rant's horror and distress on discovering that this unfortunate nun was Marcelline. He instantly flew to her assistance, and fiercely commanded the soldier to release her, but as the ruffian refused to relinquish his prize, he unhesitatingly cut him down, and bore her off, hoping to find some safe asylum for her. But there was no place of refuge to be found in Saint Peter's on that terrible day. While he was gazing around in fearful anxiety, trying to soothe her, the Spanish soldier, whom he had wounded, approached them unawares, and plunged his poniard in her breast, exclaiming as he struck the vengeful blow,

"If she cannot be mine, she shall not be yours."

Having consummated this atrocious act, the wretch fell on the pavement.

Half maddened, and scarcely knowing what he did, covered with the blood of her for whom he would have shed his own heart's blood, Pomperant hurried with her to a side-chapel, which, having been pillaged and stripped, was now deserted. He saw that the wound she had received was mortal, and that she had not many minutes to live, and sitting down on a marble bench, held her in his arms.

"Marcelline!" he exclaimed, in tones of deepest anguish. "Speak to me-one word!"

She opened her eyes, and gazed tenderly at him.

"Farewell, dear Pomperant," she said. "At this moment I may confess that I have ever loved you; but as we must have been separated on earth, my death need not afflict you."

"Our parting will be brief," said Pomperant. "I shall soon join you in heaven. I shall know no more earthly happiness."

"If we are to meet again in regions of bliss, Pomperant," she said, "you must win Heaven's forgiveness for your share in this dreadful day by years of penitence. Think of my words, Pomperant-neglect them not!"

As he pressed her distractedly to his breast, a tremor passed through her frame, and she was gone.

So acute was his anguish, that he could scarcely refrain from plunging his sword into his own breast, and dying beside her.

We must drop a veil over the horrors of the sack of Rome, which endured without interruption for two months. Never in the history of the world was a city abandoned to such frightful licence.

Bourbon found a place of sepulture in the chapel of the Castle of Gaeta, where a magnificent monument was reared over him by his soldiers.

THE END.

A VISION OF LOVELINESS SEEN BY A YACHTSMAN, AND THE EFFECT IT PRODUCED ON HIM.

"HA! ha! ha! And so, my dear fellow, you really have fallen in love with this little piece of perfection, whom you met on board the steamer crossing from Stoke's Bay to Ryde Pier in a voyage of twenty minutes' duration, according to the railroad time-tables and other authoritative documents, and you hadn't set eyes on her before, nor have you since, and don't know where she's gone, or who she is or what she is, except that she was well dressed, refined in her manner, had a sweet voice, and walked the plank from the steamer to the slippery steps of the pier-head, up which you stood ready to hand her, with unsurpassable grace and elegance, and that then she vanished amid the gay, and laughing, and sauntering, and health-seeking and time-killing throng, while you went to look after her luggage, or your own, or I forget how that was!"

"No, no, Trounsell, you haven't got quite the right story," said Dick Everheart, on board whose schooner, the Dora, the conversation now described took place one evening as she lay becalmed midway between the Channel Islands and the Wight, while the two friends sat on deck, enjoying the primest of prime cigars, for of course such alone all yachtsmen smoke, and some light French wine, which the wiser ones also imbibe in preference to stronger liquor, especially in the dogdays. "No, no, Jack; I had a better opportunity of judging of her than you suppose," continued Everheart. "In the first place, I saw her on the platform at Fareham, to which station she was driven up in a very elegant open carriage by an elderly lady with a groom behind it; then I sat opposite to her in the carriage to Stoke's Bay-ten minutes by my watch-ha! and talked the whole time, or let her talk, and handed her out of the carriage. The way in which she rested her hand in mine on that occasion spoke volumes. I can always tell a lady in that very act alone. If she clutches at my hand as if it was a banister, and comes with a flump down on the platform, I am pretty sure that she is not of the first water. My fair unknown, on the contrary, made use of my hand, and yet scarcely touched it, and alighted on the platform as a lark, after soaring high in air to delight the upper world with its melody, pitches once more on the spray of a hawthorn-bush."

