IT was about break of Day when our Pilgrim, impati­ent to be on the Territories of France, gets up to look about him, and to enquire what progress the Vessel had alrea­dy made in their Journey; for so long as he was on that fickle Ele­ment he thought himself unsafe, not knowing what new turn of Fortune might overtake him, and bring him back to visit his la [...] me­lancholik [Page 2]Lodgings: Besides, his happy and unexpected deliverance from a double Slavery, did appear to him so like a Dream, that he did still remain in some apprehen­sions of carrying along with him the worst of his afflictions. This made him to inquire of the Master of the Vessel, what other compa­ny there was with him: The Ma­ster told him, that there was none besides a Fryer of St. Dominick's Order; and a Woman: A Wo­man? replyed Camille, being strangely surpriz'd; then am I as miserable as ever, and find that I must never hope for any end to my misfortunes. Had you orders, continued he, to take in any other person besides my self? Sir, reply­ed the Master, the Father who hired it last night, did agree with me for the transporting of himself, and two other persons, and your self, the Father and that Woman make up that number, neither [Page 3]durst I take any more into my Bark, because of the Governours strict Orders, that I should imme­diately depart. Our Pilgrim was so troubled at what the Master had said, that holding down his Head, his Hat drawn over his Face, his Arms across, leaning on his Staff, with his Eyes fixed on the Deck, he stood as mute, as if he had been struck with Thunder; but while he appear'd so like a Statue outward­ly, his Heart was agitated within with such a Confusion of thoughts, as were the cause of his represen­ting so odd a Figure. Sometime he was thinking, what could be the reason that the wise Governour should give such strict Charge to the Marriners for his immediate de­parture, and yet be so negligent in the securing of his Wife from getting into the Felouqua with him: Then again it did very much surprize him, that Danna Barbara should change her mind as to her [Page 4]disguise, and hazzard her self in Womans Apparel; but then it came to his thoughts, that it was peradventure for her better security in case her Husband had been in­form'd of the dress which she had design'd to go in; and so by re­maining in womans Apparel, had cheated him the second time. By and by, again, his mind would be busied in making out, whether Fa­ther Andrew, and Donna Barbara were got into the Vessel, in order to go along with him, or that they believing him still a Prisoner in the red Tower, they had come thither to shelter themselves from the Governours present rage, and so had abandon'd him to the furi­ous passions that a jealous man of the Power and Authority that the Governour was, could employ in order to his ruin. If so▪ then of consequence, those orders that had been given to the Master as from the Governour, he did con­clude [Page 5]to be of their own fabrick, to hasten the departure of the Vessel, for fear of a surprisal. These, and many other confused notions pos­sessing his whole imagination; he remain'd unresolv'd, not know­ing what to conclude on: Once he was for discovering unto the Master, who that Fryer and that Woman were, which he had taken into his Vessel, and so persuade him that he would do the Governour a singu­lar piece of Service, in carrying them back to Barcellonna: But he thought that it would be very dif­cult for him to prevail with the Ma­ster, against the Governours positive Orders. Besides, if it should prove, that the two Passengers that were with him should not be the Father and the Governess, it would be a great disadvantage to himself to be carried back; he did believe that it was very unlikely, that at that time of the Night, and at such a Criti­cal moment, any other Fryer and [Page 6]Woman than them, could come so pat to embark themselves in that very Vessel that had been hired for them. This at last made him con­clude that the good Father and the Governours Wife were in the Fe­louqua with him, yet that perad­venture they might not know of his being there, which set him up­on the design of concealing himself, that he might get on shore with­out their knowledg of his being there. In this last resolution, he goes to the Master, and having dropt some Pistols into his hand, he whispered to him, that for some particular reasons he would lye con­cealed from the knowledge of those two persons that were with him, that therefore he would be convey­ed where he might remain unseen; till the rest were landed, and then that he would come to shore him­self. The Master having return'd his thanks, took Camille by the hand, and having conducted him into [Page 7]a little hole like a Cabin, he left him with an assurance that there he might lye as secure as he pleas'd.

The Wind was so favourable, as in a short time to convey them in view of Narbona, at which the Master of the Vessel cry'd out a­loud, that all might take notice of it; that who had a mind to go to shore, should begin to prepare for it. At these glad tidings, Fa­ther Andrew, who had lain all the while as still as a Dore-mouse, rises and goes to the Governess, telling her, that if she pleas'd to look forth, she might behold their wish'd for Harbour; but receiving no answer, he retired, conclu­ding her asleep, after her long Fatigue, and great Disasters. He gets upon the Deck and accosts the Master in this manner; Are you sure, said he, that that is Narbo­na? pointing at the City, and in the French Dominions: Yes, re­plyed the Master; at which good [Page 8]news, The Fryers countenance was chang'd from melancholy, to as serene, as was the Weather. In the opinion, that Donna Barba­ra was not come away empty hand­ed, he begins to build strange Castles in the Air, in his imagi­nation, making already a prise of her and of her Treasure; now that he did find himself, out of the Governours reach, and pass'd being controul'd by the abandoned Pil­grim in that height of thoughts, he has not patience to remain any longer mew'd up within the nar­row compass of a Boat, which made him to return unto the Lady, and intreat her to arise, and pre­pare to go to shore, but having no answer yet, he employs his hands, where the Darkness of the place did deprive him of the use of his Eyes, and finding that the Lady was not concern'd at his touch, he adventures further, and meets with her face, which finding [Page 9]warm and breathing, he descends Lower with the same hand, where finding her Breasts, he made bold with them. This free access, with­out the least repulse, did so embol­den our jolly Fryer, that he did adventure to convey his other hand lower, when on the suddain, he receiv'd a severe rebuke, accompa­nied with a thundring voice, and presently getting off of the Bed, she went to that little light that came in by the Door. The good Father, who had not been a little surpriz'd at the strangeness of the accident, believing that he had mistaken one place for another, was making to­wards the Door to retrieve his way, when he was seiz'd by the Arm, which put him to a stand, but had you seen in what a dreadful fear the poor Father was, when lifting up his Head, he espy'd a Face as black as any that ever came from the Af­frican shore; which looking on him with a pair of staring Eyes, cryed out in the same tone as be­fore, [Page 10]pressing his hand, you would never have forgot it.

You may easily imagin that the good Father Andrew at this Appa­rition, was not in any great hu­mour of making long compli­ments, on the contrary, he was so desirous to be gone from that black Companion, that running hastily out, he struck his Head with such a force against the Door frame, as did cast him backwards flat on his back in a swoon. The Moorish Woman seeing him lye speechless on the floor, weltring in his blood, did stoop to him, and setting up her voice, to call for help as well as she could, and to bemoan the poor Father; she be­gan to howl much after the manner of the Irish at their Funerals. At this hideous noise the Master run to learn what was the matter, which having seen, he presently went to Camille and told him that the Father was fallen backwards [Page 11]dead, he knew not by what acci­dent, and that there was no body with him, besides the Moorish Woman, which he had brought a­long with him the last night. Ca­mille learning by this, that Donna Barbara was not there, went to see what was the matter; he found the poor Father, as the master had told him, in a very sad pickle: He caus'd him to be taken up and brought in a Chair upon the Deck, in the open Air; and presently af­ter that the good Father had drank a little Wine, which was given him, he began to look about him, while Camille was gone to see who that Woman might be. He was not long before he learned of her, that she was Donna Barbara's Slave; who having engaged to be ready to go along with her Lady, and thinking the hour at hand; she had got to the appointed Post on the Port, whence in her obscurity of the Night she had been led into [Page 12]the Vessel, where she thought that her Lady was before dispos'd of.

While that this account had been given at one end of the Fe­loqua, Father Andrew at the other end having perceiv'd the Marriners flocking about him, he presently fancied that they were Men sent by the Governours orders to dispatch him, in that belief, the very ap­prehension of Death, though he seem'd half dead already, did make him cry out, that he was innocent, that he knew not where was Don­na Barbara Day amonte, the Gover­nour of Barcellonnas Wife, and that if they killed him, they would murther a harmless man, a Religi­ous man, and one of the Order of St. Dominick, who was a Father Confessor also, for which Crime they should one day severely an­swer: Look, look, continued he, speaking to those that were a­bout him, whether you can find a­ny such person here? Neither did [Page 13]I ever design the setting of the Pil­grim at liberty, for he was yet in the red Tower when I went from Barcellonna, he was thus going on pleading for life, when those men that were about him staring on him, were call'd away, and Camille appearing presently to him, he was by that set into a greater fright than ever, which he shew'd by endeavouring to get away: Camille took him by the hand, and told him that he needed not to fear, because there was no person near him that would do him any injury, that he should take his word for it, whom he knew to be his friend: By this time the poor Father An­drew having with much ado lifted up his Eyes, and perceived Camille, and are you here, Sir, said he, and all alone too, then do I breath a­gain; with that he fetch'd a deep sigh, after which he thus continu­ed; and I do begin to believe that all that has lately happen'd unto [Page 14]me, has been meer delusion, and a temptation of the Devil; then lifting his hand to his head, which pain'd him; yet there must be somthing real in the case, continu­ed he, or how should I feel all this smart else? And above all things, I wonder most how the Devil did put that black fantasme into my hand in the dark, in lew of the Go­verness? Camille finding that he would presently fall into a melan­cholly passion, if not diverted, de­sired him to rest satisfied, and that he would give him a true account of all so soon as he should be got on shore, and that his hurts were drest: Why, am I wounded then, said the good Father again, with a great emo­tion of Spirit: Yes, replyed Camille, but not by those means which you fancy, but rest your self contented, rely upon me, and all things shall be well again, and you shall have but the hurt on't, without any fur­ther ill consequence: Then Camille commanded some Persons that were [Page 15]by, to carry him to shore, which be­ing done, he was drest and put in a Bed, and Camille and the poor Father did remain at Narbona, till he was perfectly cured of his broken head.

The next day the Vessel returned to Barcellona, whither the Moorish Woman was convey'd back, accor­ding to Camille's orders, where you are to know, that the Go­vernour had with much patience and secrecy, convey'd his half dead Wife into her Chamber, where he had left her to recover her self, while he went out to or­der some of his Servants to seek e­very place in the Palace for Father Andrew, and to bring him immedi­ately along with them, pretending that his Wife being fallen despe­rately ill on the suddain, she had occasion for him: The Governours design in this, was to catch Fa­ther Andrew before he were gone, and to bring him to severe punishment, after, he should have [Page 16]vented his passion in words upon him and the Governess, and yet so order the matter, as that the true cause of all these disorders should be conceal'd from his Ser­vants knowledg, and that he might give his Wife time sufficient to recollect her self, that she and her Factor might with more pati­ence hear what he should say to them, he did retire into another Chamber, where he expected that the Fryer should be brought to him, not doubting but that he should be found somwhere about the Pa­lace, he having caus'd all the Gates to be shut up, so soon as he had dis­covered their designs: But he reckoned without his Host, the Bird was flown, so that having waited a long time, after which his Servants being return'd without their prey, he design'd to return to his Wife and give her her lesson. But mean time, she having been in­form'd that her Husbhnd had sent [Page 17]for her Agent, and judging that it was to bring them together, to let fly his revenge upon them both at once; she had retired into those lodgings, which were lately the Marquionesses, where she had lock'd her self up, sending back that Wo­man that had gone with her, to tell her Husband where she was retired, to observe his motions, and to give her an account of his proceedings against Father Andrew, that by them she might take her measures, and judg of his designs against her self. The Governour missing of his Wife, ask'd where she was, and having been told that she had re­moved her self into the Marquio­nesses late lodgings, where she had lock'd her self up, with a design to lye there that night; he troubled himself no further about it, but went to Bed, reserving the Schooling of her against the next day.

Donna Barbara being alone in that Chamber, had too many things in her head to think of sleep; she in­tended to employ her time better, in contriving which way to defeat her Husbands designs of railing at her; she had too high a Spirit, calmly to beare his injuries, and reproaches, and she was resolv'd one way or other, to prevent his Fury. She had opened the Win­dow, to let in the cool Air of the Night, to refresh her fretted Heart; and she was looking out, when casting her Eyes towards the shore, she did perceive, as well as the light of the Moon, which then be­gan to rise, would permit her, at that distance, a person that was coming from the Sea shore towards the Palace, who being drawn nearer, did appear to her in a Pil­grims Habit. It came presently in­to her head, that it might be Ca­mille, who being got out of Pri­son, and not believing what she [Page 19]had told him of the Marquioness's absence, was come under that Win­dow, in hopes to see the Marqui­oness, or to learn by some means or other, which fortune might produce in his favour, whether the Lady was gone, or still in her old quarters. Donna Barbara did further imagin that the Pilgrim not daring to return to his old lodgings, or be too busy in enqui­ring elsewhere, for fear of being retaken, and worse used than at first, he had thought it his best course to come there himself, for information; having prepossest her self with this conceit, as all persons are apt to believe that which they most desire, she dropp'd down one of her Gloves, that it might cause him to look up and take notice of the signs that she did make him to have him stay a while. The thing succeeded as she had desir'd, for after the Pilgrim had taken up the Glove, and found by its strong [Page 20]perfume, that it did not belong to an ordinary hand, he lifted up his head, and perceiv'd some body that did make him signs, as if they would have him to stay, a little af­ter which they withdrew.

This Person who had taken up the Glove, being a Pilgrim that was newly come to shore, and was going in Pilgrimage to St. Jago, having no other business at Barcello­na, but to seek for a lodging for that night and to proceed on his jour­ney forwards the next morning, was willing to wait and see what the success of this would be, there­fore he stayed there, walking up and down till Donna Barbara ha­ving writ her mind, and conveyed it into the other Glove, she likewise did drop it before him. He pre­sently took it up, finds the paper in it, which he takes out, unfolds, and reads, as well as he could; but some clouds at that instant ob­scuring the Air, so that he could [Page 21]not make an end; he looks up, but finds that the Person was reti­red, and the Window shut. Now this Pilgrim being one of those per­sons, that like the generality of those foot Travellers, was light enough of Money, in ready Cash, but who are as well provided and stored with Jests, Songs, and merry Tales as our Country Fidlers, fitted to all sorts of humours and conditions, which amongst those kind of per­sons are as good as so many Bills of exchange, payable at first sight; for through the Authority of those letters of Credit, and some little pritty Agnus Dei's, little Crosses, Chaplets, Medals, and the like Toyes, they pass every where, and make bold to seek for Lodg­ings, and all other conveniencies, in all places, in all companies, and at all times. He thus qualified hastens into the City, and being made somewhat more bold than ordinarily, by this late adventure [Page 22]he confidently knocks at a House door, where he saw a Candle, where being admitted and got to a light, he pulls the paper out of his Pocket, and read in it as fol­lows.

In spight of all my Enemies Con­trivances, Plots, and Designs, I have kept my Station: If you con­tinue in the generous design of free­ing me from the cruel Tyranny of a Jealous Husband: This next night between one and two repair here a­gain, and bring along with you a Lad­der of Ropes by the help of which, maugre all my Guardians Circum­spections, and Donna Barbara's In­telligences, you shall receive into your protection the Marquioness of &c.

And a little beneath, by way of Postscript, was writ.

Excuse my bad writing, through the want of light: Get in readiness a Felouqua against that time, which may carry us to some Sea Port of France. You need not to fear the Charges; for I shall bring that along with me, that shall be sufficient to de­fray all, and put us beyond want.

At every period of this Letter, the Pilgrim would make a pawse, then read it over again; but when he came to the Postscript, where mention was made of sufficiency to defray the Charges, and to put them beyond want, he did read that place twenty times over, and having look'd once again on the word Marquioness, all those little distrusts and Jealousies, which had possest him during the reading of the Letter, did vanish into Air, and as if the word Marquioness had fill'd him with another Spirit than his own, he did resolve within him­self, [Page 24]to act that person's part, for whom he was taken; thus he re­solv'd to take opportunity by the foretop, and not to part with her till he had built his own Fortune. To encourage himself in this reso­lution, he calls for the best that the house would afford, enquires if there were not a Marquioness that lay in the Palace, who had a Jea­lous Husband: He is answered that there was such a one, but that it was reported that her Husband was gone with her the morning be­fore; The news of the Marquis, and of his Ladies absence did make him build the stronger upon that bottom, in lew of deterring him, so that he long'd till the time was come to get off the Lady.

To that purpose, so soon as it was convenient to stir forth, he pays his reckoning, and goes out to hire a Felouqua to provide a Ladder of Ropes, with all other necessaries for the Voyage, which [Page 25]all his little stock would but just reach to; but while he was busie a­bout this, a small scruple arose in his mind, which was, that doubt­less the right Person intended to be employ'd by the Marquioness, could be no less than some person of quality, which made him fear, that when the Lady should discover his Pilgrims weeds, she might find out her mistake, retire before he had her sure, and so leave him at all the Cost and Charges, to his ut­ter ruine: This consideration was of weight; but he knew no other way to remedy it, than in preten­ding, that he made use of that Ha­bit to be disguis'd, and that through its favourable aspect, they might pass with more safety into the Fe­louqua. This, with the prospect which he had of making his For­tune, did cause him to push on, and to venture at all, leaving the suc­cess to the disposal of Fortune, who commonly assists the bold. With [Page 26]this last resolution he continues his designs, and gets all things in rea­diness against the appointed hour; which being come, out goes our Pilgrim, and gets under the Win­dow whence he had receiv'd the first Summons; he was not long there before he heard it open, and presently after a Cord was let down, at which he having fastned the Ladder of Ropes, it was pre­sently pull'd up again, and not long after Donna Barbara came down by it, close mufled up, least that the Pilgrim shou'd find out her deceit; she did no sooner touch ground, but telling him in a dis­guised tone, that there was no time to loose, for fear of a pursuit, she pull'd him along by the Arm, not giving time to answer, which pleas'd him very well, who was as willing as she was to keep silence, so that they both hasten'd to the Vessel, in equall fears of being dis­covered by one another: So soon [Page 27]as they were come to the Felouqua, the Master dispos'd of them several­ly, as the Lady desired, and pre­sently they put off to Sea, making all the Sails they could for Narbona.

Mean time the Governour, who had through his Wifes Importuni­ties granted her two days retire­ment, only in order to plague her the more severely afterwards, did not so much as once offer to disturb her, during the whole time of the Truce; but the term being expir'd, his pati­ence was at an end also: And having sent divers of his Servants one after another to have the Door open'd to him though to no effect; he went thither himself, where having di­vers times call'd and knock'd at the Chamber door, to as little purpose, he caus'd it to be broke open, and his anger being exasperated by his Wifes resistance, he presently rushes into the Chamber, searches all Cham­bers for her, runs from one place to another, peeps in every hole, [Page 28]and corner, but finds nothing but a Paper that lay upon the Table, in which there was writ; that she being not able to endure the af­fronts and reproaches, with which he had threatned her, he should not take it ill, that she had absented her self for some time, only till his anger was over, and that he had alter'd his resolutions; for she could not imagin, that her endea­vouring to release an innocent di­stressed Gentleman, was such a Crime as deserv'd so severe a usage, as he design'd her. Though he was a Person that naturally had a great power over his passions, yet feeing himself over-reach'd by a Woman, he fell into such a rage, that storming, and threatning all the Servants, as being accessaries to her flight, they at last went their ways and left him alone to vent his anger at leisure.

After the first transports were o­ver, he began more calmly to [Page 29]consider with himself, what he had best to do, and what course to take to retrieve this fugitive Woman. Being vex'd with himself for hav­ing express'd so much passion before his Servants, and published so much of his concerns, but as to that, there was no remedy, and all that was to be done now, was how to get his Wife home again; but first how and where to meet with her. This he knew not how to go about, having not the least knowledge of the course that she had stear'd, he resolves a thousand things in his mind, and as often defeats them a­gain with new considerations, not knowing on which to pitch: Some­times he is for one expedient, then presently again he layes that by, and he takes up another; sometimes he is of opinion that it is the wicked Father Andrew that has assisted his Wife in her escape, at other times he is of opinion, that it is the Pil­grim, who not obeying his orders, [Page 30]had lain lurking thereabout to ac­complish this wicked business, then sometimes he was in the belief, that they both had a hand in the Plot: Thus being perplex'd with divers uncertainties, not knowing what course to take, he goes to the window which had been left open, where he finds some certain marks of his Wifes escape that way, there he sets himself down, and after a long debate within himself, he concludes that his wife imagining that the Pilgrim had followed the Marquio­ness to Saragossa, she had made what hast she could with the Fryers assi­stance, to go after him, and to gain him for her self, before that he had time to renew his friendship with the Marquioness. Amongst a thou­sand conceptions finding this the most probable; he resolves for Sa­ragossa immediately; but receiving that day some orders, which requi­red his presence for three days at Barcellonna, he was forc'd to obey, and defer his pursuit till that busi­ness was over.

