FRANCESCA CARRARA.
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tion is around you now, and the care of a still more tender fondness."
She rose, and put her hands into his. "When death," said she, in a voice that sounded like strange sweet music in the silence, "calls upon me to deliver up my soul, I cannot yield it more utterly than I now do to you."
A sudden noise of hurrying steps came upon the air—the red glare of torches disturbed the silvery quiet of the moonbeam—dark faces lowered upon them—and two men, by a rapid movement, secured each an arm of Evelyn, as a harsh voice exclaimed, "Stand, on your life!—you are my prisoner!"