"Ha! ha ha! Dick, I cannot help laughing at your poetical similes. How can you tell that your fair unknown is not married ?" "I am certain that she is not, because I heard the groom who

VOL. LX.

brought her things to the carriage call her Miss. Besides, her glove fitted to perfection, and I could see no mark of a ring under it."

"Perhaps she may have dispensed with that article," suggested Trounsell, in a tone which made Everheart very indignant.

"No; I tell you that I am as sure as I am of my existence that she is a lady in every sense of the word-by birth and education, beautiful, young, and innocent!" he exclaimed. "Dear me, what do you think has become of my eyes and judgment, if I cannot tell what a woman is if I have the chance of even five minutes' conversation with her ?"

"All that is granted, then. But how can you tell that she is amiable and right principled? A lady when travelling, especially when making a short trip, and there is nothing to ruffle her temper, puts on courteous manners with her elegant costume de voyage. Many a poor fellow has been awfully sold who has trusted to outward appearances on such occasions. I would not advise you to do that," said Trounsell.

"No, of course not," answered Everheart. "I only wish to find out who she is, that I may make further inquiries. If I find that I have been mistaken, I will give up the pursuit'; but if I hear a favourable report, I purpose following it up with all earnestness."

"Alack! And do you really intend, my dear fellow, to give up your freedom-to turn Benedict-to marry ?" cried Trounsell, in a tone of pretended commiseration.

"So I have resolved," said Everheart, firmly. "But I confess that, as I have more than once in my existence made a similar resolution, and had cause to alter my intentions, I can allow you some ground for hoping that I may, after all, be turned aside from my purpose. However, the sooner we can reach Ryde the more speedily I shall be able to bring the matter to an issue. I wish the breeze would come."

In vain, however, the two gentlemen, when they had finished their cigars, got up and whistled; in vain the skipper and his mate did the same; in vain the crew forward imitated their example-the sails continued to flap lazily as before against the masts, and the water to splash back from the sides, as the graceful craft rolled slowly in the swells, which rose silently ever and anon under her keel.

"It

"What a horrid bore this is!" exclaimed the young owner of the yacht, getting up and walking the deck with impatient steps. would be a heavy pull for the men, or I would order the gig away, and we should reach Shanklin in a few hours. From thence I could get on to Ryde by the railway."

"And find that a breeze sprang up soon after you had left the yacht, and that she got in before you," said Trounsell. "No, nodon't leave her; stick to the ship, whatever you do. But why don't you get a steamer? You would never then have to complain of calms."

"A steamer! What an unromantic idea!" said Everheart, in a tone of disgust.

"Very likely. So are turret-tower ships and iron-clads, but they are useful, notwithstanding-as far as engines of destruction can be called useful," observed Trounsell. "We may as well agree to banish romance from our ideas in this age of railways; and, in my opinion, it

must have been a most thoroughly uncomfortable thing when it did exist. I am very happy as I am with you aboard the Dora, becalmed as we are out here in mid-channel, but if you give me my choice between a steamer and sailing-vessel, cæteris paribus-that is to say, companions, provisions, wines, and cigars being equal, I should, without hesitation, select the steamer; such a craft as the Day Star, for instance-a thoroughly comfortable sea-going vessel; a little above two hundred tons, I think she is. Her owner is a sensible fellow ; he wouldn't be yawning out here, as we are, and complaining of a calm."

"I'll think about it, if I ever part with the Dora," said Everheart. "Or when you wed the fair unknown," observed Trounsell.