Mean time our Travellers are come to Anchor before Narbona, the Master gives them notice of it; the Pilgrim appears first upon the Deck, trembling at the very thoughts of approaching and disco­vering his deceit to the Lady: He had been there some time, when one came to him to tell him, that the Lady would have him come to her, in her Cabin. The Pilgrim with much perplexity and disorder did obey the Commands.

Donna Barbara, had made the place as obscure as she could, to prevent a surprisal, desiring to dis­cover her self to Camille little by little, and to obtain his pardon for the change that she had put up­on him; after which she would en­deavour to gain his affections. The Pilgrim comes in, and with much ado feeling out the Bed that the La­dy lay on; he throws himself on his knees by the Bed side, and was going to ask pardon for his pre­sumption; [Page 32]when Donna Barbara did interrupt him in this manner, Sir, there is no Woman in the World who having received so great a fa­vour as I have lately from you, but would acknowledge her self infinite­ly oblig'd unto your generous assistance for it; yet, Sir, the case is such at present, that I must attribute the cause of my present liberty, more to my good Fortune, than to your endea­vours, when I look upon all that you have olately done, as intended to some other person than my self. Madam, replyed the Pilgrim, I am come to acknowledge my Crime, and most humbly beg your pardon, for having been so bold, as to take upon me the performance of that which was de­sign'd for a worthier hand, than that of a miserable Pilgrim; and I do own my self so unworthy that honour, that I must wholly attribute to my good Fortune that happiness, which ano­ther more worthy might deservedly challenge from his own merits, [Page 33]You cannot be wanting in that, re­plyed Donna Barbara, except it be that your Cruelty, does drown with ingratitude, all those advantages and excellencies that the Heavens have so profusely showred upon you, and in that lyes my misery, that while you are endeavouring to oblige ano­ther; you set forth your unnkind­ness to me, and are persuading me to believe, how ready and willing you are to serve others, while I am to be left unregarded, or that if you chance to do me some kind Office, it is against your will, and by meer accident. Madam, replyed the Pil­grim, since it has pleas'd the Fates to make me by accident that instru­ment of your safety, which your judicious choice had design'd unto ano­ther, be pleas'd to allow of their de­termination, and to accept of my most humble Services, in order to your future designs. This unex­pected answer did so surprize Don­na Barbara, that she remained for [Page 34]some time without answering, which gave the Pilgrim time to add; I am the more excusable, Madam, in having undertaken no­thing but what I had your com­mands for, under your own hand, wherein reading your resolutions & fearing that my receiving of your orders might probably disappoint those persons for whom they were mant, by which you would loose that opportunity which might ne­ver be recovered again. I thought that I could do no less than supply that place, which I have done, but in order to serve you; Madam, if you think fit to make any further use of me, I am ready to obey you in what else you will be pleas'd to command me, but if my un­worthiness does invite you to cast me off, let me but have the happi­ness to accomplish the residue of my Pilgrimage under the favourable assistance, and recommendation of your illustrious Name; and I shall rest contented with the hon­our [Page 35]of having serv'd you once, and shall ever add some words, in my petitions to St. Jago, for a blessing on all your designs. This great fall from the Pilgrims first expressi­ons, did fully confirm Donna Bar­bara, that she had been mistaken in the Person, but how ever the satisfaction which she had of being out of her Husbands reach, with the hopes she had of meeting with the right Pil­grim at Saragossa, did make her rest satisfied for the present, and to give him this answer: I must confess that I should not so willingly nor so easi­ly have trusted my self in the hands of a Person so absolute a stranger to me as you are, had I had my choice; but seeing that it has so hapned, and that you are willing to serve me further, I will make use of you in sending you to shore to get me the best and readiest con­veniency that can be had to carry me to Saragossa, where I would have you to accompany me, and [Page 36]there I shall return you thanks pro­portionable to the services which you shall have rendered me, mean time, take this, continued she, gi­ving him a handful of Pistols to defray the Charges, and so soon as you have provided all things for the Journey, come and fetch me hence.

The Pilgrim received Donna Bar­bara's orders with much earnest­ness, and her Gold with as much greediness; and having assured her that he would make all the haste possible, he went to shore, where he provided all things necessary for her conveyance to the place that she desired, and return'd to her again at the close of the Evening giving her an account of what he had done; presently after the Master of the Ves­sel was pay'd for his freight, and Don­ua Barbara was conducted to shore by the Pilgrim, from whence they were convey'd incessantly to Saragos­sa. At the last days journey she sent her new Servant before to provide [Page 37]her some Lodgings as private as possible, in some by place of the City, to which she would go in the evening, that she might not be seen. Which he did with such diligence, that he came back again, and met her two or three miles distance from the City, whence in the E­vening, he led her to her lodg­ings.

So soon as Donna Barbara found her self to have no further occasion of the Pilgrim, she gave him a ve­ry considerable gratuity for his Ser­vices, and returning him thanks she sent him away.

Our Pilgrim being flush'd with what he had receiv'd for his four or five days Services, went to seek for a lodging for himself; he had quickly found one at a publick House, where he met also with some of his Country-men, with whom having made acquaintance, they supp'd together at the Pil­grims cost, who would treat them, [Page 38]and after Supper, they fell a drinking so hard. that they were all in their Altitudes, especially our Pilgrim, who being puff'd up with the hon­nour which he had receiv'd in ser­ving a Marquioness, and in that gallant manner too, besides, the thought which came into his head, of the great reward which he had receiv'd for it; that no­thing would serve his turn at last, but the Marquioness's Health, which he began with a full brimmer; which Health he oblig'd the company to pledge, twice over; one amongst them being somewhat more peevish than the rest, had not so much Complaisance, as to do it without grumbling; and amongst the rest of his mutterings, he said, why must we drink twice' over a Womans Health, whose name we know not? Nay, nor I neither, replyed the Pilgrim; but thus much I will tell you, to invite you to it; that she is young, beautiful, wise, and as generous as a Princess, and [Page 39]pulling his Purse out of his Pocket, and shaking it: here are golden witnesses of what I say, with part of which, I intend to defray all your Charges: Here Gentlemen, continued he, and therefore pray fall too, and spare not: After two or three Cups more round the Ta­ble, at the request of the company, he gave them an account of his coming acquainted with her, and his assisting of her in making her escape from a jealous Husband, and how he had waited on her to Sa­ragossa.

At last they drank so long, that they were all past drinking, and it was so late, that the Master of the House came and desired the Com­pany to get to their Beds, if they could find them, for that Night, telling them that the next day would be long enough for them to sing the Second part to the same Tune, if they pleas'd: With that our brave Pilgrim having discharg'd the reckoning, was led into his [Page 40]Chamber, and put to Bed, and the rest of the Company did the like.

The next morning one of the Marquesses Servants coming at that House to visit one that had lately been his fellow Servant, he is infor­med of a certain Pilgrim newly come from Barcellonna, who had talk'd much of a Marquioness, and that he had drank her Health, with some of his own Country-men, till they were past drinking for that bout. The Fellow hearing this, with­out any further inquiry into the Bu­siness, concluding within himself, that it was the same Pilgrim that they had left in prison at Barcellon­na, he immediatly returns home with this news to his Master, assu­ring him that the Pilgrim by some means or other being got out of Prison at Barcellonna, was come thi­ther. There needed no more to set our Jealous Marquess on the fret; he presently tells the Fellow that he had so great a confidence in him that [Page 41]he would leave the management of that business to him, not doubting but he would faithfully serve him in it: Which was to get that Pil­grim to be put in Prison, to that purpose he writes a Note to a Ju­stice who was something akin to him, to have the business done out of hand, letting him know that it was a great Malefactor who had broke out of Prison at Barcellonna, where he was detain'd for horrid Crimes, and was come into that City under the disguise of a Pil­grim: He immediately sent his Ser­vant about it, assuring him that he would consider his care and dili­gence in the business; and gave him a special charge to see him cast in prison, and loaded with I­rons, with astrickt order that no body should be admitted to speak with him: Presently after the poor Pilgrim was taken out of his Bed with his Cloaths half on and half off, and dragg'd to prison like a [Page 42]Dog, after the cruel manner which they usually do in that Country, where he remained a close Prisoner.

While things were in this po­sture at the City of Saragossa. Ca­mille little dreaming how he was used there, was recovering of Fa­ther Andrew at Narbona, that they might in diligence overtake the Marquess at Saragossa, where he hoped he would make some little stay; and finding that the good Fa­ther was in a Condition to begin the Journey, and as willing to serve him as ever, to which purpose Ca­mille had given him to understand that he was a Person capable of pro­tecting him from all dangers, and of requiting him very bountifully. They set forwards towards Sara­gossa, where being arriv'd, it was their lot to Inn at the very house, whence the Pilgrim had been taken out.

The next morning after their ar­rival, Father Andrew was enqui­ring [Page 43]of his host whether he knew not of a certain Marquess and Mar­quioness that were lately come in­to that City from Barcellonna. The Host made answer, that there was a Marquioness, or Marquess, or something of that quality, that was lately come from Barcellonna, who liv'd very privately, not far from thence, which he had heard of by, he could not remember whom: Presently the good Father, runs to Camille, and acquaints him of the discovery which he had al­ready made, at which they both concluded by several circumstances, that it must of necessity be the beau­tiful Marquioness, who it was pro­bable was kept up so privatly by her Husband. The next thing was how to get her inform'd of their being come to Saragossa, with the same design of serving her, as they had express'd at Barcellonna there lay the difficulty, which could not be removed but by a more particular [Page 44]Information of the place, and situ­ation of her Lodgings. To this purpose the Landlord is call'd up, and employ'd to go and learn ex­actly where those persons lay, and presently after returns with full In­formation; upon which Camille and the Father take their measures. They having debated and conclu­ded on some thing: Father Andrew is sent to go take private lodgings near that place, but as he goes down Stairs he meets with his Host whom he takes along with him, to shew him the House wherein the Marquioness lay. The Father ha­ving taken good notice of it, sends back mine Host, and takes lodgings close by it; after which returning to Camille, he gave him an account of what he had done, and present­ly they caus'd their goods to be re­mov'd. They being in their new lodgings; the next thing which was thought on was, that Father Andrew should insinuate himself [Page 45]into the Company of the Marquess his Landlord, to learn of him how things were, that was presently done; and in a short time the good Father was inform'd, that he did not know what persons liv'd in his House, nor how many they were that he had never seen any of them, but one Maid Servant; that if they were such great persons, as had been reported, they had doubtless for some great reason and design, left their retinue behind them, and liv'd extraordinarily retired, never stirring out of their Chamber, where all their necessaries were brought to them, by that only Maid: The Father having been thus far inform­ed, enquired, if it were not possible to have a Letter delivered unto the Marquioness, unknown to her Husband? He was answer­ed, that he did not know whither there was a Husband or no in the case, and did believe that if she had one he was not with her at that [Page 46]time. With that a maid going by, here is their Servant, continued he, I will call her to you, and she shall inform you her self of that better than I can. He call'd the Maid, who being come, Father Andrew inquired of her, wehther the Mar­quess was with his Lady, and if it were not possible to give her a Let­ter without his knowledge, to which all the answer that he could get was, that she was not yet so weary of her place, is to loose it, that she lik'd it so well, as to have no desire to part with it to another; that she knew well enough what she had to do, and that he should mind his own business, and not go about to get her place from her; and having said this she went away, with a great deal of indignation. The good Father found by this small Tryall that no good was to be expected that way, he therefore be­thought himself of another expedi­ent, and with fair words and pro­mises [Page 47]did require of the Master of the House that he would lend him the Key of his Garden door that at night he might get into it, where he made no question but by some means or other, he would find out some way to let the Lady know of his being there, which she would be very glad to hear. The Landlord making some doubts at it, preten­ding that he might by that means loose his Lodgers, the ingenious Father did presently remove those scruples, in dropping in his hand a Pistol or two, which put the Key of the Garden Door into his pos­session. The good Father would willingly have been fully inform'd, whether the Marquess was with his Wife or not; but after divers at­tempts, and to no purpose, he went home, being persuaded by divers circumstances that he was absent.

Being returned home, he in­form'd Camille of all that he had done, telling him that it were his [Page 48]own fault if he got not the Lady immediately, while her Husband was absent. How do you know that he is absent? replyed Camille, as for my part I am not very well assured that this is the right Marquioness, and I fear least you may mistake in this, as when you took the Moor for Donna Barbara. To which Father Andrew said, give me leave to tell you some circumstances and to put some consequences into your head, and then judge whether it can be any o­ther person than the Marquioness. They are lately come hither from Bar­cellonna, where they are very pri­vate; as to their being with no other Servant than one single Maid, thus I make it out, thus I make it out; the Marquess having it is probable some business, which call'd him from hence, and fearing, least in his ab­sence you should clear your self to the Governour of Barcelonna so as to be releas'd presently after, and that you might follow after him, he to [Page 49]conceal his Wife from your knowledge, had left his retinue at some small di­stance from the City; and to make the less noise, had brought his Wife in the night, only accompanied with her two Guardian Women, and that serving Maid who was to attend them, with charge never to stir forth of her Chamber till his return, after which he might return to his Servants, and take them along with him. This is the best way that he could take in such a case, replyed Camille, I must confess, were he forc'd upon some such extraordinary occasion, to have left his Wife behind him; but I fear that nothing, could per­suade him to do so: Yes, replyed Father Andrew, for some few days, having such trusty Guardians to watch over her, and having mewd her up so close, as no body but himself could find her again, at least in his thoughts; Besides, why may she not be fallen sick? At least not so well, as to be carried, with so [Page 50]much hast as his business might re­quire? and so be forc'd to leave her behind? All these are conje­ctures and probabilities: It may, and it may not be so, replyed Ca­mille, and neither you nor I can in­form our selves better: Well, put the Case we are in the right, what is next to be done, continued Ca­mille? This, reply'd the Fryer; you must have a Letter in readi­ness for her; you must besides make some kind of Song or Verses, which you may Sing at night under her Window, in which you must give her to understand in covered terms, that you are here in order to re­ceive her commands: The conse­quence of this, replyed Camille, will be, that we shall alarm her Guardians, who will reward us with the same presents as the Mar­quess receiv'd at Barcellonna; and that at the Marquess his return, they will inform him of the busi­ness, [Page 51]and so our design will be lost, and all hopes of setting on foot any other by our discovery. To this I answer, reply'd the Father, that you must not mention any thing that can be understood, but by the Marchioness her self; that though the Guardians are awakned, we shall find some way to convey the Letter privately to the Mar­chioness, and that we shall after that, through her own assistance, get her off before the Marquess his return. Well, reply'd Camille, it is but the venturing of a suit of Cloaths and my Theorbo, I will give you the satisfaction of going with you at night, and to that pur­pose I will go about the Letter and the Verses.

At night Camille, and Father Andrew came to the Garden door of the Marchionesses Lodgings, the Father goes to open it, but af­ter he had fumbled a good while without success, they were forc'd to [Page 52]leave the Key in the Lock, and to get into the Garden over the Wall, where Camille began to tune his Instrument at a distance, which done, he afterwards drew nearer and Sang: He had not proceeded far, when the House door, that came into the Garden was suddenly thrust open; at which, Camille step'd aside behind a Statue, pre­sently came out running with their Swords in hand, three per­sons, very furiously, which made the good Father to make towards the place that he had come in at, where by the advantage of a Ter­race walk, he nimbly got over the Walk into a back Street, and from thence immediately home. The pursuers finding the Garden door lock'd; they sought up and down the Garden after their prey, which gave time to Camille to remove his Station; he was passing cross the walk, close by the door of the House; when a Woman taking [Page 53]him by the hand, come follow me, said she, I will put you out at the Street Door and go along with you; though I am not so well pro­vided now, as I would have been, had you but stay'd till to morrow night; with that she led him out by the Street-door, where she thus continued to speak. It fell out ve­ry ill, that my Brothers should be so unluckily awakened by the singing at the next Neighbours, under the new comers window, as I imagin: I hope, Alphonso, that you are, and will be sensible of what I do for you; How that I abandon all other interests, to fol­low you; and now that I have put my self into your hands, even before you could expect it, and when you did intend nothing more than a private visit to me, I hope that you will deal generously by me, and faithfully perform all your vows and protestations to me; in order to which I desire you [Page 54]to convey me presently to your own house, or any where else, if you think us not safe there from my Brothers search after us, and there to Marry me out of hand; that being once done you may claim me as your own, which will very much allay that prosecution, which otherwise we might expect with all the severity imaginable from my insenced Brothers. Ha­ving said this, she made a pause, as expecting his answer. Which having not, what is the matter? continued she, that you answer me not? Do you think me too for­ward in this Juncture, or do you re­lent in your affections? saying this, she held back Camille, who was still going a round pace, he knew not where; I will be satisfied continu­ed she, before I go a step further. Camille then seeing a necessity of undeceiving that person, he led her towards the middle of the Street, where there was a little more light, [Page 55]and lifting up his head, he gave her time and opportunity to see her mistake, by looking in his Face. So soon as she saw Camille, making a great shreik, she endeavour'd to snatch her hand out of his, and would have gone from him; when Camille finding that it was time for him to speak, said, Madam, be not so affrighted as you are; but assure your self that you are fallen into the hands of a Gentleman, who though a stranger in these parts, will serve and protect you with his Life, from any danger whatsoever; be pleas'd but to re­collect your self a little, continu­ed he, finding that she did still en­deavour to get away; and cast not your self into unnecessary inconve­niencies by your needless appre­hensions; do but command me, let me but know what is most ex­pedient that I should do for you at present, and you will find, that I shall obey with all the respects and [Page 56]diligence imaginable. These words being delivered by Camille, with an accent and grace, which did speak him what he was, did somewhat settle again the trem­bling Lady, who took the boldness to say, Sir, if in my late misfor­tune I have had so much happiness as to fall into the hands of a Gen­tleman, that will not make use of the advantages that my mistake and the darkness of the Night has given him; shew your self such, by immediately bring me back to that place, where I first did meet with you. That were not to serve you, replyed Camille, but rather to prostitute you, to your Enemy's Fury. Therefore, rather inform me, Madam, where I may convey you into the hands of that person, for whom you took me, who without question, will glad ly receive you into his protection. If I am so happy, reply'd the La­dy, as to have met with so gene­rous [Page 57]a person; I shall be oblig'd to return my thanks to Heaven, for having sent me in such an extremi­ty, so favourable an assistance, which I might not have expected from those of my own Nation, had I been so unfortunate as to have fallen in any of their Hands, with all these disadvantages. You loose time. Madam, reply'd Camille, and know not how soon you may be overtaken and surpriz'd; I have already declared to you, that I am not of this Nation, and I add to it, that though my lodgings are not far from this place, I neither know where I am at present, nor which way to retrieve them, and did I know, I should not go about to do it till I had left you safe, where you desire to be; therefore I once more humbly intreat you, Madam, to guide me where you would have me to conduct you: You see, continued Camille, that day be­gins to break, and should you be found at this time of the night in [Page 58]the open Streets with a man, you may guess at the dangerous con­sequences. I know not where to go, replyed the Lady, for I am ignorant of Don Alphonso's House, therefore I must intreat you to lead me any where, till I have the op­portunity to send to him to come to me. Camille was going to reply, when he perceiv'd a man coming in hast towards them, who said, Sir, if you are a Gentleman, pray assist me against the odds that my Enemies have over me, at this the Gentlewoman knowing by his voice that it was her Friend: Oh! my Alphonso, cry'd she, running to­wards him: Here is a Gentle­man, continued she, looking on Camille, that the Heavens have sent on purpose to assist us. This did somewhat calm the jealous Spaniard. Who began to look sourly upon that person, whom he had found in private with his Mistress; but pre­sently the Ladies Brothers com­ing up, with their Swords drawn, [Page 59]they cryed here he is, which interrupted their further discourse, by falling upon Alphonso, which made Camille to draw likewise, and to assist the weakest side.

