distance, and she pities him. He makes a thousand doubts, and she undeceives them all. He fears, and she convinces his error, and is impatient at his suspicions. She will not endure him to question a heart that has given him so many proofs of its tenderness and gratitude; she tells him her own wishes, how soft and fervent they are; and assures him, he is extremely obliged to her——'Since for you—my charming friend,' said she to Octavio, 'I have refused this night to marry your uncle; have a care,' said she, smiling, 'how you treat me, lest I revenge myself on you; become your aunt, and bring heirs to the estate you have a right to: the writings of all which I have now in my chamber, and which were but just now laid at my feet, and which I cannot yet get him to receive back. And to oblige me to a compliance, has told me how you have deceived me, by giving yourself to another, and exposing me in lampoons.'—To this Octavio would have replied, but she assured him she needed no argument to convince her of the falsehood of all. He sighs, and told her, all she said, though dear and charming, was not sufficient to ease his heart; for he foresaw a world of hazard to get her from thence, and mischiefs if she remained; insomuch that he caused the tears to flow from the fair eyes of Sylvia, with her reflections on her rigid fortune. And she cried, 'Oh, my Octavio! What strange fate or stars ruled my birth, that I should be born to the ruin of what I love, or those that love me!' At this rate they passed the night, sometimes more soft, sometimes encouraging one another; but the last result was to contrive the means of escaping. He fancied she might easily do it by the garden from the window: but that he was not sure he could trust the gardener so far, who in all things would serve him, in which his lord and master was not injured; and he, amongst the rest of the servants, had orders not to suffer Sylvia out of the garden, for which reason he kept a guard on that back-door. Some way must be found out which yet was not, and was left to time. He told her whence he was, and that he would not stir from thence, till he was secured of her flight: and day coming on, though loath, yet for fear of eyes and ears that might spy upon them, he retired to his little lodging, and Sylvia to bed; after giving and receiving a thousand vows and farewells. The next night he came to the same place, but instead of entertaining her—he only saw her softly put up the sash a little, and throw something white out of the window and retire. He was wondering at the meaning, but taking up what was thrown down, he found and smelt it was Sylvia's handkerchief, in which was tied up a billet: he went to his little lodging, and read it.

SYLVIA to OCTAVIO.

Go from my window, my adorable friend, and be not afflicted that I do not entertain you as I had the joy to do last night; for both our voices were heard by some one that lodges below; and though your uncle could not tell me any part of our conversation, yet he heard I talked to some body: I have persuaded him the fellow dreamed who gave him this intelligence, and he is almost satisfied he did so; however, hazard not thy dear-self any more so, but let me lose for a while the greatest happiness this earth can afford me, (in the circumstances of our fortunes) rather than expose what is dearer to me than life or honour: pity the fate I was born to, and expect all things from

Your SYLVIA.

I will wait at the window for your answer, and let you down a ribband, by which I will draw it up: but as you love me do not speak.

He had no sooner read this, but he went to write an answer, which was this.

OCTAVIO to SYLVIA.

Complain not, thou goddess of my vows, on the fate thou wert born to procure to all mankind; but thank heaven for having received ten thousand charms that can recompense all the injuries you so unwillingly do us: and who would not implore his ruin from all the angry powers, if in return they would give him so glorious a reward? Who would not be undone to all the trifling honours of the mistaken world, to find himself, in lieu of all, possessed of the ravishing Sylvia? But oh! Where is that presumptuous man, that can at the price of all lay claim to so vast a blessing? Alas, my Sylvia, even while I dare call you mine, I am not that hoping slave; no, not after all the valued dear things you have said and vowed to me last night in the garden, welcome to my soul as life after a sentence of death, or heaven after life is ended. But, oh Sylvia! all this, even all you uttered from your dear mouth is not sufficient to support me: alas, I die for Sylvia! I am not able to bear the cruel absence longer, therefore without delay assist me to contrive your escape, or I shall die, and leave you to the ravage of his love who holds thee from me; the very thoughts of that is worse than death. I die, alas, I die, for an entire possession of thee: oh let me grasp my treasure, let me engross it all, here in my longing arms. I can no longer languish at this distance from my cruel joy, my life, my soul! But oh I rave, and while I should be speaking a thousand useful things, I am telling you my pain, a pain that you may guess; and confounding myself between those and their remedies, am able to fix on nothing. Help me to think, oh my dear charming creature, help me to think how I shall bear thee off! Take your own measures, flatter him with love, soothe him to faith and confidence, and then—oh pardon me, if there be baseness in the action—then—cozen him—deceive him—any thing—for he deserves it all, that thinks that lovely body was formed for his embraces, whom age has rendered fitter for a grave. Form any plots, use every stratagem to save the life of