All that evening the calm continued. Several times during the night Dick put his head up the companion-hatch, when the answer he got was of the same tenor. "Not a hair in all the evens, sir;" or "The wind's all up and down the mast, sir;" or "There is a light breeze, sir, but it's just dead against us." As he lay tumbling about in his luxurious berth, he thought that he would get a steamer next season, especially if the fair unknown wished to have one. She would have a choice, for she had spoken knowingly about yachts. He was glad of that; he should not have abided a woman who could not distinguish between the Alarm or the Arrow and a collier or stonebarge, as was the case with some ladies he knew, who had, in consequence, been scratched off his list of desirables or possibles; not that he actually kept one, except in the tablets of his memory. At daybreak a steamer appeared in the horizon; she drew nearer and nearer; she was a yacht, but, as she showed no bunting, he could not tell what vessel she was, or he would have signalised and petitioned to be taken on board, as she was evidently bound inside the Isle of Wight, so great had become his impatience. Fortunately for yachting men of eager temperaments, calms do not last for ever, and at length a breeze sprang up, and carried the Dora round by St. Helen's to an anchorage off Ryde Pier.

CHAPTER II.

DESCRIBES THE SEARCH MADE BY THE YACHTSMAN FOR THE VISION OF LOVELINESS, AND ITS RESULTS.

THE friends lost no time in going on shore, via the pier, for their letters, Everheart eagerly looking out, first round and round the centre structure, and then along its entire length, for his fair unknown. Once or twice he saw a graceful figure at a distance, and made chase only to be disappointed, and much oftener Trounsell pointed out a lady, and inquired if he was sure that that was not her. Trounsell, indeed, managed to select every variety of form, and height, and costume, till Dick nearly lost his temper.

"Well, my dear fellow," said his friend, "I only wish to ascertain what she is not like, to facilitate the search I hope to assist you in making."

"Thank you. But surely none of the females you pointed out answered in any way to the description I gave you," said Dick.

Possibly not. But there's a lovely creature! Who can she be?" exclaimed Trounsell. "Can that be her ?"

Everheart looked eagerly in the direction his friend pointed, then, without saying word, started off at a rapid pace. He soon returned with a crestfallen look.

"Very strange," he muttered. "Wonderfully like her, yet not her. That lady did not know-evidently had never seen me before. I really think that she must be a sister or cousin. I have a great mind to watch where she goes. She may possibly lead the She may possibly lead the way to my unknown fair one."

"Come along, by all means," said Trounsell, who liked that sort of thing.

The lady in question, who had been talking with some acquaintances who had just come on to the pier, now with a companion passed through the gates, followed at a respectful distance by the two gentlemen, who tried to look unconscious that any one was before them. They followed through several streets, and, from their anxiety not to be seen, very nearly missing them several times, till the ladies entered the gate of a handsome villa, from which apparently a fine view of the sea towards Spithead could be obtained. Trounsell declared that the lady saw them, and turned an ill-omened frown of indignation towards them as she entered the gate. Everheart asserted that his friend was mistaken, and that he did not believe they were seen, and certainly if seen, that the lady had not frowned or expressed the sentiment of indignation in any way. He carefully noted the villa, remarking that he should soon ascertain who were the inhabitants. The friends had to go to the post-office and other places, after which it was time to return on board to dinner; indeed, at that hour there was little chance of meeting the lady of whom they were in search. The next morning, at an early hour, Everheart went on shore to make inquiries respecting the inhabitants of the villa. All he could learn at the postoffice was that they had been there about a fortnight, and that the name was Broadhurst.

"There are some Miss Broadhursts, I think ?" said Dick.

"Yes, sir," answered his informant; but was, of course, not inclined to be further communicative to a stranger.

Dick bethought him that at this hour tradesmen would be going to the villa for orders, and that from some of them he might gain some of the information so much desired. He watched two or three leaving the gate, and, as they got up to where he was standing, he inquired of each of them if they could tell him where a Mr. and Mrs. Broadhurst lived; and then, as if in doubt whether that could be the family be was in search of, he asked of whom the family consisted, and learned that there might be two Miss Broadhursts, but that there were certainly other young ladies staying with them, and that they saw a good deal of company. This was so far satisfactory, that it gave him hopes that they might have some mutual acquaintances through whom he might be introduced to them. In vain, however, he waited in the hopes of seeing some of the family leave the house. At last he rejoined his friend, and told him what he had learned.

"Which just amounts to this, my dear fellow-that, after all your