The clashing of the Swords did presently call some of the watch to them, before any hurt was done, which made every one shift for himself, by good fortune the Watch following the three Bro­thers; they gave time to the o­thers to get off. But they not find­ing the Lady where they had left her, nor no where thereabouts, they went to search a little further, where Camille found himself just before his own door, meeting there with Father Andrew, who had the Lady by the hand; he being impa­tient at Camille's absence had gone out with a design to seek after him, and passing by just when they were fighting, and perceiving a Lady standing by, much affrigh­ted, taking her to be the Marchio­ness, he had led her toward his Lodg­ings, [Page 60]and she being so surpriz'd at the sight of her Brothers, had given her hand to the first comer, with­out considering who it was. They were all very glad to meet so lucki­ly in that place: Alphonso told Ca­mille, that he was infinitely ob­lig'd to him for his generous assi­stance, without which he must doubtless have fallen under the disadvantage of his Enemies Swords. Sir, reply'd Camille, this is no place to use compliments in, and I judg it dangerous for you both to appear any more in the Streets this Night, while your Brothers are yet in the pursuit of you. Neither would it be safe for us to retire to my House yet, said Alphonso: You say right, answer'd Camille, therefore if you please to accept of what accomodation my Lodgings and the house will afford, you shall find there a hearty well­come, where you may remain safe, and as private as you please, till you [Page 61]have the leisure and conveniency to retire your selves where-else you shall think fit. Alphonso having return'd Camille humble thanks, turning to the Lady, Madam, said he, since it is dangerous in having you any further this night, least that you should fall again into the hands of your Brothers, if you please, we will be further ingaged unto this gallant person, in accep­ting of his kind offers; at which the Lady made answer, I am wil­ling to accept of this Gentlemans Civilities; but it shall be upon condition that you shall presently send for a Priest to Marry us: re­plyed the Lady, and you, Sir, con­tinued she, addressing her self to Camille, you shall ingage to me be­fore I enter, that you will do me the favour to give me to this Gen­tleman; he knows what a conside­rable Fortune I bring along with me, in spight of my Brothers, able to re-establish his broken Fortune; [Page 62]and when once my Brothers know that I am his by Marriage, they will lay aside their anger, and de­sist any further prosecutions. Ca­mille and Don Alphonso having pro­mis'd that she should have all the satisfaction that she should require; they went up Stairs, where, while the Priest was sent for, and a Cham­ber getting ready for them, Camil­le gave them the best entertain­ment that he could; and an ac­count of his Amours, and of the cause of all the disorders of that Night, through the Song, which he had applyed in a wrong place. After his, Alphonso and Camille renewed their Compliments, with assurances of services on either side, and so they contracted a Friendship, which prov'd more du­rable than is usual between a Spani­ard and an Italian; after a while the Priest being come, they were Married, and then they retired in­to that Chamber that had been fit­ted [Page 63]for them, where Camille having conducted them, he took his leave and left them, to go to his own Bed, and presently after Father An­drew did the like.

The next morning the good Fa­ther, who was always diligent in such affairs, goes to the Marquess his Landlord again, and telling him that he had been disappointed by intangling the Key with other things in his Pocket, which pulling out, he had dropp'd and could not find again: That he desired him to get another made; and giving the man a double Pistol, to stop all re­plies and put offs, here is to pay for it continued he, I shall come again in the Evening, therefore pray let it be ready against then: The Landlord was going to reply with a sour Face, as if he did not like it, and had no mind to get another Key: But the cunning Father per­ceiving it: It may be that it will cost more. Y'are in the right, continued [Page 64]he, and giving him another Pistol, if that will not do, I will bring you more when I come to fetch it; at this the Landlord being overcome, he did promise him to get a Key ready against Evening.

By that time that Father Andrew was return'd, Alphonso and his La­dy were visited by Camille, they desired him to let them have a Messenger to send to Alphonso's House for some of his Servants to come to him; it was done accor­dingly; and Alphonso having writ some Letters to some of his parti­cular Friends, inviting them to come and accompany him and his Bride home; he sent one of his own Servants with them, and sent ano­ther home, to give order that all things should be got in a readiness fit to receive him and his Friends; not long after, there came divers of the new married couples Friends to of­fer their Services: To whom Don Alphonso and his Lady returning [Page 65]thanks, they both recommended to their Friendship, Camille, and after the first usual compliments were over, Alphonso and his Bride, went, accompanied with a consi­derable number of Friends and Ser­vants, in divers Coaches unto Don Alphonso's House, where Camille and the good Father Andrew did attend them also; and towards the Even­ing, after they had been Magnifi­cently treated, considering the little time to prepare things in; having taken leave of the company in general, they return'd home to prepare for the night expedition.

While Father Andrew was gone for the new Key, Camille employ'd himself in fitting anew his Theor­bo, which had been disorder'd in the late rancounter, it was not long before the diligent Father re­turn'd, and a little after, it being time, they went out on the second adventure. They soon did light on the right door, which Father An­drew [Page 66]for fear of any further mi­stakes, had mark'd with a piece of Chalk. Being entered and having shut the door upon them, for fear of any surprize from without; Ca­mille having tun'd his Instrument, he Sung to it as follows.

No sooner had Camille ended his Song, but he was inform'd from the Window that it was understood, and that he should the next Day about Evening come the same way, where there should a Servant wait on purpose to admit him, after this the Window was shut, and Camille with Father Andrew retired with all the satisfaction imaginable.

Camille was very impatient till the hour was come to render the visit to the beautiful Marchioness. He could not sleep all night for thinking on it, which made him [Page 68]pass it in framing a thousand agree­ble Ideas in his fancy, about the Charming entertainment; and he was in such a Rapture all the day following at the thoughts of the pleasures, which he was e're long to enjoy, that he could neither eat nor drink, being so wholly possest with those joys, which he already did relish in his imagination. At last did come the happy hour, he flyes into his bliss, being at the Garden door, where he leaves Fa­ther Andrew to return home, he is met by a Servant Maid, who does conduct him to the Chamber, his passion is rais'd to such a height, at each step that he makes towards it, that he endeavours to suppress it with the apprehensions of some re­verse of Fortune, for fear that his excess should transport him beyond himself; he arrives at last to the Chamber door, he enters, he per­ceives the Lady in an obscure place [Page 69]at the further end of the Chamber, he runs towards her, flings himself at her feet, and with a voice that express'd the transports of his Soul, he says, Madam, what honour do I receive in this your gracious conde­scention to my humble desires? My Soul is so transported at the singular favours which I now enjoy from your extream bounty, that I want words to express my resentments; let therefore my silence, my respects, and my most humble submission, speak to you what my Tongue cannot utter. Beautiful Marchioness, behold at your Feet, continued he, a person so wholly pos­sest with admiration at your perfecti­ons, that it preserves a heart from the reach of the rest of your whole sex, to offer it pure and wholly at the shrine of your adorable beauty. I do ac­knowledge, that I am most unworthy of the least of your favour, Madam, when I consider that—Here he was in­terrupted by the Ladies rising from her seat, who stepping towards the [Page 70]light, did look upon Camille with an Eye full of indignation and re­venge, which made Camille pre­sently perceive his error, and that all that he had said, had been ad­dressed to Donna Barbara Daya­monte in lew of the Marchioness. He rises, and being struck dumb, he remains as motionless as a Statue, which gave time to Donna Barbara to express her resentments after this manner. Thou the most ungrate­ful, and the unworthiest of all men; have I abandoned my honour to the censure of the whole world? have I forsaken an Husband, and all other in­terests, to come after thee? and is it thus that thou requitest me? I will be reveng'd: and since that I cannot by any means imaginable enjoy thy Life, I will be the Author of thy Death: Yes, Traytor, I will immedi­ately send for the Marquess, whom thou hast so abus'd, that in my pre­sence he may take a full revenge of thee, that my Eyes and my Heart [Page 71]may have the satisfaction of seeing thee perish before me. With that she commands aloud that the door should be lock'd without side, which was presently done within Camille's hearing, after which she continued to vent her rage against him, with such passionate words, that poor Camille was never so amaz'd at any thing in all his Life, and of truth it did concern him; he found him­self in the power, and at the mercy of an Incensed woman, who doubt­less would give a full scope to all her resentments, and satisfie her sple­netick revenge at his cost; there was no retreating; to offer to make his way back by force, were to oblige her the sooner to call for help; amongst which the Mar­quess would not be forgot: To re­main there without giving her some kind of satisfaction, were but to exasperate her the more. After divers debates within himself, con­cerning what he should do, he re­solves [Page 72]to appease her in some measure with kind words, fair pro­mises, and humble submissions thereby to regain his liberty. In this design he approaches the Bed where­on she had thrown her self, and bow­ing down: Madam, said he, I must confess that my surprizal has been so great to find you here, when I thought you to be at Barcellonna, that I am not yet able throughly to recollect my self; and I find that some time must be allow'd me for it, which I humbly beg for, mean time all that I have to say for my self, is, that believing that you had been so fully prevented by your Husband in your designs, and I ha­ving to receiv'd orders from him never return to Barcellonna upon pain of Death, this had made me wholly give over all future hopes of ever having the happiness of see­ing you again; and on the other hand, had brought me here in pur­suit of the Marchioness, to renew [Page 73]with her my former affections, and if—Here Donna Barbara inter­rupted him, saying: But here I am, where in spight of all oppositi­ons, contemning all dangers, and treading all other considerations under feet; I am come in pursuit of the most ungrateful of men; but if I must perish, I will first break your measures, and have the satis­faction to see my Rival depriv'd of all hopes of possessing that which is refus'd unto my affections. Ma­dam, replyed Camille, I am sensible of the infinite obligations that I owe you; and if you but please to allow me some small time to wean my self from any further thoughts on the Marchioness, I shall acknow­ledge what you have done for me, with all the respects and gratitude imaginable; and if you will have so much bounty, as to attribute my former actions unto the excess of a blind passion, which made me pay to another, that which was [Page 74]with more justice due to you, I shall for the future address my vows here only, and limit my happiness with­in the compass of that esteem which you are pleas'd to express for me; though so unworthy of that happi­ness. At this turn, Donna Barbara look'd up, and holding forth her hand, he took it, and kissed it; he found that she would have him to help her up by it, which he did; af­ter which, they having had some further discourses, in order to a more ample reconciliation, and better understanding for the future, she releas'd her Prisoner, upon condi­tion, that he should daily visit her, the same way as he had done that Evening, until they were resolv'd upon some course, to free them­selves absolutely from all the Go­vernour's pursuits, and to get out of his power. All which Camille ha­ving promised to perform, he took his leave of her, and returned home.

Father Andrew, very impatient to learn what success Camille had had, did no sooner see him, but with a chearful countenance, he in­quired how the Marchioness had entertain'd him; but when Camille had inform'd him of the mistake, the good Fathers look's did so visi­bly change, that no body would have took him for the same man; yet after some little pawse that the amazement had caus'd; Well, Sir, said he, what is done cannot be help'd, but to prevent further trou­bles, let us make what diligence we can to find out the right Marchio­ness, and to see what may be done with her, before you are oblig'd to pay any further respects to Donna Barbara; to that purpose I will vi­sit all the Churches in the City, but I will find out the Marquess, or at least meet with some body that will inform me of him: This being concluded on, they went to Supper, and from thence to Bed, where Camille had [Page 76]full leisure to reflect on the oddness of this last adventure, and of the means to prevent further inconve­niences, for which he thought no way better than a quick dispatch, in getting the Marchioness at li­berty.

In the morning Father Andrew goes to the great Church, where after some time he sees the Marquess come in; he waits behind a Pillar, till he had finish'd his devotions, and then traces him home, and now what's to be done, but to return to Camille, and give him an account of the discovery, and consult toge­ther, how to inform speedily the Marchioness of their being at Sara­gossa, because that other ways Donna Barbara's expectations from Camille might spoil all, if not an­swered according to her desires. After some time spent in debates, it is concluded that the good Father should be disguis'd like one of those women which go from House to [Page 77]House in those Countries, felling of Womens little Trinkets; for there, they have not the great con­veniency of three Exchanges, to pick and chuse in, least they should make choice of such ware, as their Husbands would be very unwilling to pay for. No sooner concluded but executed, and while the one is dressing up like a very neat old Wo­man, to which the withered beard­less Face, did not a little contri­bute, the other was writing a Note which was to be secretly convey'd to the Marchioness. The Father is fitted with all necessaries, the Note is convey'd very smooth into a Glove, and the brisk old Woman, being in a perfect readiness, goes to the Marquess House: She meets with a Servant, of whom she inquires if she can be admitted with her Ware to the Marchioness. I have such choice of curious things, said she, as I am sure will please her very well. At this time, she is not [Page 78]to be spoken with, replyed the Ser­vant. That is, because that she knows not what excellent things I bring, replyed the old Woman: but if she did, I should not be here so long without being call'd in, I tell you, replyed the Servant, that she is now busy, that the Marquess is at present with her, in her Chamber, and that therefore you must come a­gain some other time. At the word Marquess the good old Woman was willing to be satisfied, to return, and to let the business alone till some other time, when that bug-bear were not in the way. In this resolution she begins to retire, when the Marquess coming by from his Wifes Chamber, he enquires what that Woman would have. It was now time to put on a good Face, nothing but the height of confi­dence with a good courage can car­ry off the old Woman, therefore she briskly answers; that she was come to shew the Marchioness some [Page 79]choice things, which she hop'd would please her, that if he pleas'd to order that she might be admitted, she was confident, that she should give the Lady full content. The Marquess, who ever since the Pil­grims last seisure, had been some­what more complaisant to the Mar­chioness, than before, had a mind to give his Wife some little present, out of this Womans store; he therefore turning back again, said, Come follow me: At the word, follow, our old Woman did look upon her plot as been utterly spoild, and was resolv'd not so much as once to mention the Gloves where­in lay the Letter, nor to let them be seen. The Marquess enters his Wifes Chamber, and tells her that he had brought her a woman with some things, of which he would have her make choice. The Marchio­ness, who was then somewhat out of humour, at the news of the Pil­grims second imprisonment, told [Page 80]him that she needed nothing for the present, and that she should call some other time: The old Woman, who thought there could be no­thing done so long as the trouble­some Marquess was present, was very willing to retire, fearing very much a discovery; but the Mar­quess holding her back, said, Nay, but I have a mind to present you with something; and taking the Woman by the arm, he pulls her to the Table, and shuts the door of the Chamber, bidding her lay o­pen her Ware: The old Woman would have given all her Shop, Cloaths, and a Finger to boot, had she been quit for that, to have been in Camille's Chamber, but all the wishes in the world will not do, she was got in too far to retire; and now she must make something of it, or be lost for ever: In this ex­tremity she displays her Merchan­dise; the Marquess presently ran­acks in it, and bids his Wife to [Page 81]chuse what the lik'd best: She with a great indifferency, meerly to please him, takes what comes next to her hand, the Marquess not pleas'd at it, does incourage her to look on all, and take what she lik'd best; and with that tosses and rumbles the whole pack from top to bottom: The old Woman had her Eye continually upon the tell-tale Glove, and still as it came upper­most, was very diligent to change its Station, and remove it a form lower; but at last the Marquess Eyes it, and finding it to his mind, takes hold of it at one end, while the old Woman presently seises on the other, the Marquess pulls it, the old Woman holds it fast, and to get it again out of the Marquess's his hands, she gives him the other Glove, telling him, that that which he had, had some fault in it, which should be mended if the other did sit, which she would try; with that the Marquess lets go his hold, [Page 82]and is so officious, that he will pull himself the other Glove on his Wifes hand, mean time the old Woman fumbles about the other, not daring to venture the pulling out of the paper, for fear of the Marquess's prying Eyes. The Marquess having pull'd on that Glove, which fitted and look'd ve­ry well, he asks for the other; the old Woman having no other way left to get off, presently takes the Marchionesses hand, to pull it on her self, the Marquess will have the office on't, she persists in her will, and gets it on the Marchio­nesses hand, do the Marquess what he could to oppose her; saying that she was asham'd to stand still and see the Marquess thus take her work out of her hand, which oblig'd the Marquess to desist, though grum­blingly, and displeas'd at the over diligent old Womans opposition; she mean time pulls on the Glove, though not with so much di­ligence [Page 83]and neatness, as had the Marquess, she busying her self at the same time, in pressing the Mar­chionesses Elbow with her hand, and guiding her Fingers to the Pa­per; the Marquess stood looking on with the greatest impatiency in the World, having not power to desist any longer from shewing his dexterity, and abhorring the old Womans bungling just as the Mar­chioness was sensible that there was something more than ordinary in that Glove, the Marquess takes the old Woman by the arm, and very angrily, he turns her away, to take her Employment from her: at which the Marchioness giving a shreik, Cry'd, You have strain'd my Wrist; with that, holding her other hand with her Hankerchief over the Glove and Wrist, she put by the o­ver officious Marquess, telling him that she would not have it touch'd till the anguish was over. This put the Marquess quite out of humour, [Page 84]who fell a grumbling at the old Woman, while that his Wife ha­ving bid one of her Servants to car­ry those things which she had cho­sen, into her Closet, she followed her to lay them up; so soon as the Woman had laid them down, she sent her back for to know what they came to, and to ask of the old Wo­man if she had not some effences, mean time she takes out the Paper in which she read.

Your Pilgrims Agent, here demands, That you would send him your com­mands.

And having found a short piece of Black-lead Pencel, in one of the Fin­gers, so soon as she had sent the Woman of another errand, while her Husband was paying the old Woman, she writ on the other side of the paper,

This Night, in the Garden, un­der my Closet Window; and having [Page 85]conveyed it into the Glove again, she unripp'd some seams between the Fingers, and gave it the old Wo­man, telling her, that she should get it mended; the Marquess was going to lay hands on it again, but the old Woman being too nimble for him, thrust it into her pack amongst her other things, saying, that she would bring it again sometime that day, or the next at farthest, and taking leave she was going off, when the Marquess seising her by the Hand, and pulling her back again, did give her and his Wife a fresh ala­rem, but it lasted not long; for the busy Marquess did soon put them out of it in bidding the old Wo­man to leave the money which she had receiv'd for the Gloves, till she came again, the money being rea­dily render'd by the good Woman, she presently went her way, with an assurance of returning again with the Glove mended to their liking.

The good Father Andrew being got off thus, with flying Colours, was so puff'd up with good success, that he thought nothing could be above his atchievements, he was so prepossest with that good opinion of himself, that going out of the Chamber, in lieu of taking his leave after the manner of the Ma­trons, he was for bowing for­wards with his hands a cross, in a Fryer-like Salutation; but rectify­ing himself, before notice was ta­ken, he got off with credit, and was not long before he return'd to Camille; where in giving him a full account of his good success, he was not wanting in expressing the Mar­quess's over-diligence, and to trum­pet forth his own praises in his dex­terous avoiding of all the Husbands troublesome pryings into the miste­rious part of the late contrivance; and giving the Glove to Camille, he found in it what the Marchioness had writ.

Businesses being brought to that pass, with the Marchioness, Ca­mille's next care was to pacify still more and more, Donna Barbara, and so prevent her from spoiling his de­signs, which she might easily do, but with one word writing to the Marquess; if she had but the least suspition imaginable of Camilles correspondency with her Rival. This made him, so soon as it was E­vening, to render her a visit. She re­ceiv'd it very kindly, and they were enter'd upon a very amourous entertainment, when the Maid came running into the Chamber, and as well as her fright and haste would permit her, she told them, that there was a Person of quality at the Street-door, that was setting a Guard upon it; after that he had done the same at the back-door, with a charge to let no body go out of the house, on what account soe­ver, without his further orders. Presently people were heard to [Page 88]come up stairs, which made her to run our of the Chamber again, and to lock the door after her; one ask'd aloud which was the Cham­ber, which being told, and finding it shut, it was broke open; yet not so suddenly, but that Donna Barba­ra, had time to convey Camille into her Closet, where he resting on his knees and hands, she spread a Carpet over him, and gent­ly seating her self upon him, as on a stool, in that posture she waited (with the Closet door open, that she might the sooner be perceiv'd) till those persons were enter'd her Chamber.