Your OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

He wrote this in haste and disorder, as you may plainly see by the style, and went to the window with it, where he found Sylvia leaning expecting him: the sashes were up, and he tossed it in the handkerchief into her window: she read it, and wrote an answer back as soft as love could form, to send him pleased to bed; wherein she commanded him to hope all things from her wit and industrious love.

This had partly the effects she wished, and after kissing his hand, and throwing it up towards Sylvia, they parted as silent as the night from day, which was now just dividing—so long they stayed, though but to look at each other; so that all the morning was passed in bed to make the day seem shorter, which was too tedious to both: this pleasure he had after noon, towards the evening, that when Sylvia walked, as she always did in the garden, he could see her through the glass of his window, but durst not open it; for the old gentleman was ever with her. In this time Octavio failed not however to essay the good nature of the gardener in order to Sylvia's flight, but found there was no dealing with him in this affair; and therefore durst not come right down to the point: the next night he came under the beloved window again, and found the sacred object of his wishes leaning in the window expecting him: to whom, as soon as she heard his tread on the gravel, she threw down a handkerchief again, which he took up, and tossed his own with a soft complaining letter to entertain her till his return; for he hasted to read hers, and swept the garden as he passed as swift as wind; so impatient he was to see the inside—which he found thus:

SYLVIA to OCTAVIO.

I beg, my charming friend, you will be assured of all I have promised you; and to believe that but for the pleasure of those dear billets I receive from you, I could as little support this cruel confinement as you my absence. I have but one game to play, and I beseech you not to be surprised at it, it is to promise to marry Sebastian: he is eternally at my feet, and either I must give him my vow to become his wife, or give him hope of other favours. I am so entirely yours, that I will be guided by you, which I shall flatter him in to gain my liberty; for if I grant either, he has proposed to carry me to his country-house, two leagues from the town, and there consummate whatever I design to bless him with; and this is it that has wrought my consent, that we being to go alone, only my own servants, you may easily take me thence by force upon the road, or after our arrival, where he will not guard me perhaps so strictly as he does here: for that, I leave it to your conduct, and expect your answer to your impatient

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

He immediately sat down, and wrote this:

* * * * *

OCTAVIO to SYLVIA.

Have a care, my charming fair, how you play with vows; and however you are forced, for that religious end of saving your honour, to deceive the poor old lover, whom, by heaven I pity; yet rather let me die than know you can be guilty of vow-breach, though made in jest. I am well pleased at the glimpse of hope you give me, that I shall see you at his villa; and doubt not but to find a way to secure you to myself: say any thing, promise to sacrifice all to his desire; but oh, do not give away thy dear, thy precious self by vow, to any but the languishing

OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

After he had wrote this, he hasted, and throws it into her window, and returned to bed without seeing her, which was no small affliction to his soul: he had an ill night of it, and fancied a thousand tormenting things; that the old gentleman might then be with her; and if alone, what might he not persuade, by force of rich presents, of which his uncle was well stored; and so he guessed, and as he guessed it proved, as by his next night's letter he was informed, that the old lover no sooner saw Sylvia retire, but having in mind to try his fortune in some critical minute—for such a minute he had heard there was that favoured lovers; but he goes to his closet, and taking out some jewels of great value, to make himself the more welcome, he goes directly to Sylvia's chamber, and entered just as she had taken up Octavio's letter, and clapped it in her bosom as she heard some body at the door; but was not in a little confusion, when she saw who it was, which she excused, by telling him she was surprised to find herself with a man in her chamber. That there he fell to pleading his cause of love, and offered her again to settle his estate upon her, and implored she would be his wife. After a thousand faint denials, she told him she could not possibly receive that honour, but if she could, she would have looked upon it as a great favour from heaven; at that he was thunder-struck, and looked as ghastly as if his mother's ghost had frightened him; and after much debate, love and grief on his side, design and dissimulation on hers, she gave him hopes that atoned for all she had before said; insomuch that, before they parted, an absolute bargain was struck up, and he was to settle part of his estate upon her, as also that villa, to which he had resolved in two days to carry her; in earnest of this, he presents her with a necklace of pearl of good value, and other jewels, which was the best rhetoric he had yet spoke to her; and now she had appeared the most complaisant lady in the world, she suffers him to talk wantonly to her, nay, even to kiss her, and rub his grizzly beard on her divine face, grasp her hands, and touch her breast; a blessing he had never before arrived to, above the quality of his own servant-maid. To all which she makes the best resistance she can, under the circumstances of one who was to deceive well; and while she loathes, she seems well pleased, while the gay jewels sparkled in her eyes, and Octavio in her heart; so fond is youth of vanities, and to purchase an addition of beauty at any price. Thus with her pretty flatteries she wrought upon his soul, and smiled and looked him into faith; loath to depart, she sends him pleased away, and having her heart the more inclined to Octavio, by being persecuted with his uncle's love, (for by comparison she finds the mighty difference) she sets herself to write him the account of what I have related; this night's adventure, and agreement between his uncle and herself. She tells him that to-morrow, (for now it was almost day,) she had promised him to go to his villa: she tells him at what rate she has purchased the blessing expected; and lastly, leaves the management of the rest to him, who needs not to be instructed. This letter he received the next night at the old place, and Sylvia with it lets down a velvet night-bag, which contained all the jewels and things of value she had received of himself, his uncle, or any other: after which he retired, and was pretty well at ease, with the imagination he should 'ere long be made happy in the possession of Sylvia: in order to it, the next morning he was early up, and dressing himself in a great coarse campaign-coat of the gardener's, putting up his hair as well as he could, under a country hat, he got on a horse that suited his habit, and rides to the villa, whither they were to come, and which he knew perfectly well every room of; for there our hero was born. He went to a little cabaret in the village, from whence he could survey all the great house, and see every body that passed in and out: he remained fixed at the window, filled with a thousand agitations; this he had resolved, not to set upon the old man as a thief, or robber; nor could he find in his heart or nature, to injure him, though but in a little affrighting him, who had given him so many anxious hours, and who had been so unjust to desire that blessing himself he would not allow him; and to believe that virtue in himself, which he exclaims against as so great a vice in his nephew; nevertheless he resolved to deceive him, to save his own life. And he wanted that nice part of generosity, as to satisfy a little unnecessary lust in an old man, to ruin the eternal content of a young one, so nearly allied to his soul, as was his own dear proper person. While he was thus considering, he saw his uncle's coach coming, and Sylvia with that doting lover in it, who was that day dressed in all the fopperies of youth, and every thing was young and gay about him but his person; that was winter itself, disguised in artificial spring; and he was altogether a mere contradiction: but who can guess the disorders and pantings of Octavio's heart at the sight? And though he had resolved before, he would not to save his life, lay violent hands upon his old parent; yet at their approach, at their presenting themselves together before his eyes as two lovers, going to betray him to all the miseries, pangs and confusions of love; going to possess—her, the dear object and certain life of his soul, and he the parent of him, to whom she had disposed of herself, so entirely already, he was provoked to break from all his resolutions, and with one of those pistols he had in his pockets, to have sent unerring death to his old amorous heart; but that thought was no sooner born than stifled in his soul, where it met with all the sense of gratitude, that ever could present the tender love and dear care of a parent there; and the coach passing into the gate put him upon new designs, and before they were finished he saw Sylvia's page coming from the house, after seeing his lady to her apartment, and being shewed his own, where he laid his valise and riding things, and was now come out to look about a country, where he had never been before. Octavio goes down and meets him, and ventures to make himself known to him: and so infinitely glad was the youth to have an opportunity to serve him, that he vowed he would not only do it with his life, on occasion, but believed he could do it effectually, since the old gentleman had no sort of jealousy now; especially, since they had so prudently managed matters in this time of his lady's remaining at Sebastian's house. 'So that, sir, it will not be difficult,' says the generous boy, 'for me to convey you to my lodging, when it is dark.' He told him his lady cast many a longing look out towards the road, as she passed, 'for you, I am sure, my lord;—for she had told both myself and Antonet of her design before, lest our surprise or resistance should prevent any force you might use on the road, to take her from my lord Sebastian: she sighed, and looked on me as she alighted, with eyes, my lord, that told me her grief, for your disappointment.'

