dward Templemore had watched from his vessel, with an
eager and painful curiosity, the motions of the schooner--her running on
the rocks, and the subsequent actions of the intrepid marauders. The
long telescope enabled him to perceive distinctly all that passed, and
his feelings were increased into a paroxysm of agony when his straining
eyes beheld the white and fluttering habiliments of a female for a
moment at the gunwale of the stranded vessel--her descent, as it
appeared to him, nothing loth, into the boat--the arms held out to
receive, and the extension of hers to meet those offered. Could it be
Clara? Where was the reluctance, the unavailing attempts at resistance,
which should have characterised her situation? Excited by feelings which
he dared not analyse, he threw down his glass, and, seizing his sword,
sprang into his boat, which was ready manned alongside, desiring the
others to follow him. For once, and the only time in his existence when
approaching the enemy, did he feel his heart sink within him--a cold
tremor ran through his whole frame, and as he called to mind the loose
morals and desperate habits of the pirates, horrible thoughts entered
his imagination. As he neared the shore, he stood up in the stern-sheets
of the boat, pale, haggard, and with trembling lips; and the intensity
of his feelings would have been intolerable but for a more violent
thirst for revenge. He clenched his sword, while the quick throbs of his
heart seemed, at every pulsation, to repeat to him his thoughts of
blood! blood! blood! He approached the small bay, and perceived that
there was a female at the mouth of the cave--nearer and nearer, and he
was certain that it was his Clara--her name was on his lips when he
heard the two shots fired one after another by Hawkhurst--he saw the
retreat and fall of Francisco--when, madness to behold! he perceived
Clara rush forward, and there lay the young man supported by her, and
with his head upon her bosom. Could he believe what he saw? could she
really be his betrothed? Yes, there she was, supporting the handsome
figure of a young man, and that man a pirate--she had even put her hand
into his vest, and was now watching over his reviving form. Edward could
bear no more; he covered his eyes, and now, maddened with jealousy, in a
voice of thunder he called out--

'Give way, my lads! for your lives, give way!'

The gig was within half a dozen strokes of the oar from the beach, and
Clara, unc