The Door being broken down, in rushes the Governour of Barcel­lonna: After he had left two Ser­vants to guard the Chamber door, with a strickt charge to let no body go out of it. So soon as the Gover­nour had espy'd his Wife, he cry'd out, Oh! are you there, Madam? I must find out you Minion also, if he [Page 89]is here, that I may pay him my respects: This said, he search'd all over the Chamber and Closet, flinging the Bed and Bedding all over the Room, and leaving not one hole or corner unvisited, not so much as a Window, or the Chimney escaping him; but having not found what he sought after, he returns to his Wife, and taking her off of her seat: Come, Madam, since I am so unfortunate as not to meet with your devout Pilgrim, give me leave in his absence to supply his office, and to lead you in some place more secure, than you find this to be: With that he leads her out, giving a special care to the Servants to watch the Door till his return, and to let no body in; then he conveys her into a Coach, and from thence into a Nunnery, where he left her in the Care of the Abbess, who was a Kins-woman of his Wifes.

He was returning to his Wifes Lodgings, to pack up all that she had left there, when he espy'd the Marquess that stood at his Gardens back Door, they would willingly have shun'd one another, but not being able to avoid their approaches, they were forc'd to Salute: The Marquess was very much surpriz'd to see the Governour of Barcellonna at Saragossa, where, when he came first himself, he did not design to stay above five or six days, only to view the City. The Marquess having given the Governour an ac­count of his Wifes Health, and enquired of his and his Ladies, the Governour gave him a brief ac­count of her late escape from him, which had made him to seek after her there, where he had found her, but not the wicked Pilgrim, who he verily believ'd had debauch'd her; at which the Marquess smiling, made answer, that he had done that work for him three days since, [Page 91]and that he had sent him to Prison, where he was safe enough. They finding themselves Companions in the same affliction, though there were great odds; and that their Wives zealous devotions to the ho­ly Pilgrim, could not be allay'd so easily, the Marquess was invited by the Governour, to go with him to his Wifes late Lodgings, where he was to return, that they might pass away the residue of the Evening together, and consult how to rescue their Wives, for the future from that Devilish Pilgrims temptations. The Governour did prevail, and they took Coach to that purpose.

The Governour return'd with the Marquess to his Wifes Lodgings. They were not long before they fell into a very serious discourse of their Wives; and amongst other things, the Marquess was saying, that if e­ver that Pilgrim should get out of Prison again, he would certainly [Page 92]be the ruin of them both, to their own shame and confusion: That therefore they were so to order the business, as to have him condemn'd and executed, which would be a a certain way to be for ever rid of him; all this was in the hearing of Camille, with divers other things and contrivances, in which they did spend a considerable time.

Mean while, diligent Father An­drew, who was always upon the watch, having had an account of all that had pass'd, and not hearing a word mention'd of Camille, who was not return'd to his Lodgings, he concluded that he had hid him­self in Donna Barbara's Chamber, whence he durst not adventure forth, so long as the Governour should be there; he ponders within himself, what he had best to do for his deliverance, before the time of the Night were come, that they were to repair under the Marchio­nesses Window in the Garden, he [Page 93]returns to his Lodgings the better to contrive the business. A little after there came a Messenger from the Prison, with a Letter directed to the Marchioness, without a name, lodging in such a Street. When the Marquess had caus'd the Pilgrim to be committed, he had given charge, that in case the Prisoner should desire Pen and Ink, that it should be granted to him, but that whatsoever he should write to be sent forth, should be immediatly brought to him: This had been done accordingly; but the Messen­ger being at the Marquess's House, had been sent here after him. The Marquess having receiv'd it, open'd it, and read as follows.

This Letter being read, the Mar­quess and the Governour could not but admire at once, both the simpli­city and impudence of this Pilgrim; yet the Governour did take notice, that this was not writ in such a stile [Page 95]as the Pilgrim us'd to express him­self when he was at Barcellonna. The Marquess made answer, That it was probable that his imprison­ment, and the thwarting of his de­signs, without hops of redress, had render'd him so melancholick as to discompose his mind. While they were thus spending their Verdict and descanting on the Pilgrims Let­ter, there was another brought to the Marquess, which having open'd, he read as follows.

This last Letter did so surprize them both, that looking on one another, they remain'd mute; at last the Governour said, that they ought not to let slip so fair an op­portunity, of punishing their Wives diligent Mercury. No, no, reply'd the Marquess, that would be a great over-sight, I will immediately go to the Prison and have him seis'd on, and I will along with you, said the Governour; for I long to see how strangely he will be surpriz'd at the sight of us: Thus you see, reply'd the Marquess, that the wicked seek their own ruin, and bring them­selves to receive the punishment due to their offences. Well, reply'd the Governour, now is the time to se­cure both these wicked men, that [Page 97]they shall never more be in any Ca­pacity of debauching our Wives. Let's be going, reply'd the Mar­quess, and lose no time, for fear he be gone before we come, and that we lose this fair opportunity of seizing him: With that they did immediately take Coach to the o­ther end of the City, where was the Prison.

They were no sooner got out of the House, but the politick Father Andrew, of whose contrivance the Letter was, came in, he goes up Stairs, and having ask'd which was the Chamber that belong'd to the Governour of Barcellonna; it was shew'd him by one of the Guards, he draws near it, and is repulsed, and told, that no body was to go in there: I know, reply'd the sub­tle Father, that your Orders are to let no body in, but you are not hindred from letting any person go out, especially when I am sent on purpose by the Governour for [Page 98]them. There is no body there, re­ply'd one of the Servants: It were strange indeed, reply'd the Father, then they are gone out before I came for them, and yet I have made what haste I could from the Governour and the Marquess; I came here directly, and have not met by the way, that Person that I come for: But I loose time, and the business presses. Signiour Ca­mille, continued he with a loud Voice, you must leave off your watch­ing, for he that you wait for has been a Prisoner these three days, and you must immediately go along with me to the Governour, that stays for you; come forth and I will deliver you my Errand punctually: This was spo­ken with so much confidence by the Fryer, that the Servants pre­sently open'd the Door, and forth came Camille; Now, Sir, continu­ed Father Andrew, I must tell you that there is one Father Andrew at the Prison, that would speak with the [Page 99]Pilgrim Prisoner; the Governour was going to seize on him, but he has better consider'd on't, and therefore has sent me for you, that you should go first, and bring him certain word, whether it be that Person that he means, or not, whom he says you know very well. This did the good Father speak with so much readi­ness, that Camille himself was startled at it; and the Servants ha­ving heard the Governour and the Marquess discourse of it, before they went forth, they made no scruple in the least to let him go: Camille and the Fryer got home to their Lodgings, where they had leisure to recollect themselves, to laugh at their Cullies Credulities, and to prepare against the time of going under the Marchionesses Window.

Mean time the Governour and the Marquess are carried with all the diligence possible unto the Prison, contriving all the way how to pu­nish [Page 100]this wicked and most abomi­nable Fryer; at last they get thi­ther, and presently inquire of the Keeper where was the Fryer. What Fryer do you mean, reply'd the Keeper? Father Andrew, Father Andrew, reply'd the Marquess ha­stily; I hope you have not let him go, continued he? Never talk of that, said the Governour, where is he, where is he? What have you done with him? said the Marquess. The Keeper amaz'd at their car­nest inquiries, stood staring some­time on one, some time on the other, without saying a word. Pray, says the Governour to him, convey us where he is, and if you can, so as that we may see him without dis­covering our selves: Nay, it were much better, now I think on't, said the Marquess, to place us so as that we might hear him discourse with the Pilgrim, and not be seen. Doubtless, replyed the Governour, but we should make some notable [Page 101]discoveries, and therefore go let him into the Pilgrim, while we stay here till you come back to lead us where we may hear them. Let it be as of your own accord, said the Marquess, and be quick, for I long to hear what new piece of Villany they are consulting of; at this they both pausing a while, wondring that the Keeper did not stir, he had time to say, I assure you, My Lord, that you have both so surpriz'd me, I know not what to think, much less what to say; neither do I scarce know where, or who I am; I have heard you all this while, speak of a Fryer and a Pilgrim, but I know no more what you mean by it, than the Man in the Moon. Then rubbing of his Eyes, and yawning, Let me see, continu'd he, am I asleep still, or do I wake? Though I was sleep­ing when you came, certainly I am now awake, or how should I stand thus else, continued he strut­ting, [Page 102]and speak thus to you; nay, see and hear you too? And yet I do protest to you, that I know no­thing at all of any Fryers being here: At this the Marquess shew'd him the Letter, and said, did you not send me this Letter, about half an hour since? Who I, send a Letter, reply'd the Keeper? I was then dreaming of other things, I can assure you, continued he; and I have neither writ, sent, or so much as thought of a Letter, this day, except that which I sent you from the Pilgrim a while since; then look­ing on the Letter, which the Mar­quess had given him; neither is this my hand writing, alas! I could never write a quarter so well: This the Keepers story, made the Marquess and the Governour, in their turn to be mute and look on one ano­ther; they concluded that this had been some trick of their Wives, not without some designs: As for mine, said the Governour, she is [Page 103]at present safe enough from doing any mischief of that nature: And mine, said the Marquess, has not had a Pen and Ink since I have Married her, except the Devil has supply'd her with one of late; I ra­ther believe, that it is that cursed Fryer himself, that has thus sham'd us: But to what purpose, reply'd the Governour? To nothing that is good, you may be certain, an­swer'd the Marquess; and for my part I will hasten home, where I think my presence more necessary than here; with that they took leave of one another, and went each to their own home.

So soon as the Governour was return'd, he inquir'd of his Ser­vants who had been there, they answer'd him, no body, but the lit­tle ancient Gentleman whom he had sent to fetch the other Gentle­man, that had been left in the Chamber to watch for the Pilgrim. How, said the Governour, a man [Page 104]left in the Chamber to watch for the Pilgrim. How? said the Governour, a man left in the Chamber, and now gone out, while you two stand at the Door and permit it? With that drawing his Sword, You Villains, continued he, I'll be the death of you both; how many were there to force him from you? What re­sistance have you made? And if you were over power'd, shew me your wounds? Where is the blood that you have spill'd in making op­position? At these high words, both the poor Fellows, falling on their knees, gave him an exact account of the whole passage, and with tears in their Eyes, ask'd him pardon for their Error. The Governour present­ly enter'd the Chamber, and while he was considering where this person could be hid, he was think­ing also who it should be; at last, he concluded that there was some great mistake in the business, and did believe that the Marquess had lighted on the wrong Pilgrim, who [Page 105]he had secured while the damn'd right one had been hid in his Wives Chamber, whence his special agent, that wicked Father Andrew, had got him out by framing of that Let­ter: This did set him in such a rage, that he would not so much as give the Marquess an account of his thoughts, which he concluded to be certain; but the next morning early he went to the Monastery, whence having taken out his Wife, he return'd with her to Barcellonna, where he us'd her as he pleas'd.

The Marquess, all this while, had not been wanting in diligently inquiring of all the Servants, who had been there, and examining of the two Guardian Women, so tor­menting them, that one of them nam'd Zora, being tyred out with his frivolous repeated questions, and fretting at his unreasonable threat­ning of them, for letting his Wife have the conveniency of writing, she knowing her self innocent, did at last tell the Marquess, that there [Page 106]was no Hell, like living with a Man so strangely jealous as he was, which did set the Marquess in such a fury, that he struck her, which made her run into the Marchio­nesses Chamber with Tears in her Eyes: The Marchioness as'kd what was the matter, to which Zora answered; That, Madam, which in a short time shall turn to your advantage. The Marchioness who had design'd to sit up till the Mar­quess was return'd, least that he going his usual rounds before go­ing to Bed, should meet with the Letter, which his Wife did intend for Camille; hearing that the Mar­quess was coming to bed, went and dropp'd the Letter, so retiring, she put her self in Bed; while the Marquess was undressing he did nothing but grumble, fret, and threaten, in a word, the false Let­ter had set him quite out of hu­mour.

The hour come, which was a­bout the darkest part of the Night, Camille got over the Wall with the active Father Andrew into the Gar­den; for though the good Father had no great business there, yet he lov'd so well the sport, that Camille could not prevail with him to stay at home: They were not got half way the walk, which led from the Garden Door to the House, when Father Andrew, whose Eyes were always upon the watch, did per­ceive something that mov'd at the end of the other end; this put him to a stand, and made him take Ca­mille by the arm, and hold him back: Stay, said he, I think I see some body that is waiting for us, let us retire while we can, for fear of a surprize: Camille looking ear­nestly also, said, I do see some­thing move, but is not tall enough to be a man, and I rather believe that it is some Dog, which though not so dangerous, may, I fear dis­cover [Page 108]cus, and spoil our design. Fa­ther Andrew was for a retreat, and Camille was for leaving the broad Walk, and striking into the lesser Allies to go round by the Wall side to discover what it were, without being perceiv'd; but the good Father having no inclination to venture any further, said, that he was sure it was no Dog, and that he would stay under the next Tree, while Camille should go make the discovery. Ca­mille agreed to it, and went by the Wall side till he came near enough to distinguish that it was a Monkey that had broke loose from some of the Neighbourhood, who having found the Letter that the Marchio­ness had thrown there, he had torn it open, and was playing with it. Camille was glad that it was no worse, yet knew not which way to go about to get the Letter from that little unlucky Creature; he was still drawing nearer to him, when the Monkey did perceive [Page 109]him, which made him chatter so fast and so loud, all the while tear­ing of the Letter, that Camille thought there was no time to lose, therefore he suddenly rush'd upon the Monkey, who being too nim­ble for him, did run away, squeek­ing so loud that the Marquess being alarm'd at it, did presently get to the Window, with a Pistol in his hand, and perceiving Camille who was very busie in gathering up the pieces of Paper, that the Mon­key had scatter'd, he discharg'd it at him, but to no effect.

Father Andrew, at the noise of the Pistol, did run as fast as he could towards the place where they had left the Ladder of Ropes hanging, by which they had got over, but meeting by chance with the Monkey, which he took for a Man, his fears magnifying all ob­jects, he ran counter, and know­ing no better way, finding him­self near a high Tree, he presently [Page 110]climbes to the top of it, where he hid himself amongst the thickest of the Leaved Branches.

Camille having gathered all that he could find of the pieces of Pa­per, made what haste he could to­wards the place of retreat, and not seeing Father Andrew, as he pass'd by, he concluded that he was gone, which made him to follow after. By this the Marquess and his Ser­vants were got into the Garden, with Guns, Pistols, Swords, and other Weapons, they search every Bush, Hedge, and Corner, but find no body, the Marquess sees a piece of Paper lying upon the ground, he takes it up, and puts it into his Pocket to peruse some other time; he was too busy then, nei­ther had he light enough to do it. Some run to the back Gate, which is found shut, they perceive some Morter and Stones newly dropp'd from the Wall which made them conclude that they were Thievs [Page 111]gone that way out, so that they were all returning in.

As the Marquess was passing un­der a Tree, he was hit on the Hat with a piece of withered Branch, at which he presently looks up, and perceives something to move; here­joices within himself already, that he had found the Robbers of his Honour, and commands some of his Servants to get up, and fetch them down, dead or a live. While he was pon­dering what Torments and Racks he should make them endure, some of the Servants being got up, they heard a strange chattering, for the Monky who had caus'd the dryed bow to fall, finding himself pursu­ed so close, made such a noise as presently gave to understand to his pursuers the Nature of the Beast. But the Marquess's distrustful Nature, making him suspect that it might be some Counterfeit, he com­manded his Servants to pursue and take him. The unlucky nimble [Page 112]Creature, having no other way to avoid his pursuers, he leaps from the Tree he was on to the next, where sat the most distressed Father Andrew, whom the foolish Crea­ture taking to be one of his Ene­mies, he began to squeek and chat­ter more than ever: Those that were upon the abandon'd Tree ha­ving given notice of their Preys re­moval; the Marquess sent some up the other Tree, on which both the delinquents were retreated; one of the climbers went so high after this little troublesom Annimal, that he perceiv'd a certain pair of Legs, that did not belong unto so small a Beast as a Monkey. The poor Father now perceiving that he was disco­vered, past all hopes of Redempti­on, was recommending his case to all the He and She Saints, besides the Eleven thousand Virgins; when his fierce Enemy cry'd, Oh! have I found you out? I'll fetch you down presently: This dreadful [Page 113]threatning did set him into such an horror and fear, that it caus'd him to drop down something, which his anguish would not let him retain a­ny longer, just in the nick of time as the fellow was gaping and look­ing up; which did light so full upon his Face, that it stopt his Mouth from telling any more tales for that bout; and blinded him so, that go­ing to clear his Eyes with his Hands, he was so unfortunate as to let go his hold, which made him fall to the ground, whence he was carried away speechless. This sad accident put an end to the Chace; for the Marquess thinking that there was too much mischief done already, in the pursuit of a Monkey, did give order to all his Servants to retreat, and let the Beast a­lone, which they presently obey'd, taking the dead along with them.

Father Andrew having overheard the sad accident, that had been [Page 114]the cause of his sad and safe delive­rance; after he had return'd thanks to all his Advocates, (though he thought his own industry very in­strumental in it, which made him ever after, to rely very much on his own merits) finding the Coast clear, he comes down the Tree, and goes toward the place, by which he had come in, whereon he was looking very melancholick, having no hopes of getting out of the Garden, when he perceives a head peeping over the Garden-Wall: at the first his fears were go­ing to make him run to his old post again; but presently recollecting himself, he thought that it could not be any one of the House; be­cause that whoever did look over the Wall, must be in the Street: A little after he perceiv'd that it was Camille; who having not found him at home, was return'd with the Ladder of Ropes to get him off, if he was not taken. The poor Fa­ther [Page 115]did presently get over, and without speaking one word, he run as fast as he could to his Lodg­ings, where he gave Camille a full account of the whole adventure, while he was fitting every bit of Paper to it's right place, which having done he read it as follows.

THE news of your double deli­verance, has been no-less well­come to me, than the knowledge of your continuing in the generous resolu­tion of assisting a poor afflicted Woman, wherein you express so much Chari­ty, as sets you right in my Opinion, in spight of all that had been laid to your charge; some new Visions which my Husband has had, since the in­dustrious old Woman was here, has so chang'd that fortunate good humour that he was in then, into a furious malice against me; that by some words which the excess of his passion drives forth, I had some Jealousies that he may attempt something on my [Page 116]Life, or at least remove me very speedily, where I shall be miserably new'd up for the rest of my days without any future hopes of a deliverance; I have no way to di­vert this sudden and dangerous storm from falling on me, but by sheltring myself under the pretence of a fit of sickness, which may retard his designs, till you have leisure and con­veniency to work my Liberty. I wish you could find a way to play the Physitian, as well as I shall act the Patients part, then I should hope that my freedom were at hand, and then you might with justice expect from me a reward sutable to your Signal Services, which could be no less, than all that I am able to dis­pose of, without any prejudice to my honour and to vertue. Endeavour to—

When Camille came to that word, Endeavour, which intimated, by the abrupt breaking off, that there [Page 117]was something wanting of the Letter; which he having left behind, had doubtless fallen into the Marquess his hands; that joy, which had been screw'd up almost to an excess, by every Character of the Letter, was in­stantly dash'd to pieces, at the want of that small piece of Paper, which he fancied did contain great mat­ters, and of such weight peradven­ture, as might enlighten the Mar­quess to the great prejudice, if not total ruine of the whole design: while he was thus left in the dark, he gave to that word a thousand interpretations, all of very dange­rous consequences. He call'd him­self a thousand fools, for leaving a­ny pieces of Paper behind him; he as many times curst that mischie­vous Creature, that had been the cause of it, and as oft he call'd him­self unhappy and miserable; but all this would not bring the want­ing piece of Paper to the rest; and [Page 118]that which added much to his sor­row, was the coldness which he found in Father Andrew, as to any further attempts in his behalf; the very thoughts of the late dangers, in which he had so lately been in­gag'd, did make him die with ve­ry fear; not knowing but that the piece of Paper that was wanting, might inform the Marquess of the mistery of the Glove; so that Ca­mille had much to do to buoy him up in that Sea of fears and perplexities, wherein the dejected Father was almost over-whelm'd; yet after that Camille had read the Letter, and assur'd him, that there could be no such sence attributed to that word, representing to him, the caution with which the Marchio­ness did always accompany all her actions, and the utter ruin of all his hopes, if he should relent, and hearken; but when he understood what advantages and preferment, Camille did promise him, if the bu­siness were once accomplish'd, with [Page 119]the Golden earnest, which Camille did instantly give him in hand of it; he was quite vanquish'd, his hard-heartedness did vanish with his fears, so that he promis'd not to forsake so bountiful a Friend, in time of need; No, said, he it shall ne­ver be said, that Father Andrew did once undertake an amorous in­triegue, and left it off before it was accomplish'd, especially acting for a Patron of power and willingness to protect me, from all troubles and inconveniences; with that, calling for a glass of Wine to chear up his Spirits, and stay his stomach, till brakefast was ready, he drank to Camille, a Health to the beautiful Marchioness, and to their good success; Camille was not backwards in giving him all the incourage­ments that he could imagin; a little after, brakefast was brought up, and they having eaten, drank, and discours'd merrily, they laid themselves to rest, tiil it was time to return with the Glove.