You may easily imagine how transported the poor Octavio was; he kissed and embraced the amiable boy a thousand times; and taking a ring from his finger of considerable value, gave it the dear reviver of his hopes. Octavio already knew the strength of the house, which consisted but of a gardener, whose wife was house-keeper, and their son who was his father's servant in the garden, and their daughter, who was a sort of maid-servant: and they had brought only the coachman, and one footman, who were likely to be merrily employed in the kitchen at night when all got to supper together. I say, Octavio already knew this, and there was now nothing that opposed his wishes: so that dismissing the dear boy, he remained the rest of the tedious day at the cabaret, the most impatient of night of any man on earth; and when the boy appeared, it was like the approach of an angel. He told him, his lady was the most melancholy creature that ever eyes beheld, and that to conceal the cause, she had feigned herself ill, and had not stirred from her chamber all the day: that the old lover was perpetually with her, and the most concerned dotard that ever Cupid enslaved: that he had so wholly taken up his lady with his disagreeable entertainment, that it was impossible either by a look or note to inform her of his being so near her, whom she considered as her present defender, and her future happiness. 'But this evening,' continued the youth, 'as I was waiting on her at supper, she spied the ring on my finger, which, my lord, your bounty made me master of this morning. She blushed a thousand times, and fixed her eyes upon it for she knew it, and was impatient to have asked me some questions, but contained her words: and after that, I saw a joy dance in her lovely eyes, that told me she divined you were not far from thence. Therefore I beseech your lordship let us haste.' So both went out together, and the page conducted him into a chamber he better knew than the boy, while every moment he receives intelligence, how affairs went in that of Sylvia's by the page, who leaving Octavio there went out as a spy for him. In fine, with much ado, Sylvia persuaded her old lover to urge her for no favours that night, for she was indisposed and unfit for love; yet she persuades with such an air, so smiling, and insinuating, that she increases the fire, she endeavoured to allay: but he, who was all obedience, as well as new desire, resolves to humour her, and shew the perfect gallantry of his love; he promises her she shall command: and after that never was the old gentleman seen in so excellent a humour before in the whole course of his life; a certain lightning against a storm that must be fatal to him.

