 I, when it has given us but one moment to ourselves? Oh, Leices∣ter! you have hitherto found me a tender, anxious, fearful woman; but alas, I knew not till now the powers of my own soul— Abhorrent of shame and dishonour, it tempts me to the most desperate deeds; if your's is indeed congenial, it surely un∣derstands me; assume a Roman courage, and save thy wife, thy spotless wife, from horrible pollution." "So much I ago∣nize at the idea, cried Lord Leicester, that were these hands free, perhaps—" "and mine too, added I, feeble as they are, alike are bound; yet surely despair will give me strength to loose them." The violent efforts I made at last broke the slight thong they thought more than sufficient to confine one in my feeble state, and encouraged by my success, I sought Lord Leicester. At the moment I re∣stored his liberty, I half revived, while the sole use the tender Leicester could make of his arms, was to press me a

thousand times to his swelled heart, which almost burst with sobbing. I struggled against all the sad tenderness which throb∣bed at mine. "Oh, think no more of love, cried I with increasing heroism, it has given place to death—to worse than death—rather imagine you hear this dun∣geon once more open,"—"But can I lift that hand, which pledged it self for thy protection, against thy life, thy pre∣cious life? groaned he—can I deface that angel form, which still illumes my soul through all these complicated horrors? And oh, our dear unborn! for whom we gladly suffered, can I, can I, destroy it?" "Think, think my Life, returned I, we have perhaps this only moment—had these wretches left any means of death in my own hands, do you imagine I would supplicate it from yours? Strangle me now, while darkness favours. Your wife demands of you this final proof of love and courage; her's will at least vie with it; no groan, no struggle, shall issue from a heart which then will return innocent to that dust from which it sprung, devoted

alone to the adored husband with whose image it is doubly inhabited." "Oh, matchless, matchless woman! cried my Lord, flooding my cheek with tears of generous anguish; never, never, can it be; my sinews relax to childhood; your unhoped-for fortitude totally subdues mine, and melts my soul to woman's weakness.—Oh! thou who gavest me