Mean time the Marquess was possest with a more violent rage than ever. The Fellow that was carried in dead, after the admini­string of some Cordials and bleed­ings, coming to himself again, had declared, that he had seen a Man on the very uppermost branches of that Tree, off of which he had fal­len, who casting some thing in his Eyes, while he was looking up, had caus'd him to let go his hold, which was the occasion of his fall, just when he was giving notice of his discovery. The Marquess had presently sent divers Servants to search every Tree in the Garden, while he himself visited all the un­derwoods; all to no purpose, the Featherless Bird being flown long before; so that being return'd to his Wifes Chamber, he had gi­ven a full vent unto his fury, with such threatnings, which tended to the giving her of a Spanish Fig, that there were causes to fear some such [Page 121]sad effect, at some time or other This did strike such a terror in the Marchioness's mind, that she had no occasion to counterfeit, for she fell into a feaver, though not ve­ry violent. Then she took a full re­solution, in order to save her own life, to make use of the Pilgrim's of­fers; though she had once been in the mind to refuse them, fearing that he should expect, as a reward, that which she could not, nor ought not to give.

This sudden illness of the Mar­chioness, did make the Marquess, so soon as the fury of his passion was over, to send for a Physitian, by the solicitation of Zora, which were joyn'd to her Ladies desires; yet with so much discretion, that the Marquess took no further no­tice of it. A Servant was going for a Doctor, when at the Street-Door he met with the old peddling Woman, who was come to bring back the Glove. Who desired to [Page 122]have it delivered to the Marchio­ness; the Servant answered, that it could not be now, because that she was fallen very ill of a sudden of a Feaver, and that he was sent to seek for a Doctor; but that being a Stranger, he knew not where to go. Alas! a-well-a-day, said the old Woman, I am heartily sorry for it, and she has been so good a Customer to me, that I will bring you to the most eminent Doctor in Town; but he is a great Humourist, and a Man of very few words; and you must let me alone to per­suade him to go. The Fellow, glad of the opportunity, goes with the brisk old Woman, who returns to Camille, and leaving the Fellow be­low, while she goes up to persuade the famous Doctor; she runs up to Camille, and informs him of the business, then presently going down to the Servant, she told him, that he should return home and tell them, that a Doctor would be with [Page 123]them immediately; and withall gave him the Glove to deliver to some of the Marchioness's Women, with which the Fellow return'd home, very well contented.

Father Andrew having thus acted the second part of the old Woman, he returns up to Camille, very glad that he had quitted his hands of that dangerous Glove; he pre­sently advises Camille to write his mind, that he might give it to the Marchioness, while he felt her Pulse, and that he would take care to go to some Jew-Broker, and hire what was necessary to make a Do­ctor of Camille; Camille present­ly falls a-writing, and Father An­drew goes, and in a trice returns again, with all things fitting, Ca­mille having written these few lines.

Part of your Letter was lost, I fear your Husband has found it; I am come to receive new orders, all delays for the future will be of dan­gerous [Page 124]consequences, therefore con­clude on something against I visit you next, and I shall act accordingly,

He inserted in them these fol­lowing lines.

Beauty, Madam, is not purely Ornamental, it has its other lustres and advantages likewise, which speak its celestial origine, and ren­ders it as admirable, as it is Divine; as its powerful influences, which do produce such wonderful effects do dai­ly verify. With what eagerness has it made the greatest Conquerours, in all Ages, to prostrate themselves be­fore it, and to lay their Trophies at the Feet of her Altars, leaving all their other concerns unregarded, to give themselves wholly up to the admiration of its excellency? With what precipitation have the greatest Monarchs descended from their Thrones, to pay homage unto its Im­perial Greatness? No Rank, Quali­ty, [Page 125]or Condition, escapes its power, Madam. The Priests have desisted addressing of their Vows and Prayers to their neglected Deities, to offer at her Shrine, their Incense and Adora­tion. And the Grave Philosophers have laid aside their numerous Vo­lumes, to give themselves up wholly unto the contemplation of its Causes and Effects; while the whole Crea­tion stands in an amazement at the Glory thereof. Heroes will readily change their Swords for Palmers Staves; Kings and Emperours will Convert their Scepters into Sheep­herds Hooks; Priests will turn their Bloody Sacrifices, and Enthusiastick Raptures, into fragrant Offerings, and melodious Layes: Sour Philoso­phers, will neglect their more crab­bed part of Learning to Dream of Eli­zium Fields; all Conditions will for­get their Interests, and transform themselves into all manner of Forms, to render themselves agreeable, and obsequiously subservient to its Com­mands.

It is true, Madam, that like un­to other Divinities, Beauty does make use of secondary Causes, to work those wonderful Effects. But it chiefly employs Love, that powerful Agent, wherewith it fills all Hearts with such a Divine Flame, as inspires and incites those whose Bosoms are warmed with it, to perform the greatest actions: For, without it, Madam, whoever did attain to more than common things? But when once a Heart is quickned by that subtle Fire, what dangerous Enterprises, what difficult Attempts, and what intricate Designs are there, which are not undertaken with as much celerity, and eagerness, as they are performed with vigour and good success?

No wonder, Madam, if some Sparks of that Celestial Fire, having alighted upon my prepared Heart, they have fill'd it with a most passio­nate desire to become a votary unto the Altars of your excellent Beauty, [Page 127]to the exclusion of all other Terre­strial devotion. Deign therefore, Madam, to accept of the Offerings which I make unto you of it, and be pleas'd to reward, in due time, its fi­delity and perseverance, with some grains of reciprocal affection.

These lines which were both a Panegyrick to Beauty, and a decla­ration of Love, did raise such a ten­der vail of tincture over all the Lil­lies of the Marchioness's Cheeks, as did almost termine into blushes, when she read them; she guest at what the Pilgrim did aim, which at all other times would have caus'd her to break all further correspon­dency with him, but as things stood then, not knowing how to mend her self for the present, she was glad of any opportunity, and to employ all sorts of Instruments; leaving to her self the management of the consequences hereafter.

Camille was instantly fitted, while the good Father accoutres himself to personate the Mule-dri­ver. They were just got ready, when news was brought up, that the Marquess his Servant was come again for the Doctor: They go im­mediately, the Servant leads the Van, our new vamp'd Doctor is in the Main, and Father Andrew brings up the Rear; they come to the Marquess his Door, the Do­ctor alights from his grave Beast, and is conducted up into the Lady's Chamber, which was made so dark, because that the light did offend her Eyes, and caus'd her Head to ake, that the Doctor was forc'd to be conducted to the Bed­side, by one of her Women; there he feels her Pulse, gives her the Letter, and making as if he ask'd her some private questions, he steals a kiss from her Hand, and another from her Lips, after which he re­tires at some little distance from the [Page 129]Bed side; after which the Marquess, who had stood all the while near the Window, came and accosted the Doctor, inquiring of him, how he found his Patient, and what hopes there was; to which he made no other answer, than that he would quickly go and prescribe for her; and that when she had taken what he would send, he would be better able to give him an account; with that the Marquess gives him his Fee, and away goes our Do­ctor.

The Marquess returning into his Wives Chamber from conducting the Doctor, he is met by Zora, who tells him that the Marchioness would sleep, which made him re­tire, and take along with him the o­ther Woman, that their chat might not disturb her rest.

Zora being left single with her Lady in her Chamber, she asks how she does, and the Marchioness find­ing her self something better than [Page 130]she had been, told her so, after which Zora falls down on her knees by the Bed side, and with tears in her Eyes, she began to speak thus un­to her Lady.

Madam, you may suspect, and with much Reason and Justice, that whatsoever I shall say to you, may be to your prejudice, and with a design to intrap you, and make you more miserable yet, than you are; and of truth I must needs con­fess, that when I consider with what exactness I have observ'd and executed your Husbands orders, even with that severity, which was beyond his expectation, in which I have shewn my self most inhu­mane towards one of my own Sex, though far above me in merits, and all sorts of respects; I then despair of ever prevailing with you, to add faith to what I shall say. There­fore, Madam, I must be forc'd to make use of something more than my bare words and relation, to con­vince [Page 131]you of the sincerity of my pre­sent intentions: Yet thus much I have to say for my self; that all the cruel severity that I have ever ex­ercis'd against you, has never pro­ceeded from any particular aversi­on, hatred, or prejudice, that I could have against your person, but from meer interest and greedi­ness of profit, which made me think, that the more severe I should express my self against you, the better I should be rewarded by him that had employ'd me; I was a poor miserable Creature ready to perish for want, when the Marquess took me into his service, to be one of the instruments of his cruelty towards you; and finding the com­forts of a full Table, warm cover­ing, and other refreshments, besides the hopes of laying up something against my old age, which is com­ing on very fast, and then re­flecting with horrour, on my late [Page 132]and miserable condition; the ap­prehensions and dread of returning unto that woful state again, and the obligations which I thought that I owed unto my Benefactor, were the true promoters of all the sor­rows, troubles, and afflictions which you have since sustained through my means. But, Madam, con­tiued she, there is no heart, though never so hard and cruel, but at some time or other will relent, and give way unto some sparks of compassi­on: since our arrival at Saragossa, I have had now and then some re­morse and pitty of your condition, which has sometime made me wish, that it were my Fortune to get a livelihood by any other means, than such as did appear to me to be against all the Rules of Humani­ty and Religion. This has made me to reflect upon the severity, with which you have met on all hands, (excepting Heaven, who has plen­tifully recompenc'd you in all the [Page 133]accomplishments of the body and mind.) First from your Parents, as I have been inform'd, who contra­ry to your inclinations, did force you to marry a Person, whom you had declared you hated, and for whom you could never have any Love; but on the contrary, that you look'd upon him as the greatest of your Enemies. Then, Madam, when I added to this, that cruel Ty­ranny, that your jealous Husbands humour has caus'd him to exercise over you, without the least occasi­on imaginable, since the very first moment that he could call you his, and the examplary patience, with which you have endured all his unkindnesses: These things have made me divers times wish that you were freed from that slavery in which you languish. But when lately, as I was looking out of the Window, I did see that Pilgrim, who for your sake has suffer'd so much already, to be dragg'd and [Page 134]hal'd to Prison, with as little compassion, as if it had been a Dog, it came within my thoughts, that if this poor Gentleman did suf­fer so much for your sake, only for endeavouring to free you from that misery you groan under; what did I deserve, that was one of the un­worthy instruments of your af­flictions. Yet, Madam, this is not all; that which has concluded this through Reformation in me, are those Words that your Hus­band does frequently let fall in his passions of late; which speak as if he would attempt something a­gainst your Life: Those indeed reach'd to my very Heart. These things, Madam, have made me enter into some serious considerati­ons within my self, from them I am come to reflections, and those have brought me to a firm resoluti­on, rather to perish, than to live through so unworthy means as I do at present; and to prefer your [Page 135]liberty and content, unto that prospect which I had of making my Fortune, by continuing to be your Keeper: Not without hopes, Ma­dam, that if you should get out of your Bondage, through my affi­stance, you would consider my Services, and make up my losses an­other way. And now, Madam, to confirm what I have said, and convince you, that it proceeds from a due sense of your miseries, which has produced a perfect and sincere repentance in me; be pleas'd to look on this Paper: With that she gave the Marchioness that Paper, which the Marquess had taken up in the Garden; telling her that the Marquess, pulling out his Handker­chief, had dropp'd it; and that she having taken it up, look'd on it, and found it did so much concern her, she kept it to give it her, not­withstanding the great inquiries and search which the Marquess had made after it, she having flat­ly [Page 136]deny'd to him, that she had seen any. The Marchioness having ta­ken it, read as follows.

—The Doctor, as you have formerly the Pilgrim, give me an account of your resolutions, by the counterfeit old Woman, when she brings me the Glove, who was so ex­cellently disguis'd, that I did not know the good Father Andrew, till he had given me some signs of it.

That was enough to let the Mar­chioness know, that this was the latter part of her Letter to the Pil­grim, which she had dropp'd out of her Window. This did fully confirm her, that Zora was a true Convert, which did give her very great satisfaction, but when she thought that her Husband had seen it, by which he would discover the whole Plot, she visibly chang'd colour, and was yielding to her sorrow, when Zora told her that she should be chearful, and hope the best; for by the Marquess his silence, and not inquiring after [Page 137]the old Woman, mention'd in that Paper; it is, Madam, continued she, an argument that he has not read it, he would be so impatient otherwise to be reveng'd of Father Andrew, whom he mortally hates, that he could not have forborn inquiring after the old Woman an hundred times over; and besides, Madam, presently after he had let fall the Paper, he seem'd much troubled, and was looking up and down for it; which makes me conclude, that he has not read it. The con­fusion that he was in at first, by the fall of the man from the Tree, having certainly put it out of his Head, and when he had lost it then he thought of it again. But what confirms me most of all, is, that when the Glove was given to my fellow Servant, she was met by the Marquess, who only look­ing on it, did return it her again, without speaking one word more, than asking whether the Woman was paid for it.

That indeed is significant, then said the Marchioness: and now Zo­ra, I find that I may breathe again; I believe your Conversion to be sin­cere and real; and I do assure you, that you shall have no cause to re­pent it; but on the contrary, the sooner you serve me in my designs, of freeing my self from that slavery in which I live, under continual apprehensions of losing my life, and perpetual reproaches and af­fronts without cause, the sooner you will feel the effects of my boun­ty, which I do assure you shall ex­tend to the making you happy the residue of your days. I wanted but a Woman to assist me in my resolu­tions; and now I have thee, I shall willingly embrace the succour and assistance which the Pilgrim does offer me. I did fear, before, to fall alone, into the hands of a young man, who was an absolute Stranger to me and might peradventure take all the advantages that could [Page 139]be against me, and expect such re­wards as virtue would forbid me to give: but now I will first make my own terms, and oblige him to put me into those hands that I shall think fit; for my design be­ing not to wholly abandon my Hus­band, but to retire from his passi­ons, till by some Friends, a better understanding is wrought between us, and so return to him again; if my deliverer should require more of me than my honour would per­mit me to allow of, I should let him know his mistake; and this I have some reasons to fear from his carri­age in his late visit, under the ha­bit of a Physitian. Here Zora did reiterate her Protestations, assuring the Marchioness that she needed but to command, and she should find how readily she would obey, even with the hazzard of her Life. I am satisfied, continued the Mar­chioness, and to confirm it to you, prepare your self to follow the Do­ctor, [Page 140]so soon as he shall return, for I will send you after him with a Letter, in which I will fully de­clare my mind to him, and make my own conditions, before I put my self into his hands, and you shall bring me back a full and posi­tive answer. Zora told the Mar­chioness, that she would presently ask the Marquess leave to go forth, to see a Kinswoman of hers, that liv'd in Town, and that under that pretence she would wait on the Doctor. This being con­cluded on, the Marchioness bid her go call in her fellow Servant to stay by her, while she should go get her Pen, Ink, and Paper, and convey it into her Closet, where she would go and write the Letter to the Pil­grim, under pretence of going to her devotions; Zora being gone, and the other Woman come in her place, the Marchioness laid her self upon her Bed again not so much to sleep, as to reflect on Camille's bold­ness.

She fear'd that that Person who had had the confidence to kiss her, so soon as he came near her, while her Husband and her Guardians were in the Chamber, would at­tempt more if he should once have her in his possession, and without company, and her apprehensions did so increase, the more she did think on it, that without that assi­stance which she did expect from the Convert Zora, she had not so much as writ to the Pilgrim fur­ther, than just to let him know that her mind was alter'd, and there­fore had no further occasion of his assistance, but she thought that through Zora's aid she might so or­der things, as to continue Mistress of her self, though got from her Husband by the Pilgrims help, espe­cially making her conditions with him before-hand; therefore so soon as Zora was return'd, and had made her signs, that the writing tools were in a readiness; the [Page 142]Marchioness pretending to go to her Prayers, did lock her self up in her Closet, where she wrote to the Pilgrim.

She had but just ended her Let­ter, when the Woman knock'd at her Closet Door, and told her that the Doctor had sent something for her to take. She presently came out, saying that she was much bet­ter than she had been in the morn­ing, and that she hop'd the worst was past for that present; but that however she would take something for two or three days to prevent a return; and therefore desired that the Doctor should come again at Night to give her a visit.

Father Andrew who was now the Doctors man, gave the Marchio­ness a Bottle of Julep, and a Paper in which was written how she was to take it, and told the Marchioness, that his Master had commanded him to assure her he would give her a visit at night, to learn how her [Page 143]remedy did agree with her. The Marchioness having something to say to the Doctors Man, she sent the Woman out of the Chamber of an errand, bidding her send in her fellow Servant in the mean time; the Woman was no sooner gone out, and the other come in, but the Marchioness told the good Father that Zora was become one of them, that she would send her to the Pilgrim with a Letter before he should come to her at night, to in­form him of some matters, that therefore he should presently tell her where their Lodgings were. The Father had but just inform'd her, when the Marquess was heard com­ing to the Chamber-Door, which made them to change their dis­course: the Marquess enter'd, and seeing the Doctors Man, and the Julep Bottle standing upon the Ta­ble: What, said he, is this what the Doctor has order'd for my Wife to take? and what directions has she? Father [Page 144] Andrew who was more fearful of be­ing known by his voice, than by be­ing seen, because that so soon as they had heard the Marquess com­ing they had drawn the Window Curtains, and gone to the darkest part of the room, he was wiping his face, in lieu of answering, which made the Marchioness, who guest at the cause of his silence, to answer that he had given her directions; Let's see them said the Marquess; It was only by word of mouth, re­plyed the Marchioness. I am of o­pinion, said the Marquess, that my Wife should be blooded, and that it should have been the first thing should have been done; I am sure she wants it, her blood is hot e­nough, too hot I have reason to fear. The Marchioness not taking the least notice of what the Mar­quess had said, made answer that she would have the man return presently to his Master, and desire him to come again so soon as [Page 145]he could, and then that they should consult about it. With this the Doctor's man very glad of this message scrap'd a Leg, and did not stay to be bid once again; present­ly the Woman that the Marchi­oness had sent out came in, and told the Marquess, that there was some­body without, that would speak with him: This made him go see who it was; mean time, the Mar­chioness, under pretence to go make an end of her Devotions, re­turn'd into her Closet, where ha­ving open'd the Papers of Directi­ons, she found writ as follows.

Madam, I have had the advice of some able Physitians, and through their Prescripts, I have got this cooling pleasant Julep: Which if you please you may make use of, or else dispose of it other ways. I fear very much, that we lose that time which, peradventure, we may never recover again; therefore send me [Page 146]word, what you have resolv'd upon and what it is that I must do for your Service. If you have not now the op­portunity of sending me your mind, get it ready writ against I come at night to visit you, I chuse the dark­ness for fear of some discoveries.

In this Paper there was another, which the Marchioness did hastily unfold, for fear of being interrupted, and in it she found written as fol­lows.