He was no sooner gone from her, with a promise to go to bed and sleep, that he might be the earlier up to shew her the fine gardens, which she loved, but she sends Antonet to call the page, from whom she longed to know something of Octavio, and was sure he could inform her. But she was undressing while she spoke, and got into her bed before she left her: but Antonet, instead of bringing the sighing youth, brought the transported and ravished Octavio, who had by this time pulled his coarse campaign, and put down his hair. He fell breathless with joy on her bed-side; when Antonet, who knew that love desired no lookers-on, retired, and left Octavio almost dead with joy, in the clasping arms of the trembling maid, the lovely Sylvia. Oh, who can guess their satisfaction? Who can guess their sighs and love, their tender words, half stifled in kisses? Lovers! fond lovers! only can imagine; to all besides, this tale will be insipid. He now forgets where he is, that not far off lay his amorous uncle, that to be found there was death, and something worse; but wholly ravished with the languishing beauty, taking his pistols out of either pocket, he lays them on a dressing-table, near the bed-side, and in a moment throws off his clothes, and gives himself up to all the heaven of love, that lay ready to receive him there, without thinking of any thing, but the vast power of either's charms. They lay and forgot the hasty hours, but old Sebastian did not. They were all counted by him with the impatience of a lover: he burnt, he raged with fierce desire, and tossed from side to side, and found no ease; Sylvia was present in imagination, and he like Tantalus reaches at the food, which, though in view, is not within his reach: he would have prayed, but he had no devotion for any deity but Sylvia; he rose and walked and went to bed again, and found himself uneasy every way. A thousand times he was about to go, and try what opportunity would do, in the dark silent night—but fears her rage—he fears she will chide at least; then he resolves, and unresolves as fast: unhappy lover—thus to blow the fire when there was no materials to supply it; at last, overcome with fierce desire too violent to be withstood, or rather fate would have it so ordained, he ventures all, and steals to Sylvia's chamber, believing, when she found him in her arms, she could not be displeased; or if she were, that was the surest place of reconciliation: so that only putting his night-gown about him, he went softly to her chamber for fear of waking her: the unthinking lovers had left open the door, so that it was hardly put to; and the first alarm was Octavio's hand being seized, which was clasping his treasure. He starts from the frighted arms of Sylvia, and leaping from the bed would have escaped; for he knew too well the touch of that old hand; but Sebastian, wholly surprised at so robust a repulse, took most unfortunately a stronger hold, and laying both his hands roughly upon him, with a resolution to know who he was, for he felt his hair; and Octavio struggling at the same minute to get from him, they both fell against the dressing-table, and threw down the pistols; in their fall, one of which going off, shot the unfortunate old lover into the head, so that he never spoke word more: at the going off of the pistol, Sylvia, who had not minded those Octavio laid on the table, cried out—'Oh my Octavio!' 'My dearest charmer,' replied he, 'I am well——'and feeling on the dead body, which he wondered had no longer motion, he felt blood flowing round it, and sighing cried—'Ah Sylvia! I am undone—my uncle—oh my parent——speak, dear sir! what unlucky accident has done this fatal deed?' Sylvia, who was very soft by nature, was extremely surprised, and frightened at the news of a dead man in her chamber, so that she was ready to run mad with the apprehension of it: she raved and tore herself, and expressed her fright in cries and distraction; so that Octavio was compelled from one charitable grief to another. He goes to her and comforts her, and tells, since it is by no design of either of them, their innocence will be their guardian angel. He tells her, all their fault was love, which made him so heedlessly fond of joys with her, he stayed to reap those when he should have secured them by flight. He tells her this is now no place to stay in, and that he would put on her clothes, and fly with her to some secure part of the world; 'For who,' said he,'that finds this poor unfortunate here, will not charge his death on me, or thee?——Haste then, my dearest maid, haste, haste, and let us fly——' So dressing her, he led her into Antonet's chamber, while he went to see which way they could get out. So locking the chamber-door where the dead body lay, which by this time was stiff and cold, he locked that also of his uncle's chamber, and calling the page, they all got themselves ready; and putting two horses in the coach, they unseen and unperceived got themselves all out: the servants having drank hard at their meeting in the country last night, were all too sound asleep to understand any thing of what passed. It being now about the break of day, Octavio was the coachman, and the page riding by the coach-side, while Sylvia and Antonet were in it, they in an hour's time reached the town, where Octavio packed up all that was carriageable; took his own coach and six horses; left his affairs to the management of a kinsman, that dwelt with him, took bills to the value of two thousand pounds, and immediately left the town, after receiving some letters that came last night by the post, one of which was from Philander; and indeed, this new grief upon Octavio's soul, made him the most dejected and melancholy man in the world, insomuch that he, who never wept for any thing but for love, was often found with tears rolling down his cheeks, at the remembrance of an accident so deplorable, and of which, he and his unhappy passion was the cause, though innocently: yet could not the dire reflection of that, nor the loss of so tender a parent as was Sebastian, lessen one spark of that fire for Sylvia, whose unfortunate flame had been so fatal. While they were safe out of danger, the servants of Sebastian admired when ten, eleven and twelve o'clock was come, they saw neither the old lord, nor any of the new guests. But when the coachman missed his coach and horses, he was in a greater maze, and thought some body had stolen them, and accusing himself of sluggishness and debauchery, that made him not able to hear, when the coach went out, he forswore all drinking: but when the house-keeper and he met, and discoursed about the lady and the rest, they concluded, that the old gentleman and she were agreed upon the matter; and being got to bed together had quite forgot themselves; and made a thousand roguish remarks upon them. They believed the maid and the page too, were as well employed, since they saw neither. But when dinner was ready, she went up to the maid's chamber and found it empty, as also that of the page; her heart then presaging something, she ventures to knock at her lord's chamber-door, but finding it locked, and none answer, they broke it open; and after doing the same by that of Sylvia, they found the poor Sebastian stretched on the floor, and shot in the head, the toilet pulled almost down, and the lock of the pistol hanging in the point of the toilet entangled, and the muzzle of it just against the wound. At first, when they saw him, they fancied Sylvia might kill him, for either offering to come to bed to her in the night, or some other malicious end. But when they saw how the pistol lay, they fancied it accident in the dark; 'For,' said the woman—'I and my daughter have been up ever since day-break, and I am sure no such thing happened then, nor could they since escape:' and it being natural in Holland to cry, 'Loop Schellum', that is, 'Run rogue', to him that is alive, and who has killed another; and for every man to set a helping hand to bear him out of danger, thinking it too much that one is already dead: I say, this being the nature of the people, they never pursued the murderers, or fled persons, but suffered Sebastian to lie till the coroner sat upon him, who found it, or at least thought it accident; and there was all for that time. But this, with all the reasonable circumstances, did not satisfy the States. Here is one of their high and mighties killed, a fair lady fled, and upon inquiry a fine young fellow too, the nephew: all knew they were rivals in this fair lady; all knew there were animosities between them; all knew Octavio was absconded some days before; so that, upon consideration, they concluded he was murdered by compact; and the rather, because they wished it so in spite of Octavio; and because both he and Sylvia were fled like guilty persons. Upon this they made a seizure of both his, and his uncle's estate, to the use of the States. Thus the best and most glorious man, that ever graced that part of the world, was undone by love. While Sylvia with sighs and tears would often say that sure she was born the fate of all that adored her, and no man ever thrived that had a design upon her, or a pretension to her.

