pon his couch and could not close his eyes. At
length, however, he managed to calm himself somewhat and was just
sinking into a sort of half slumber when he was suddenly roused by a
wild, far echoing cry that caused him to leap instantly from his bed.
The cry was a woman's, and he thought he recognized the voice, of
Annunziata Solara. A second's thought seemed to satisfy him on this
point, for the flower-girl was the only female in the vicinity and the
voice was certainly hers; but it sounded from a distance, without the
cabin, and this fact bewildered him. Promptly old Solara's conduct
returned to his mind, and instinctively he connected the morose shepherd
with the cry and whatever was happening. The young man had not removed
his garments; it was, therefore, only the work of an instant for him to
grasp his pistol, which he kept loaded beneath his pillow, and rush from
the hut in the direction of the cry, which had been repeated, but was
growing fainter and fainter.

As he emerged from the cabin, he heard a shot echo through the forest,
and almost immediately a man rushed into his arms, bleeding profusely
from a gaping wound in the temple. The night was moonless and dark, but
in the feeble and uncertain light Esperance recognized Lorenzo.

"My sister--my sister--poor Annunziata!" the young peasant gasped,
painfully. "Your friend--abducted--gone! Oh! my God!" and he sank to the
ground an unconscious mass, quivering in the final agonies of
dissolution.

Esperance was horror-stricken. Annunziata abducted by Giovanni! He could
draw no other conclusion from the young peasant's broken exclamations!
Lorenzo slain, too, and doubtlessly also by the impetuous Viscount's
hand! Oh! it was horrible!--it was almost beyond belief! He bent over
Lorenzo's prostrate form, straightened it out and felt in the region of
the heart; there was no beat; it was as he had divined--Annunziata's
manly and generous brother was dead--the victim of a cowardly,
treacherous assassin--and that assassin!--oh! he could not think of it
and retain his faith in men!

Esperance left Lorenzo's corpse lying upon the sward, and, pistol in
hand, started forward to go to Annunziata's aid, to rescue her from her
dastardly abductor, if it lay within his power to do so. He reached the
forest and plunged into its sombre depths. Scarcely had he gone twenty
feet when a man carrying a flaming torch rushed wildly by him, in his
shirt sleeves, hatless, his short, thick