These Verses did sensibly touch the Marchioness: Camille's confi­dent action had already rais'd a passi­on in her to his disadvantage. But this his glorying in it, and the pub­lishing of his future intentions, did make her to repent the confidence which she had repos'd in an abso­lute Stranger, and to begin to hate that person, for whom she had so lately had an esteem; she tore in pieces the Letter which she had written to Camille, thinking though it was reserved enough, that it had not that severity in it, as she ought to make use of, to defeat such presumptuous designs. Yet when she consider'd again, that without his assistance she must continue to live miserable; and peradventure all her life time with­out any hopes of relief, if she let slip this opportunity: she knew not what to resolve; on the one hand, she adventur'd her self into the power of a wild young man, [Page 148]who might make use of all the ad­vantages that his fortune and op­portunity would give him, having no assistance against the unruliness of his passions, but what a poor sil­ly Woman, as Zora was, could af­ford her; neither did know but that she might easily be cor­rupted by Money, that had been once before won by the same Allurements to become her Tor­menter. On the other hand, she had no other hopes of escape, nor no other prospect of getting for some time out of the way of her in­censed Husbands rage. She could not promise to her self any other help, but what she might expect from his assistance, which if not so generous, and so disinteressed as she took it to be at first, was with­out choice, and to be accepted of, or lose all hopes of future release: In these perplexities, having for some time remain'd bandying to and fro in her self a thousand designs, she at [Page 149]last resolves to break all his mea­sures, and to disappoint him before­hand of the expectation of all other rewards, which he might promise himself, beyond what a modest grateful acknowledgement would afford him, with the concurrency of her Purse. In this resolution she put Pen to Paper, and writ her mind to him as follows.

Your late rashness, in taking those advantages, which at that time I could not oppose, did something star­tle that confidence which I had re­pos'd on your assistance, which till then I had taken to be disinteressed and generous; but your latter boast­ing in a vain ostentation, and pre­sumptuous Declaration, of what you would do, when I were once within your Power, has turn'd that good O­pinion which I had of you, into an a­version of all manner of aid, that can come from so dangerous a Person as you seem to be: You strangely have [Page 150]mistaken my intentions, which were but to withdraw my self for some time from the dangerous effects of a jealous Husbands ill grounded suspitions, till his present furious passions were over, and that some accomodations had been made to my future advan­tage. In this yours, or any other worthy persons succour, had been most acceptable to me, had it been grounded upon honourable Principles. I cannot attribute the timely discove­ry, which you have made of the con­trary, but unto the kind Heavens, who have been so careful in the preser­vation of my honour, as to force you to this declaration of your ill intenti­ons, which makes me chuse rather to venture my Life under the rage of an incensed Man, than my honour un­der the power of a Person that threa­tens it before-hand, and at this di­stance. Yet Life is sweet, and since that I ought to endeavour its pre­servation, after those threatnings which have lately been given out a­gainst [Page 151]it. If you will consent to these following Articles; on those conditi­ons, I shall accept of your assistance.

You shall ingage in this business some Person of Quality of my Sex, in whose hands you shall resign me and my Servant, so soon as I am in your Power; but if your small ac­quaintance here will not afford it you, you shall convey me into a Monaste­ry of Women, in this City, where you shall leave me in the Custody of the Lady Abbess.

You shall never make any mention of Love, without particular leave, or any other reward for your Ser­vices, than may be expected from my Purse; but leave me the sole Judg and Recompencer of your merits in my Esteem, Friendship, and Affecti­ons, and to dispose of my favours as I shall think fit. Neither shall you importune me with unseasonable and frequent visits, but by permission likewise.

That at any time that I shall de­sire it, you shall readily and freely return me back to my Husband, where you shall leave me.

That you shall take a Solemn Oath to perform punctually all these things, without any equivocation, or Mental reservation: Except hereafter, at any time, I dispence you from any parti­cular Article thereof, by my express Order.

On these conditions, I shall accept of your offers, and reassume that good Opinion which I once had of you.

The Bearer of this to you, is one of my Guardians, who is converted and become sensible of the wrongs which I suffer: I would have you to trust her with all our secrets; to consult with her, give her your Oath, and ac­quaint her with your resolutions, I have cause to believe her true, there­fore receive her into our Designs.

The Marchioness having written this Letter, gave it secretly to Zo­ra, [Page 153]who was not long before she went with it unto Camille's Lodg­ings; where you may imagin that she was joyfully receiv'd. Zo­ra gave Camille the Letter, with an account of her Conversion, and full resolution to assist them with her life, in the freeing of the Mar­chioness from that slavery, under which she lived. Camille having, according to his accustomed gene­rosity, fill'd both Zora's hands with Gold, he told her that it was but an earnest of what he intended for her, so soon as the Marchioness were set at liberty; he read the Letter, which he had no sooner done, but that he kiss'd it, and said, I do declare here to you both, in the presence of Heaven, that I will ex­actly perform, and obey every particular Article, and the whole that is injoyn'd to me in this Paper, by the most beautiful Marchioness, so help me Goodness. Of this De­claration and Promise, I do in­treat [Page 154]you to inform the Marchio­ness. After this they were con­triving of some ways to get the Marchioness off; Camille was for getting of her out at the Window in the Night time; but that was not found to be convenient by Zo­ra, who best knew how the Mar­quess did use to behave himself at Nights, how diligently he did watch so soon as it was but a little darkish; so that though she should have the opportunity to assist them at some time in her fellow Guardi­ans absence; yet it would be very difficult to escape the Marquess his diligence. Father Andrew, in his turn, did propose some other ex­pedients, against which Camille ob­jected. At last Zora said, that if they would but give her that Nights time to consider of it, she made no question that by morn­ing she would, with her Ladies assistance, find out some way bet­ter than they had yet proposed. [Page 155]You do not know, continued she, how ready our Sex is in contriving of intrigues? It is in a manner natu­ral unto us, we need but to lay aside other concerns for a while, and in that time, though never so short, our own inclinations will prompt us to amorous designs; I have one in my Head already, which I could tell you presently, but I will take a little longer time to digest it in­to better order than it is yet; and besides, I am unwilling to propose any thing of that nature to you, without the Marchioness's consent. I will therefore return to her, that I may get some convenient time to acquaint her with it, and to have her advice and addition of con­trivance, against you come to give her a visit in the Evening. Camil­le approving of her discretion, dismiss'd her, desiring her to be faithful and active, and that he would be careful t [...] gratify her, in an ample manner.

It was not long before that Zora got home, where she met with the Marquess, who told her that he was glad to see her so diligent, and that seeing she had been so, she should have his consent another time to go out; that he was sorry for what his passion had made him do; but continue faithful to your trust, added he, and I shall make you amends for it: at these words the cunning Gipsy fell into Tears, and said, that she had deserv'd a better usage from him, in her watchfull care over her charge, and that there were many Women, that would revenge themselves of such a wrong; but that she was such a low Spirited Fool, that had not so much courage as a Worm, who would turn again when 'twas trod on, though to little purpose; that she had no other way of satisfying her self, but with taking a Dose of that drowsy Medicine Patience; then carrying her Handkerchief to her [Page 157]Eyes, she seemed to be very much troubled; at which the Marquess, pulling out of his Pocket a piece of Gold, he gave it her saying, Here, Zora, take this, and assure thy self, that for the future I shall be more kind to thee, if thou wilt continue saithful to me; for I assure thee, that I conside more in thee, than in thy fellow Guardian, of whom of late, I have no good opi­nion. Well, Sir, answered Zora, since that you are so kind, and have a better opinion of me than of my Companion, it shall not be without cause; therefore prepare your self to hear of some discoveries from me e're long; but then you must give me the opportunity, to be some time in private with my Lady this Evening, that I may sift her: Yes, that thou shalt, as long as thou wilt, reply'd the Marquess, I will take order my self, to have thy fellow Servant employ'd ano­ther way at that time. Well, Sir, [Page 158]reply'd Zora, and to begin to be sincere with you, I must tell you that my Lady has a Black-lead Pen­cil, which I have not known of before this morning. How! re­ply'd the Marquess, a Black-lead Pencil? And in the name of the Devil, how came she by it? That I know not, reply'd Zora, except my fellow Servant has help'd her to it. I do observe that of late they are very great together; though not before me, for I never come in­to the Chamber, but I find them talking, and so soon as they see me, they are as mute as Statues. Oh Heavens! cry'd out the Marquess, for certain thou hast over-heard some of their discourses; prithee good Zora tell me what thou hast heard: Truly nothing very signifi­cant, answered she, only here and there a word, for they speak very low; and the Marchioness is as afraid of me, and hates me as much as she loves my Fellow: But good [Page 159]now tell me some of those words that thou hast heard, continued the Marquess: what I can remem­ber now, is that they talk'd of a Letter lost, or torn, I know not well which, and of Fryers, Pilgrims, and— Hold, hold, cry'd the Marquess, interrupting her, what didst thou name a Pilgrim? Yes, Sir, that word Pilgrim is very fre­quent in their Mouths: O! the Devil, Hell, and Confusion! a Pilgrim? Why has the Devil no­thing else to do, besides possessing of Women, than to multiply Pil­grims, or to slit one in several pieces? It is so most certainly, I see it now, that that Damnable Pilgrim, your treacherous Fellow, and the Devil himself are in league, and hold a correspondency with that wicked Woman my Wife, not­withstanding all my cares, the Womans preciseness, the Pilgrim's imprisonment, and the Devil's em­ploy about debauching of other [Page 160]Women also. In good time hast thou discover'd this to me, for which I shall reward thee most bountifully; one day more of their hellish intrigues, and they had left us behind, for ever over-taking them again: Then after a little pause: It must be so continued he, didst thou not name a Fryer also? I think that I have heard them mention a certain Father, reply'd Zora; Andrew, cry'd out the Mar­quess: I know not, said Zora, if the Fryer is the Father, or whe­ther they are tow distinct Persons; but if you will have the curiosity to hearken your self to their dis­courses, I will so place you, that you shall over-hear some words, though they speak never so low; I wish thou couldst do that reply'd the Marquess, though I be­lieve thee already; yet that would strangely strengthen my belief, and the good opinion that I have of thee; and should I once hear that [Page 161]that Woman should speak one word to my Wife, but tending towards kindness, I would immediately turn her away: That I would not ad­vise you to do, reply'd Zora, till you were very certain that she is false to you; what greater proof could I have of it, reply'd the Mar­quess, than to be an Eye and Ear­witness to the business: Well I long to hear their close discourses; that, Sir, you must not expect to do, said Zora, till in the Evening after I have had some discourse with my Lady. Well, said the Marquess, go, go, get thee to her, and sift her through Lawn; I will call a­way that Gipsy, that thou mayst have the more opportunity to do it, go thou in, and send her out to me, and saying this, he push'd her gently from him towards the Marchioness's Chamber door.

The subtle Zora was no sooner come into the Ladies Chamber, but sent the other out, telling her that [Page 162]the Marquess had something to say to her; and having shut the Door, she gave the Marchioness an ac­count of all that had pass'd between the three Confederates, and how freely Camille had promis'd to o­bey her commands, to the very least circumstance; to which she added this short Encomium. I must needs tell you, Madam, that in my opinion he is a Person of quality and Honour, who though under a dis­guise cannot but shew it in all his actions; for he is doubtless, the most accomplish'd Gentleman i [...] the whole World, having in him a high measure, all that can be de­sired for perfecting of the most ex­act Cavalier imaginable; his cour­teous carriage, his obliging expressi­ons, comely presence, and his ge­nerous liberality, of which here is a fair and ample demonstration, (shew­ing the Gold that Camille had given her) will make me think the time a thousand Years, till I see you free [Page 163]from your Husbands jealous Ty­ranny, and under the safe Guard of so worthy a Person. From this discourse she fell to speak of the Marquess, and gave the Marchio­ness an exact account of what had pass'd between him and her self, and and how bravely she had cox'd him. And now, Madam, I am come, con­tinued she, by his order to sift you; but if you please to take a little of my advice, we will give my Fellow a remove, punish your Husbands unreasonable Jealousie, and you shall have a very Comi­cal Revenge, all which shall tend to make a clearer way unto your deliverance. I have ingag'd you, Madam, continued she, in a business, which if but well manag'd will do all this and more: Prithee let's hear it, Zora, reply'd the Marchioness? Why thus, Madam, said Zora, so soon as I am gone out, and my Fellow Servant come in, I would have you to get into your [Page 164]Closet with her, and there ingage her into some discourse con­cerning Pilgrims, Fryers, Fathers, Letters, Jealousie, Liberty, and the like. For I have promis'd your Husband, so to place him that he shall over hear those private dis­courses, which I have told him you frequently have with her, when I am out of the way; and I have pick'd out your Closet Window for his stand: by this means he will be so incensed against my Fellow Ser­vant, that no question but he will immediately turn her away, which will give us much more liberty and opportunity than we have, to act and accomplish our designs. This pleas'd the Marchioness very well, who said, but how shall I bring out those words to any purpose, so that he nor she may not perceive the design? Madam, answer'd Zo­ra, I will leave you to consider of it, you that have so much writ and industry, will presently find out [Page 165]some expedient for it; be pleas'd but to give me your black-lead Pen, which I promis'd to present your Husband with, and I am gone: The Marchioness gave her the Pencil, of which she had no longer need, since that she had been furmish'd with other writing Tools, and Zora went to give them to the Marquess.

Zora was no sooner out of the Marchioness's Chamber, but that the other Woman was in, who found the Marchioness lain on her Bed: Zora went to the Marquess, who receiv'd her with great de­monstration of a longing desire, to learn what she had to say to him, and what new discoveries she had made: Well, said he to her, what news dost thou bring me, and what success hast thou had? The Marchioness is so out of hu­mour, reply'd Zora, because that I broke the discourse which they had began in my absence, and which [Page 166]was not ended when I came into her Chamber, that do what I could, I have not been able to make her enter into discourse. I have began to speak of divers things, one after another, thinking to engage her into talk, but after two or three words, she lets it fall, so that I have lost my labour for this Evening; but she will not be long silent, now that she has that Per­son with her, with whom she may freely discourse, and lay open her heart; she will quickly regain the time that she thinks to have lost with me, though she feign'd to me that she had a mind to sleep. With­out doubt, said the Marquess, she will be very eager to be at it with her Jewel, and now I warrant you that she is full of news to tell her, therefore that I may lose no time, I would have thee to place me where I may hear as much as I can possible of what they say: Sir, re­plyed Zora, they usually retire in­to [Page 167]the Closet, when they intend a­ny private discourses, therefore no place more fit for you, than the Closet Window in the Garden, it is but standing upon something, and that will raise you to a suffici­ent height; I will go and fit things ready for you to stand on, and come to you again: That will do very well, replyed the Marquess, and I like that place the better too, because that there I shall not be in­terrupted by any of the Servants, for I will lock my self up in the Garden, where through the obscu­rity of the Night, none shall see me. That will do very well, answer'd Zora: With that she went to pre­pare the Stage, on which the Mar­quess was to act the Eve-droppers part.

Zora was scarce got out, but that the Marquess, who was very un­willing to lose one word of his Wifes discourse with her Guardian, went immediately to his Wifes [Page 168]Chamber door, to try if he could hear any thing from thence; but because that the Marchioness was not yet prepar'd, she remaining still on her Bed silent, the Mar­quess return'd to his Chamber a­gain to expect Zora; she mean time was busy in fitting of things, but more earnest in contriving some way to punish this jealous Man. She was not long before she re­turn'd, being ready to fit him on all accounts. She acquainted him with it, telling him that she had been forc'd to make use of an old Water-Tub that lay useless in a corner of the Garden, over which she had plac'd some Boards and a Stool o­ver them, that it would be some­thing difficult for him to get up a­lone, but that once up, he might stand firm enough, that he should give her the Key of the back door into the Garden, and that She would meet him that way. The Marquess had such a longing desire [Page 169]to be at the sport, that he lik'd e­very thing that she did but propose, he therefore sent her away with the Key of the back door, while he himself went the fore way into the Garden, where he lock'd him­self in.

Zora mean time sends a Person whom she trusted to Camille's Lodg­ings, with a Note to give him no­tice, that if he would have some pastime, he should immediately repair at the back door of the Mar­quess's Garden, where she would wait for him, and where the Mar­quess was going to act a very plea­sant Scene, as she had order'd things. For she had fastned a Cord to one of the Boards over the Tub, which having convey'd on the other side of an Hedg, where she was to lye in wait; so soon as he would have heard enough to have made him mad, to conclude the Comedy, she design'd to pull that Cord, and of necessity the Marquess must have [Page 170]fallen, that just upon that, Camille should appear and make an end of affrighting him, so that he should not know what had happened, nor how, or by what means; but the Marquess's impatiency, and Camil­le's absence from home, for he was then come forth in order to visit the Marchioness, did prevent her; for so soon as the Marquess had got in­to the Garden, he could not forbear endeavouring to get up of himself; he thought that each moment that he pass'd without listening, was so many lost sentences; and what did he know, but that which would give him the greater light in their mysteries, would be the first spoken, and that the rest would be but in­different discourse; he goes pre­sently to work, and endeavours Do­ctor like to mount the Stage of him­self, and without the assistance of his merry Andrew; but wanting something to raise him a little from the ground, to facilitate his first [Page 171]steps, which were something high, and finding nothing more conveni­ent than a roling Stone that was at hand; he draws it where he would have it, he sets one of his Feet up­on it, and the other upon the Board that was over the Tub, which had in it some Water; he had but one step more to make, which was up­on the Stool, and having nothing to get hold of to assist him, there he was at a stand what he should do, but presently fancying that he did hear them talk; he endeavours to get up by leaning against the Wall, he pushes hard, and so hard at last, that the Board underneath the Stool slipping aside, the Stool fell into the Tub, but he being very nimble escapes it, and lighting on the ro­ling Stone with violence, it yield­ed forwards, which threw him back, with his Head forwards in­to the middle of the Stool which was in the Tub of Water. There lay the poor Marquess with his [Page 172]Head in the stinking muddy Water, up to the Shoulders, and they and his Arms so pinion'd in the Stool, that he could not help himself, but of necessity must be smother'd in that filthy Bath. He endeavour'd to cry out for help, but instead of that, he did make the most hide­ous noise that could be imagin'd, for his bubbling in the Water, whence he forc'd himself to cry out, and the sound of the Tub, though not very deep, did render such a strange sound, that nothing can be com­par'd to it, but the roaring of a Bull, that had a hole in his Wind pipe. The noise, in fine, was so great, that it caus'd all the Windows of the Neighbourhood to be open'd, and the darkness hiding the Object from their Eyes, they all ask'd one ano­ther what was the matter; but at­last the noise growing less and less, as his Strength and Spirits did de­cay, every body retired, and shut their Windows again.

The poor Marquess was in this condition just giving up the Ghost, when Zora came to him, who pre­sently, though strangely surpriz'd and affrighted, did with much ado pull the Stool out of the Tub, and the Marquess with it, who having laid on the ground, there he re­main'd dead; she was upon the point of running away by the back Door to give her Lady notice of it, but she fancied that he breath'd a lit­tle; this made her change her mind, and she was for some time in a Ballance, whether she should assist him and save his Life, or let him go, and carry along with him all the Marchioness's troubles, so put an end to all their Plots; but at last good Nature partly prevail­ing, and the desires that she had of making more sport, and being fur­ther employ'd, besides, the Rewards that she did expect, and not know­ing to what consequences this his sudden Death might draw; she [Page 174]stoop'd to him, and did so chafe, rub and handle him, that as he lay with his back across the Roling Stone, his Head hanging down, he at last vomitted up a large quantity of that nasty stinking Water, which he had swallowed most plentifully, which was followed with a great groan and a little after with a Jesu Maria: This did so incourage the industrious Zora, that with the continuance of her most favourable assistance; the poor man having empty'd his Stomach of more of his Evening draught, he came to him­self so as to sit up; she inquired how he did, and how he had hapned by this accident, but he was so weak with drinking, so sore with strug­ling, and so hoarse with endeavou­ting to be heard, that he only told her, by being too hasty; and a while after, bidding her to lead him up to her own Chamber in pri­vate, he after that remain'd silent.