Thus between excess of grief and excess of love, which indeed lay veiled in the first, they arrived at Brussels; where Octavio, having news of the proceedings of the States against him, resolving rather to lose his life, than tamely to surrender his right, he went forth in order to take some care about it: and in these extremes of a troubled mind, he had forgot to read Philander's letters, but gave them to Sylvia to peruse, till he returned, beseeching and conjuring her, by all the charms of love, not to suffer herself to be afflicted, but now to consider she was wholly his; and she could not, and ought not to rob him of a sigh, or tear for any other man. For they had concluded to marry, as soon as Sylvia should be delivered from that part of Philander, of which she was possessed. Therefore beholding her entirely his own, of whom he was so fondly tender, he could not endure the wind should blow on her, and kiss her lovely face: jealous of even the air she breathed, he was ever putting her in mind, of whose and what she was; and she ever giving him new assurances, that she was only Octavio's. The last part of his ill news he concealed from her; that of the usage of the States. He was so entirely careful of her fame, that he had two lodgings, one most magnificent for her, another for himself; and only visited her all the live-long day. And being now retired from her, she whose love and curiosity grew less every day, for the false Philander, opened his letter with a sigh of departed love, and read this.

Philander to Octavio.

Sure of your friendship, my dear Octavio, I venture to lay before you the history of my misfortunes, as well as those of my joys, equally extreme.