Zora having lifted him upon his Legs, and taken out of his Pocket the Key of the Garden-door, she led him under the Arm without light into her Chamber, where she laid him upon the Bed; he had no sooner been let go upon it, but that he fell agiving up the residue of his raw Caudle, and calling for a little Wine, he fainted away. He was presently supply'd with some, which brought him to himself again; he gave her his hand, that she might help him to sit up, after which he gave her a short account of his dis­after; which he concluded with a great demonstration of sorrow for having fail'd of hearing his Wifes Dialogue with her fellow Servant. I do not blame thee in the least, Zo­ra, continued he, for what has hap­ned to me, but acknowledge it my own fault; on the contrary, I con­fess, that without thy timely Assi­stance, I must have perish'd, for which good office I will kindly re­ward [Page 176]thee; I am in a very sad pickle, help to shift me, that I may go to my Wife; for though I should be glad to lye from her this Night, that she might not have the least distrust of my misfortune, at which she would make her self sport, I durst not trust her alone, especially with that wicked Woman, while thou shouldst be busied about me. Sir, you do very well, replyed Zo­ra, to lye with her, and you can­not be too wary, for the Marchio­ness might do in a quarter of an hours time, that which you could never undo again; when you are in Bed with her, then she is secure, and so long as you have but one of your hands over her, you may sleep in safety: Thou sayst very true, re­ply'd the Marquess, therefore fetch me what I want, and as thou passest by, step into her Chamber, and see what they are doing. Zora went out, and presently return'd telling him that now his Wife was as plea­sant [Page 177]as mirth could make her, they are laughing at the relation which they have had of the hideous noise that was heard in the Garden, and of the several reports that are given of it; some say that it was a sur­priz'd Lover by a jealous Husband, or some jealous Coxcomb catch'd in his own trap; at which the Mar­chioness adds, that she wish'd they were all so serv'd. Yea, that I dare say she would, and heartily re­joyce at it, reply'd the Marquess; no matter how 'twere censur'd: Oh! the Plague of Women! con­tinued he, of handsom Women! Well, if she makes me once des­perate, I shall lodge her far and safe enough from her Minion, and from the whole World-besides. She is mine now, continued he, far from her fond Relations, and within the reach of my revenge, and—He was going on in that strain, when Zora interrupted him in this man­ner: I cannot blame your resent­ments, [Page 178]they are but just and reason­able; for now that she is your Wife, she should have no Eyes but to look on you, no Ears but to hearken after your commands, no Mouth but to applaud them, nor no other parts, but wherewith to execute them; and in my opinion a Wife that does otherways, and so forgets her self, as to have the least thought imagi­nable for another Man than her Husband, ought to be us'd accor­dingly. I would let her live con­tinued she, but it should be such a life, so remote from all Conversa­tion, that she should forget the ve­ry shape of all men but that of her Husband. Woman, said the Mar­quess with a transport, thou hast won my heart; in thus speaking the very Soul of truth, and I shall ever like thee the better for it. No, I will not meddle with her Life, though of late I have had such thoughts; but I will before I am two days older remove her in a [Page 179]place where she shall be sequestred from the whole World, but my self, and one or two Women at the most, to give her her necessaries. I hope, Sir, reply'd Zora, that you will continue me in your Service, and that I shall be one of those two that shall attend her: why dost thou doubt it, reply'd the Mar­quess, yes, that thou shalt, and were it not that it would be too toylsome to thee, thou shouldst be sole Governess of her; but however, for those good Services that thou hast render'd me, and those which I yet expect from thee, though I shall give thee an aid, thou shalt have a full and absolute power o­ver all but me; I will declare it to be my will, and then who shall dare to control it. Zora return'd him humble thanks, with a pro­found reverence, and saying, Sir, give me leave to go see what they are doing: She went out of the Chamber, it was not long before [Page 180]she return'd, telling the Marquess, that now there was an Opportunity for him to hear them in Discourse, for she had heard them at it, as she went into the Chamber, that on the sudden they had been very si­lent, and that no doubt but they would be at it again by this time: the cunning Zora had been in the Chamber, of truth, and had given the Marchioness that sign, of which they had before agreed together, at which the Marchioness was to begin her Story: The greedy Marquess did need no more to spur him on, but as if there had been no such matter as that of the Tub in the case: my Hat, my Sword, and Cloak, said he, and I am gone, I would not lose one word of theirs, not for all the ease imaginable: A word, re­ply'd Zora, why you must not ex­pect to hear one in ten, but how­ever that will suffice to give you an account of the matter of their dis­course, at which the Marquess [Page 181]returning no answer, went muffled up, to his Wives Chamber door, where after a while he heard as fol­lows.

The Marchioness lying on the Bed had call'd her Woman to her, and had told her in a manner, as if newly awakned by Zora's coming into the Chamber, and as being af­frighted, that she was very much out of order, and disturb'd with a strange Dream which she had had, or rather a Vision, said she, for I have so per­fect an Idea still remaining of what I have lately seen in my Dream, that I cannot well recollect my self, to know whether I was sleeping or waking. I fancy that I see yet all the Persons before me; here stood one, there another, at this side of my Bed was another, another was in this Chair. The one had such Cloaths on, the other was drest like a Religious man, one like a Cavalier, and one in a disguise like a Hermit, Pilgrim, or some such [Page 182]thing, and there was a Woman al­so; and amongst all these Persons there was a Monster loose in my Chamber, whose Head was very large, with a full Fore-head, no Horns on it naturally, but it would order his Wings, that they would lye over its forehead much like Horns, and was pleas'd to wear them so; his Eyes were very pier­cing, even to see things that none else could perceive, and the further remote that Objects were, the big­ger they appear'd to it: Its Ears were very large and open, so that it could hear the least Whisper; Its Mouth was but small, out of which issued forth a stinking breath, that did offend all that it came near, and it darted out of it a Tongue that would wound all those that it touch'd. The Marquess was come to the Door, when the Marchio­ness was about this part of her Story, and she spoke so low, that he could hear but here and there a word, of [Page 183]which he could make nothing; she was going on in this manner, This Monster would often make toward me, as if to devour me, and would shew his Teeth, but did not bite; but his Tongue was more to be fear'd, than his Teeth, and always as he made at me, he would be hindred by some of those that stood by me; and when he would make towards any body else, I would give them notice of it: Then I thought that he would make at me again, with more fury than before, so that he was sometimes ready to swallow me up; at which the Religious man would pray and use such Exorcisms as the Church has ordain'd against evil Spirits, while that the dis­guis'd Person would strike at him, with a Sword which he had con­ceal'd under his Cloaths, not to hurt him, but to affright him with the splendour of it; but then the Woman would stay his Arm, and when at any time this disguis'd Per­son [Page 184]would offer to step between me and the Monster, when it came to offend me, she would enterpose again, betwixt him and me, so that I could not see him. At last I thought that the Monster had some­thing thrown upon its Head that was nasty and filthy, which did so torment it, together with the Per­sons present, that it cast forth a great quantity of Foam and Smoke, which did very much offend all that were present, but particularly me, and the disguis'd Person, because that we stood near one another, and most in his way, and that he aim'd most at us two: Then I thought that on the sudden it turn'd towards the Cavalier, who to shun him, fell upon the disguis'd Person, so that he did wedge him in a Chair so fast, that he could not move out of it, till after some time, that the Wo­man took him by the Hand, and help'd him out; but I thought that while the disguis'd Person was so [Page 185]fast, that the Monster came to me, and took me on his horned Wings to carry me away, when I was a­wakned by Zoras coming in: This was my Dream, continued the Marchioness, was it not a frightful one? At this the Woman remain'd silent, only smiling to her self, which made the Marchioness to say, What do you laugh at it? No, Ma­dam, answer'd the Woman, but I cannot be so much frighted at it, as you are; and when your disturbance is over, no question but you will smile at it also, especially if you would take but a little pains to apply this Dream to some of your own concerns. What can it concern me, reply'd the Mar­chioness? You will quickly apprehend it, Madam, said the Woman, if you please but to reflect a little upon it. I am too much troubled at the remembrance of it, reply'd the Mar­chioness, and cannot find in me that calmness of Spirits, which is required in the explication of such [Page 186]Dreams. In my Opinion, Madam, then said the Woman, it is so ea­sie, that you cannot but fall of your self upon the sence of your Dream, and as silly as I am, I would under­take to give you the meaning of it, from what I have sometimes heard your Husband say to you, when he has been in a passion, but that I know my distance. The Marchioness ha­ving brought her to this that she would have her, she call'd to her louder than before, saying, I give thee free liberty to say what thou wilt; and I do assure thee before-hand that I shall not take any thing ill, that thou shalt say, but on the contrary, be very well pleas'd at it; and I have a most longing desire to hear thee, there­fore be free, goon, speak boldly and loud, that I may hear thee perfectly. In obedience to your commands, Ma­dam, then said the Woman, I must tell you, that I have heard often a learned man say, that frequently the cause of such Dreams as yours is, is when [Page 187]the mind being fill'd with certain I­deas of such things as are of nearest concerns to us, our imagination works upon those things which disturb us even in our sleep: This is the reason, Madam, I think that your fancy has represented to you, in a Dream, though under some disguise, those things which most possess your thoughts when awake. This is very well begun, said the Mar­chioness, and I prithee go on, and speak louder yet; I have frequently seen the Marquess, Madam, continu'd the Woman, in a passion against your self, against a certain Pilgrim, whom he says is some disguis'd Person, and a­gainst the Governour of Barcellonna and his Lady, for taking that Pilgrims part, and why may not out of these things be collected matter sufficient for your Dream, Madam? I like what thou sayest so well, reply'd the Marchio­ness, that I would have thee to par­ticularize it. Well, Madam, re­ply'd the Woman, who was proud of her Office, and of being applau­ded [Page 188] since that it is your Pleasure I should, thus I think it may be made out.

That Person that seems to be a Re­ligious man is Father Andrew. How! let me hear that again, said the Mar­chioness, and speak a little louder, who is it sayst thou, Father Andrew answered the Woman, raising her voice; very well, said the Marchio­ness, proceed. That person, con­tinued the Woman, that appear'd to you like a Cavalier, is the Gover­nour of Barcellonna: Who through the Monsters instigation did cast the disguis'd Person, who represents the Pilgrim into the Chair: Who is that? said the Marchioness: The Pilgrim, Madam, who was put in Prison: This is very well, said the Marchioness, prithee go on; and who was the Woman? Donna Barba­ra, Donna Barbara, Madam, con­tinued the Woman: All this is ve­ry just all this while: But then, who is represented by the Monster, said [Page 189]the Marchioness. That, Madam, reply'd the Woman, must be some body, whose passions, are monstrous, and—here the Marchioness find­ing her to Stagger a little, to in­courage her, said, What thou hast done for me, in the interpretting of my Dream, has given much ease to my troubled Spirits, for which I will be bountiful to thee, and if thou canst but give me as true an account of the Monster as thou hast done of the rest, it will give me full satisfaction: I hope, Madam, reply'd the Woman, after she had thank'd the Marchio­ness, that you will dispence me from speaking more plainly: and there she stopt again; at which the Marchio­ness call'd to her to come nearer, and gave her some Gold, which had such an influence over her Spi­rits and Tongue, that she had no sooner felt the weight of it in the palm of her hand, but that she said, Well, Madam, since you will have it so, and that you promise not be an­gry [Page 190]with me; I will tell you, that your Husband, Madam, was repre­sented by the Monster; How's that? said the Marchioness, seeming ve­ry well pleas'd at it, my Husband? Yes, Madam, your Husband's the Monster, said the Woman: That's very right in truth, said the Marchi­oness, his furious passions, bitter expressious, severe threatnings, cur­ses, railings, jealousies, pryings into all my actions, and listening, and lurk­ing up and down like a Spie, does de­serve no better, than to be term'd Monstrous, and Beastly, and that he should be serv'd as he was at Bar­cellonna. I must confess, Madam, reply'd the Woman, who was wil­ling to say something to the Marchi­oness for her Gold, that he is some­what too distrustful and jealous, and that on the condition that it would change his humour, I could wish that he was serv'd so again, or as that Person was, that we heard to roar so strangely, a while since, [Page 191]which People do judge to be some Eve­dropper catch'd in a Trap.

At these words the Marquess not being able to contain himself any longer, rush'd into the Chamber. I thank you, Madam, said he to his Wife, for your kind wishes, and you, housewife; said he to the Woman, you shall immediately go where you may talk of Governours, Father Andrews, Pilgrims, yes, and of Monsters too, continued he taking her by the Arm, and flinging her out of the Chamber, thou shalt not lye under my roof this night, and having call'd to Zora to stay with his Wife, he presently went out of the Chamber after the Wo­man.

Zora, being enter'd, did shut the Door, and came with a chear­ful countenance up to the Mar­chioness, who receiv'd her as joy­fully: I think said she, that we have given him enough on't, to put him out of the humour of hearkning [Page 192]this good while. I believe that you have touch'd him to the quick, Ma­dam, reply'd Zora, he is in such a passion; but I would not trust him however; for it is so natural to him, or at least he has got such an habit of hearkning, that he can no more leave it, than any of his other vices. But now let me know the reason of this change of Station, said the Marchioness: That, Madam, reply'd Zora, is as Comical a Story, as you have heard, with that she told the Marchioness the Tale of the Tub, which did exceedingly please her; who in her turn acquainted Zora of her feigned Dream, and that Camille had visited her that E­vening, in her absence, but that her fellow Servant had watch'd him so narrowly, that he had not had the opportunity of speaking one word in private; therefore, continued she, you must make some excuse or other to morrow to go out, that you may meet with him, [Page 193]and positively conclude amongst you, of some immediate course of freeing me; for now this man is so nettled, that he will not stay any longer, but will have me away, and Heaven knows where, and how he will dispose of me. Madam, reply'd Zora, your fears are not groundless; for he has declar'd so much to me; and I fear that should he remove you from hence, we should lose all hopes of releasing you; but we shall find some way to save him that labour, so soon as I meet with the Pilgrim, and Fa­ther Andrew, which shall be to morrow in the Forenoon: Your Husband, Madam, has been sorely bruis'd, continued she, and though his Curiosity, and his Passion will not let him feel it at present, doubt­less but to morrow morning he will be sore and out of Order, as to be willing to keep his Bed some time longer than ordinary; I will take that opportunity to go to [Page 194]them, and if he should want me before I return, it will be your care to excuse me, under pretence of having employ'd me about some business: That care I will take up­on me, reply'd the Marchioness, be you but diligent as to the rest; for I very much fear the consequences of his removing me from hence: You will do well, Madam, said Zora, to go to Bed, to avoid your Husbands railing, which he will forbear to Night, if he thinks you asleep, when he comes to Bed, and that he may lye the longer in the morning, to exercise your patience with his railing. The hopes that I have, Zora, reply'd the Marchio­ness, of being e're long freed from all his unsufferable extravagances, will make me to endure it, with an exemplary patience. With this the Marchioness went to Bed, where she was but just laid, when the Marquess came in full stor'd with Reproaches and Injuries; but Zo­ra [Page 195]whispering to him, that she was now asleep, and that he had better stay till morning, and then read her a Lecture: after he had grum­bled some few words between his Teeth, he told Zora that he was not very well, and so he presently went to Bed.

In the morning he made divers attempts, of discharging his Choler with a whole volly of rude expressi­ons upon his Lady, but she as often did shun the brunt by feigning her self asleep; yet at last, he was grown so full of his Venom, that he must vent it, or burst; he there­fore began to thunder such a peal in her Ears, that she was forc'd to make some replies in her own de­fence: amongst the rest, What is it you would have, said the Mar­chioness, what cause or reason have you to use me thus, continually? What is happen'd to you of late? And what have I done, to cause you to treat me as you do? I wonder [Page 196]with what Confidence you can ask these questions, reply'd the Mar­quess, it is nothing with you then, it seems, to be reviling and abu­sing of your Husband during an hour or two, with his Servant? And to wish him any thing that tends to his dishonour? That Per­son reply'd the Marchioness, (who was resolv'd to give it him home) that is so little careful of his hon­our, as to prostitute it to the appe­tite of every unruly passion, need not fear that a few words from an injur'd Woman should pejudice it: Neither shall they, reply'd the Marquess, for that honour, as pro­stitute as you speak, it is, and shall be above your reach, and I hope to keep it so; but in the mean time, it ill becomes you to controul your Husbands actions, to bespatter them with your scurrilous Tongue, and to wish that some ill Fortune might attend them, while that they are in order to preserve that hon­our, [Page 197]which you so much endeavour to destroy. That which you call the destroying of your Honour, re­ply'd the Marchioness, is rather a desire of its preservation, if it were rightly understood, it is that Inte­rest that I should have in it, were it not render'd unworthy of me by those base, low, and obscene ways, with which you pretend to pre­serve it; that makes me desire it should not be so vilified, but that it should shine in its full lustre, without the last Eclipse of a low, or cloudy Action to hide its bright­ness. Whatsoever I do, reply'd the Marquess, to preserve my Honour from that darkness, which you would cast over it, being in all respects, less dangerous; I think it reasona­ble to prefer some small momentary Eclipses, to that horror of Eternal Darkness, which you would cast upon it. I could wish, reply'd the Marchioness, that you would let me know, what you mean by that [Page 198]Eternal Darkness, that I would cast upon your honour? Reflect but on your own actions, reply'd the Marquess, and you will not be long without the knowledge of it. If to desire the same liberty as o­ther Persons enjoy, reply'd the Marchioness; nay, if to endeavour to attain to it, is a crime of such a nature, as to blemish your hon­our so irreparably, as you mention, I freely declare unto you, that I shall ever be guilty of the same er­ror. And I do declare to you, an­swered the Marquess, that I will break your measures within these three days, if it is possible, by conveying you to such a place, where you shall not be affrighted at the sight of new Faces; in a word, Madam, I will set my honour in safety, by securing of you, who does endeavour with the outmost of your power to destroy it: And I will commit my self, reply'd the Marchioness, unto the protection [Page 199]of Heaven, and so do your worst; and after this, she turn'd her from the Marquess, who would fain have gone on in this wrangling discourse, but finding that he could not get one word more from her, do what he could; after some little time having call'd for Zora, and she not coming, he did rise of himself, but did not stir out of the Chamber, being oblig'd to supply the absent Guardians places.