In my last, I gave you an account how triumphing a lover I was, in the possession of the adorable Calista; and how very near I was being surprised in the fountain, where I had hid myself from the rage of old Clarinau; and escaped wet and cold to my lodging: and though indeed I escaped, it was not without giving the old husband a jealousy, which put him upon inquiry, after a stricter manner, as I heard the next day from Calista; but with as ill success as the night before; notwithstanding it appears, by what after happened, that he still retained his jealousy, and that of me, from a thousand little inquiries I had from time to time made, from my being now absent, and most of all from my being, (as now he fancied) that vision, which Calista saw in the garden. All these circumstances wrought a thousand conundrums, in his Spanish politic noddle: and he resolves that Calista's actions should be more narrowly watched. This I can only guess from what ensued. I am not able to say, by what good fortune, I escaped several happy nights after the first, but it is certain I did so; for the old man carrying all things fair to the lovely Countess, she thought herself secure in her joys hitherto, as to any discovery: however, I never went on this dear adventure but I was well armed against any mishaps, of poniard, sword, and pistol, that garb of a right Spaniard. Calista had been married above two years, before I beheld her, and had never been with child: but it so chanced, that she conceived the very first night of our happiness; since which time, not all her flatteries and charms, could prevail for one night with the old Count: for, whether from her seeming fondness he imagined the cause, or what other reason he had to withstand her desire and caresses, I know not: but still he found, or feigned some excuses to put her off: so that Calista's pleas and love increased with her growing belly. And though almost every night I had the fair, young charmer in bed with me, (without the least suspicion on Dormina's side) or, else in the arbours, or on flowery banks in the garden; till I am confident there was not a walk, a grove, an arbour, or bed of sweets, that was not conscious of our stolen delights; nay, we grew so very bold in love, that we often suffered the day to break upon us; and still escaped his spies, who by either watching at the wrong door, or part of the vast garden, or by sleepiness, or carelessness, still let us pass their view. Four happy months, thus blessed, and thus secured, we lived, when Calista could no longer conceal her growing shame, from the jealous Clarinau, or Dormina. She feared, with too much reason, that it was jealousy, which made him refrain her bed, though he dissembled well all day; and one night, weeping in my bosom, with all the tenderness of love, she said, that if I loved her, as she hoped I did, I should be shortly very miserable: 'For oh,' cries she, 'I can no longer hide this——dear effect of my stolen happiness——and Clarinau will no sooner perceive my condition, but he will use his utmost rigour against me; I know his jealous nature, and find I am undone——' With that she told me how he had killed his first wife; for which he was obliged to fly from the Court, and country of Spain: and that she found from all his severity, he was not changed from his nature. In fine, she said and loved so much, that I was wholly charmed, and vowed myself her slave, or sacrifice, either to follow what she could propose, or fall a victim with her to my love. After which it was concluded, (neither having a mind to leave the world, when we both knew so well how to make ourselves happy in it) that the next night I should bring her a suit of men's clothes; and she would in that disguise fly with me to any part of the world. For she vowed, if this unlucky force of flying had not happened to her, she had not been longer able to endure his tyranny and slavery; but had resolved to break her chain, and put herself upon any fortune. So that after the usual endearments on both sides, I left her, resolved to follow my fortune, and she me, to sacrifice all to her repose. That night, and all next day, she was not idle; but put up all her jewels, of which she had the richest of any lady in all those parts; for in that the old Count was over-lavish: and the next night I brought her a suit, which I had made that day on purpose, as gay as could be made in so short a time; and scaling my wall, well armed, I found her ready at the door to receive me; and going into an arbour, by the aid of a dark-lanthorn I carried, she dressed her in a laced shirt of mine, and this suit I had brought her, of blue velvet, trimmed with rich loops and buttons of gold; a white hat, and white feather; a fair peruke, and scarlet breeches, the rest suitable. And I must confess to you, my dear Octavio, that never any thing appeared so ravishing, and yet I have seen Sylvia! But even she a baby to this more noble figure. Calista is tall, and fashioned the most divinely—the most proper for that dress of any of her sex: and I own I never saw any thing so beautiful all over, from head to foot: and viewing her thus, (carrying my lanthorn all about her) but more especially her face, her wondrous, charming face—(pardon me, if I say, what does but look like flattery)—I never saw any thing more resembling my dear Octavio, than the lovely Calista, Your very feature, your very smile and air; so that, if possible, that increased my adoration and esteem for her: thus completed, I armed her, and buckled on her sword, and she would needs have one of my pistols too, that stuck in my belt; and now she appeared all lovely man. It was so late by that time we had done, that the moon, which began to shine very bright, gave us a thousand little fears, and disposing her jewels all about us safe, we began our adventure, with a thousand dreadful apprehensions on Calista's side. And going up the walk, towards the place where we were to mount the wall, just at the end of it, turning a corner, we encountered two men, who were too near us to be prevented. 'Oh,' cried Calista to me, who saw them first,—'My dear Philander, we are undone!' I looked and saw them, and replied, 'My charmer, do not fear, they are but two to two, whoever they be; for love and I shall be of force enough to encounter them.' 'No, my Philander,' replied she briskly, 'it is I will be your second in this rencounter.' At this approaching them more near, (for they hasted to us, nor could we fly from them,) we soon found by his hobbling, that old Clarinau was one, and the other a tall Spaniard, his nephew. I clapped my hair under my hat, and both of us making a stand, we resolved, if they durst not venture on us, to let them pass——but Clarinau, who was on that side which faced Calista, cried, 'Ah villain, have I caught thee!' and at the same instant with a poniard stabbed her into the arm; for with a sudden turn she evaded it from her heart, to which it was designed. At which, repaying his compliment, she shot off her pistol, and down he fell, crying out for a priest; while I, at the same time, laid my tall boy at his feet. I caught my dear virago in my arms, and hasted through the garden with her, and was very hasty in mounting the ladder, putting my fair second before me, without so much as daring yet to ask her, if she were wounded, lest it should have hindered our flight, if I had found her hurt: nor knew I she was so, till I felt her warm precious blood, streaming on my face, as I lifted her over the wall; but I soon conveyed her into my new lodgings, yet not soon enough to secure her from those that pursued us. For with their bawling they alarmed some of the servants, who looking narrowly for the murderers, tracked us by Calista's, blood, which they saw with their flambeaus, from the place where Clarinau, and his nephew lay, to the very wall; and thinking from our wounds we could not escape far, they searching the houses, found me dressing Calista's wound, which I kissed a thousand times. But the matchless courage of the fair virago! the magnanimity of Calista's soul! Nothing of foolish woman harboured there, nothing but softest love; for whilst I was raving mad, tearing my hair and cursing my fate in vain, she had no concern but for me; no pain but that of her fear of being taken from me, and being delivered to old Clarinau, whom I feared was not dead; nor could the very seizing her, daunt her spirits, but with an unmatched fortitude she bore it all; she only wished she could have escaped without bloodshed. We were both led to prison, but none knew who we were; for those that seized us, had by chance never seen me, and Calista's habit secured the discovery. While we both remained there, we had this comfort of being well lodged together; for they did not go about to part us, being in for one crime. And all the satisfaction she had, was, that she should, she hoped, die concealed, if she must die for the crime; and that was much a greater joy, than to think she should be rendered back to Clarinau, who in a few days we heard was upon his recovery. This gave her new fears; but I confess to you, I was not afflicted at it; nor did I think it hard for me to bribe Calista off; for the master of the prison was very civil and poor, so that with the help of some few of Calista's, jewels, he was wrought upon to let her escape, I offering to remain, and bear all the brunt of the business, and to pay whatever he could be fined for it. These reasons, with the ready jewels, mollified the needy rascal; and though loath she were to leave me, yet she being assured that all they could do was but to fine me, and her stay she knew was her inevitable ruin, at last submitted, leaving me sufficient in jewels to satisfy for all that could happen, which were the value of a hundred thousand crowns. She is fled to Brussels, to a nunnery of Augustines, where the Lady Abbess is her aunt, and where for a little time she is secure, till I can follow her.