It was then about ten of the Clock, the evil consequences of his late disaster having oblig'd him to­lye longer in Bed than usually, he was looking out of the Window, when he was diverted by a little Dog of the Marchioness's, who was playing with some Papers he had met with under her Pillow; the Mar­quess did presently deprive the poor Dog from that delight which he took, in tumbling them about; and having look'd upon them: Yes, [Page 200]Madam, said he to his Wife, these are some of those means which you use, in order to preserve my hon­our; then looking on them, both in Verse and Prose, continued he, all this you call but the endeavour­ing to attain unto the same liberty which other Persons enjoy, and these are some of those small errors, that you will ever be guilty of. The Marchioness fretted at the Heart, did not answer one word: Shall I read them to you, they will doubtless please you much better, than whatsoever I can say to you; with that he began to read, but presently Zora coming in, Oh! Zora, continued he, my Wives little Dog more kind than her self, or Woman, has made me partaker of some curious pieces, which I would not for any thing, but that I had seen, for I am a great admirer of such excellent things; you shall hear them: then he began again to read those Papers, which were those that Camille had presented to [Page 201]the Marchioness, are not these ve­ry fine things, continued he, after he had read some of them; here is mention made of Kisses, on Hands and Lips too, full of Nectar; nay, the very quintessence was extracted from them: no doubt, Madam, continued he, addressing himself to his Wife, that you did your part also, and that you and your Mimon, did spread inside Lips, and traffick'd liquorish Tongues, in order to those extractions, here mention'd; to all this the Marchi­oness did not answer one word, which made Zora, that durst not be too forward neither, in excusing her Lady, say, but where did this Dog get them? where had he them? where has he been? Where has he been? said the Marquess, where he had them; in your Mistresses Bo­some, that's the Caskenet in which she preserves such pretions Jewels; has not the Dog been out of the Chamber this morning? said Zora, [Page 202]No, no, answer'd the Marquess, he needed not to go so far for them, they were nearer at hand, I can assure you: Then he continued reading the rest of the Papers, after which he fell into this raging fit. And is it come to that? Is it impos­sible for me to make use of any thing whatsoever, but that it must turn to this Damnable Pilgrim's ad­vantage? And must you be sick, continued he, speaking to his Wife, only to give him the opportunity of visiting you, under the notion of a Doctor? and to apply such Lip-Slave for your Cure? is it impossi­ble then, to find out such a place as is able to contain him, with all the assistance that Chains, Bolts, Shackles, Bars, and Stone Walls can afford? But that notwithstand­ing all my Cares, my watchful Cares, I must learn that he quench­es his lascivious heats in your Bo­some? Well, what cannot be done one way, shall be done the other. [Page 203]Thou shame of thy Sex, continu­ed he, take leave of the whole world, for I protest by all that is sacred, to sequester thee from it, with all the diligence that I can possibly use; But first I will have my full revenge on this incarnate Devil, I will tear his heart out of his Body before you; yes, I will present you with it, you shall en­joy it. Then walking very fast a­bout the Chamber, and sometimes stopping on the sudden, sometime running hastily out of the Cham­ber, then presently in again; in fine, shewing a thousand irresolu­tions, with which his mind was a­gitated at once: at last he stood stock still in the middle of the Room, holding the Papers with one Hand, and biting the Nails of his o­ther; after some time he came out of his serious thoughts again, and thus he spake, Zora: Do you not move from hence till my return; I will first go to the Prison, and [Page 204]know how it comes to pass that this Prisoner is releas'd; I shall not be long, stir not upon your Life, then going towards the Chamber Door, he suddenly turns back a­gain, saying: No, I will send for the Jaylor here; I will not stir from hence, till I have my revenge fully accomplish'd. Zora, con­tinued he, call some Servants up quickly, dispatch: Zora went out, and presently return'd, with Ser­vants after her: The Marquess calls one in, and sends him to the Jaylor to come immediately to him, and to bring along with him the Priso­ner; that Servant being gone a­bout it, he calls another, and sends him to fetch the Doctor to his Wife, who was very ill on the sudden, telling him that he should bring him with him immediately, for his Wife was very ill, and could not live long; but the Fellow telling him that he knew not where the Doctor liv'd: the Marquess in a pas­sion, [Page 205]bid him call one that knew; the Fellow goes forth, and returns presently, saying, that there was but one that knew where he liv'd, and that he had sent him to the Pri­son. All these little obstacles did still inrage the Marquess the more; but being resolv'd to clear all doubts, and take his full revenge, he tells Zora, that she must go and fetch the Doctor, not considering whe­ther she knew where he liv'd, telling her that he would watch there him­self till her return: Zora being ve­ry glad of the employ, that she might prevent all mischiefs, by her giving Camille notice of the dis­covery; was going forth, when the Marquess cry'd, yet hold, perad­venture that he is but the Pilgrim's Agent, made use of to convey the Papers and secret Messages; and it is on the immediate cause of all my troubles, that my revenge must fall with that severity; then after a little pause: Yet go, continued [Page 206]he, for these Papers speak plain e­nough, that the two Characters belong but to one Person; but what then, were they gone, and sacrific'd to my resentments, are there not more Men? And is not my Honour still in the same dan­ger, so long as that Woman is Breathing? She must—she shall—then after another pause, breaking off his discourse by snatch­es, as if what he would say, were too cruel to be spoken aloud: Zora, said he, stay, no, go, and get this Robber of my Honour to come and receive his due reward; I shall look him more carefully in the Face, than I did in the dark, when I had no suspition; go continued he; and send me some-body here mean time: Zora, very glad of the em­ploy, did presently go for fear that he should once again change his resolutions, and she sent some more of the Servants to him. The inraged Marquess commanded two [Page 207]of them to stand at the Chamber-Door, and not to move from thence upon pain of immediate Death, till he return'd, nor to let his Wife go out, if she should attempt it, and not being contended with that, he took the Key along with him; he presently ran into his Closet, out of which having taken a brace of Pistols, and a long Stilletto, he presently return'd again; he then gave order to two Servants to stand at the Street-Door, charging them, that so soon as they should see the Doctor come into the House, they should shut him in, and not let him go out again, till he gave them order; two more Servants he plac'd at his Wives Chamber-door, with order to shut it so soon as the Doctor should be come in; and two more he set in his Wifes Closet, charging them to be ready to come into the Chamber with their Swords drawn, so soon as he should give the word; having thus [Page 208]plac'd his Centuries, he walk'd up and down the Chamber, after so strange a manner, with such strange actions, and muttering to himself strange things, that it might easily be guest at the fury which did pos­sess his Soul.

Mean time the poor Marchio­ness, who had not spoken one word all this time, thinking that it would be to no purpose to make any excuses, lay agitated with di­vers horrid fears; the least of which had been sufficient to have broken any heart, less fortified with inno­cency and courage than hers. Some­time she did reflect on what her Husbands passions had forc'd out of his Mouth, which threatned no less than her Life; at other times she fear'd, having observ'd with what readiness, Zora was gone to fetch Camille, least that she being affright­ed with his rage, should bring him along with her; and sometimes too she fear'd, least he should come of [Page 209]his own accord, before that Zora should come to him to give him no­tice of the imminent danger; and in a word, she fear'd more for him, than for her self; with a thousand such fears her mind was possess'd, when on a sudden she heard a great out­cry in the House; the Marquess, who heard it likewise, did send one to know what was the matter, who presently return'd with those two that had been plac'd at the Street­door, who were bleeding, they told the Marquess, that the Doctor had enter'd the Door, but that as they were shutting it after him, he distrusting something, it had made him to retire, but they opposing him, he had snatch'd a Sword out of their hands, and with it forc'd his way through them, into the Street again; at this relation the Mar­quess tore his Hairs, and drawing his Sword, had certainly run it through him that stood nearest him, had he not diligently escap'd [Page 210]it, which furious action did make the rest also to stand also at a fur­ther distance. I want words to ex­press, all that the height of the greatest rage imaginable, did make the Marquess to say and act, there­fore I shall pass it by; to tell you, that while he was in the midst of his fury, Zora, came into the Chamber; she having miss'd of Ca­mille, had left her Message with Father Andrew, with an account of all that had pass'd, in as few words as she could, that she might hasten back to prevent Camille's getting into the Marquess's House, who was gone forth in order to go there, after that he had call'd at Don Alphonso's; but she coming near home, had learn'd what had hap­pen'd, by a Servant that was run­ning for a Chirurgion to dress those that Camille had wounded; all this was very well she thought, but for fear that the Marquess being disap­pointed of his revenge on the Pil­grim, [Page 211]should in his passion discharge it all on his Wife: So soon as she was enter'd, she made signs unto the Marquess, as if she had some­thing to say to him in private, he presently sent the Servants out and went into the Closet, where Zora followed him, after she had thrown a piece of Paper unto the Marchio­ness, in which was written: Fear no­thing. She told the Marquess, that though she had fail'd of the Pilgrim, she had met with a Person as dange­rous as he, and that was Father An­drew; that finding a Door shut she had look'd through the Key hole, and there she had seen and heard the Fryer, who with half a dozen more were contriving to take the Mar­chioness away by force at a Night, or upon the Road, whenever he should offer to remove her; that she understood that they had made many Friends in that City that were as willing, as able, to serve the Pilgrim in that wicked design; [Page 212]and that therefore he was to lay his passion aside, and think what he had best to do, to prevent their de­signs. Do, said the Marquess, in as great a fury as ever, I will help them in it, they shall have her, I will bestow her upon her Minion, my self, I'll only keep her Heart to my self, and they shall share her Carcass amongst them; then pre­fently after a littl pause, fetching a great sigh, from the bottom of his Heart, but why should I design so foolishly, this would be to serve them according to their own de­sires, the Pilgrim has had her Heart long since, and it is only for her Body that all this is; here he made another pause, which gave time to Zora to Say, Sir, there is no time to lose, spend it not therefore in vain reflections; once more let me persuade you to lay aside all passion, and to think of what is to be done to secure the Marchioness from all their at­tempts: I have thought on't, reply'd [Page 213]the Marquess hastily, she shall dye, and then there's an end of all, of all my miseries at once, yea, and of me and all: Heavens forbid, said Zora, Pray, Sir,—What wouldst thou have me to do then? reply'd the Mar­quess, interrupting her in a milder tone? I will tell you, Sir, reply'd Zora, give out to your Servants im­mediately that you will be gone from this City in the Morning early, that all things should be got ready to that purpose with all the Ostentation that may be, that the noise of it may be spread about the Town, especially about the Confederates Quarters, so that they may know of it, and provide for the taking of the Marchioness on the Road; mean time let a Litter be got in private, wherein the Marchioness should be con­vey'd in the dead of the Night, by force if she makes resistance; I shall take care to prevent her from making any noise, or getting out, and let the Litter be driven quite another way, than it should have been given out that you [Page 214]intended to go, while that ye follow with your Mule; no doubt but this will deceive the Pilgrim and his Friends, who certainly will be upon the Road that way that you have given out you would go to intercept the Marchio­ness, mean time she will have been con­vey'd to some other place of safety. This, Sir, continued she, I have been thinking of, as I came home; the ap­prehensions of some sudden attempt, having set me upon it; for now that your Enemies are strong and powerful, when they find that you stir not from hence, they will attempt any thing even here, and Heaven knows what they may not do, having the Marchio­ness always ready to assist them. And now, Sir, I leave to your pru­dence to judg, whether what I have propos'd, is not reasonable, and the products of an Heart that is whol­ly devoted to your Service. My Dear, and Faithful, Zora, reply'd the Marquess, I can never thank thee sufficiently for the cares which [Page 215]thou hast in my concerns, and I shall never forget it; I find all that thou hast said to be very good, and to proceed from a faithful Heart, but I will, or rather we will with deliberation, Methodise it so, that our design shall not be capa­ble of failing. I am of opinion there­fore, as you have discreetly pro­pos'd, that a Litter should this day be got in readiness, but I would have it to be convey'd a little way out of Town towards the place that I intend to go to, which is Tolledo, so privately that no notice may be taken of it, and in the E­vening I will take thy Mistress and thy self in a Coach, and we will be carried thither, where you two shall get into the Litter, and I will follow upon my Mule, none of the Servants knowing of this but one that I dare confide in, who shall be busied with the rest of his Fellows in getting all things ready for to be going in the morning, to some o­ther [Page 216]place that I shall appoint them to meet me at: by these means we shall get a considerable way in our Journey, before any notice is ta­ken of it, and the Villains will be frustrated of their expectation to morrow, when they set upon my empty Coach, and my Men, and the further to deceive them, my Servants shall tell them that we did not design to stir forth till the E­vening, though we had sent them before, for this will make them to desist any further pursuit at that time, in hopes of meeting with us at Night. This is such a way, reply'd Zora, as would be infalli­ble, of getting your Wife safe from hence, if we could but be provided with a Litter and Mule-drivers to attend it without noise. There's the stress of the whole business, re­ply'd the Marquess, neither know I whom to trust as to that; and I believe that I must go about it my self. I would not have you to leave [Page 217]the Marchioness one moment, re­ply'd Zora, you have so affrighted all your Servants, that none dares to appear before you, but she that would adventure a thousand Lives to serve you; what do I know but that at this very present there is some correspondency, between your Wife and her Confederates? Should they attempt any thing in your ab­sence, either by the Garden, to get her out of the Window, she being as ready to go, as they to receive her, who should oppose them? where would be any aid? I should quickly be dispatch'd, and then the booty would be their own; there­fore I think it very necessary for you to remain by her, till we all three are going in the Evening: That which thou hast said is very true, said the Marquess; but then how shall we get this Litter and Men con­vey'd secretly another way out of Town, than we must seem to go? Let that be my care, Sir, said Zora, [Page 218]I have some acquaintance here in Town, that shall do that business for us, I will go instantly to set them about it; but stay, reply'd the Marquess, till I have been in my Closet to fetch out some wri­tings, and then I will not move from her Chamber till thy return. After this, the Marquess went out of the Chamber to his Closet, which gave time to Zora to tell the Marchioness, that she should fear nothing, that she had appeas'd her Husband for the present, and that that Night should be the last of her misery; that she would inform their Friends of all the business be­fore she return'd, take their advice likewise, and of all make an abso­lute conclusion, which she would bring her back in writing, that she might know what part she had to act, and not be surpriz'd; this did Zora deliver with such a chearful countenance, kissing the Marchio­ness's Hand, that she was very much [Page 219]comforted by it: Zora was after that advising her Lady to arise, and pack up all her Jewels and o­ther things of value by themselves, when the Marquess return'd into the Chamber, to whom Zora said, I have been persuading my Lady to rise, and to prepare for her Jour­ney, but she will not believe that she has need to make such haste. No! reply'd the Marquess; yet she may be certain that she shall not lye one Night longer in this place; therefore let her rise, and pack up her things her self, if she will, for I have other employs for you, and now go about what I have sent you to do: Zora presently went a­bout her business; the Marquess employ'd himself about making up and examining of Accounts, while the Marchioness went into her Clo­set, where she employ'd her self in disposing of her Jewels privately a­bout her, with other things of concerns, and stuffing up of those [Page 220]Boxes and Cases, that they were u­sually carried in, with other things of little or no value: Thus the Mar­quess in the Chamber, having con­tinually one Eye on the Closet Window, and the Marchioness in the Closet, did remain till Zora re­turn'd, without speaking one word to one another, to the Ladies great satisfaction.

Zora was not long before she got to Camille's, whom she inform'd of what she had done, and that the Marchioness had a knowledge of it: She likewise gave him an account of his fair escape, which he had made out of the Marquess's House, while that the Marquess had sent her on purpose to bring him to his inevitable Death. How that he had sworn to tear his Heart out of his Body, and to give it to her: he need not put himself to that trou­ble reply'd Camille, I have long since sav'd him that I bour, in present­ing it my self to her, in a conditi­on [Page 221]to do her more Service, and therefore more acceptable. Let us lose no time now, said Father An­drew, and let it not be said, that this Woman has done all her self, but let us act our parts likewise. Then Zora told them, that there was to be got out of hand a Litter, Mules, and Mule-drivers, that were to be convey'd very privately, at some small distance from the City, at a place which she nam'd. That shall be my charge, reply'd the good Father, and let me alone to deceive that wicked Father Andrew, and that abominable Pilgrim; and be certain, that within three hours at farthest it shall be at the place ap­pointed: Yes, but where will you find trusty men to attend it? re­ply'd Zora: Are not here two, an­answer'd the brisk Fryer? how ma­ny would you have? And for their fidelity to us, I will engage for the one if you will engage for the other, continued he, addressing himself to [Page 222] Camille; that will do very well, re­ply'd Camille, and my task shall be to discharge the House, to provide good Horses, and to crave the assi­stance of my worthy Friend Alphon­so, of his Lady, and of his House and Servants, to receive us and our Prize, when we have it. Another thing is to be thought on also, said Father Andrew, which is, to convey something between the Marquess's Mules Feet and her Shooes, that she may fall downright lame with­in a little while after that he shall be got upon her, which will cause him to stay behind, while we di­ligently go on with the Litter. Bet­ter and better still, said Camille, I see that we shall bring it to some­thing at last. This will do, said Zora, and I think that we need no further to cousult about it. No, no, reply'd Father Andrew, and therefore I am gone to get the Litter and all things belonging to it: And if you please, Sir, said Zora to Ca­mille, [Page 223]to write down the result of our consultation, I will instantly return and give it the Marchioness, and tell the Marquess, that within these two hours there will be a Lit­ter in readiness, at the place that he has appointed. That I'll ingage for, said Father Andrew, and away went he: Camille having writ the Note of advice, did give it to Zora, who return'd home with it, and Camille having discharg'd the House, went to his Friend Alphon­so, who he did very easily ingage and his Lady likewise, to serve him in that business, she highly praising his resolution, of putting the Mar­chioness into her hands, when that she were at his whole disposal; and Camille having told them the time and place that they should meet with them on the Road, where Al­phonso assur'd him he would not fail to be exactly; he return'd home, to wait for Father Andrew's return, which was presently after, with a [Page 224]Litter, in which there were two Suits of Cloaths, to dress himself and Camille in, like Mule drivers. He bid one of the Persons that were come along with him, to follow him up stairs, where he should re­ceive his Money; so soon as he came into the Chamber, he call'd upon Camille to pay the Money, which he had agreed for, Camille did readily do it, and went into the Litter to the place appointed, where Fa­ther Andrew follow'd; they were no sooner got thither, but they sent back the Mule-drivers, and accou­tred themselves in those Cloaths which the Father had brought, which made a couple of excellent Varlets of them, in which posture they waited for the Marquess's coming.

While these things had been transacting abroad, the Marquess had been examining the Pilgrim, which the Jaylor had brought to him according to his Orders; at the [Page 225]very first sight of him, he found him not to be that Pilgrim which he meant, and at last having found his mistake, and the cause of it, through his examining of every cir­cumstance, he discharg'd the fellow giving him a piece of Money for to make him amends for the wrong which he had done him, with which he went his way very well satisfy'd, that he had got his liber­ty at last, with a good sum of Mo­ney.

Mean time Zora was return'd home, where she had had some op­portunity, during the Marquess's examination of the Pilgrim, to give the Marchioness the Note, and a full account of all their proceed­ings, the Marchioness was very well pleas'd with what Zora did tell her, whereby divers scruples which had risen in her mind, were re­mov'd: presently after the Mar­quess came into the Chamber, and Zora told him, that there would be [Page 226]a Litter at the time and place ap­pointed, with which he seem'd ve­ry well satisfy'd: The rest of that day the Marquess did spend in giv­ing his last orders to his Servants, and to get those things together which he intended for his present uses.

Having dispatch'd all other busi­nesses, he return'd to his Wives Chamber, where he bid his Wife and Zora to prepare to be going with­in an hour, it being already towards the Evening. This made Zora to bussel about, and to fit the Marchi­oness in a travelling posture; at last, the Coach which the Marquess had appointed came to the Door, which made him to call upon his Wife once again; he led her to it, where he plac'd her, after which, he and Zora went in it; it was dark, and he had so muffled up both his Wife and Zora in Cloaks, that no body could well discern, if they were men or Women; in a short [Page 227]time after they came to the place, where the Litter was waiting for them, and his Mule likewise, which he had sent before, whose Feet had been stuff'd, by the two new Mule­drivers, with things more uneasie, than she could well indure. So soon as the Marquess did see the Litter, and having hastily plac'd his Wife in it, and Zora by her, he made it vp himself, and bidding the Mule­drivers go on, he got upon his Mule and follow'd.

They had not gone far before the Marquess's Mule began to halt, but he put her on still, till at last she could, or would not go any fur­ther; he did what he could to force her to it, but all in vain, for at last she fairly laid her self down, which oblig'd the Marquess to alight, and call after the Mule-drivers to stay, but they impatient to be at that place where they were expected by Alphonso, and his Lady, they went on the faster, he run after them [Page 228]crying as loud as he could for them to stay, but the uncivil Mule-dri­vers, did not so much as once look back; on the contrary the louder he call'd, and the faster he did run, the faster they drove, till they came to a turning, where they met with their Friends; presently was the Marchioness taken out of the Litter by Camille, and led to Al­phonso's Coach, where resigning her into his Ladies Hands: Thus, Madam, said he, do I part with you, according to your desires, and my pro­mise, into the Hands of this most worthy Lady; and now, Madam, you are at your own disposal; there was no time for longer Compli­ments, the Marchioness only said: Now I find that you are truly gene­rous, and that I have not deceiv'd my self: Camille gave her not time to say more, for he presently put off his disguise, and having got on a Horse, he and Alphonso did ride by the Coach side, while it carried [Page 229]the two Ladies; Zora and Father Andrew, another way into the Ci­ty again, where they all got into Alphonso's House by the back Door.

Mean time the poor Marquess did continue his hollowing and cal­ling after the Mule-drivers, though he had long since lost the sight of them, and did trudg as he could after them; but the Gallants were gone with their Booty long before he did overtake the empty Litter, which the Mules (being left at their own disposal) had carried to a little by-place, close by the great Road, where they were biting upon a little Grass, which they had met with; so that when he came up wearied and almost spent, he presently look'd into it, but finding no body there, nor any where thereabouts, he fairly enter'd it to rest himself, never minding where the Mules did carry him; and they having eaten that little of Grass that they [Page 230]had met with, they went on, as by chance they had turn'd themselves which prov'd to be the ready way back to the City.

The poor Marquess being thus carried, he knew not whether, nor did he care to know, with a very slow pace: He had both time and conveniency, to reflect on all his mis­fortunes, and especially on the greatest of all, the loss of his Wife; concluding with himself, that the whole world did consent to his mi­series. What to do, which way to go, or what to resolve upon, he knew not; therefore letting the Mules go which way they pleas'd, he began to consider with himself, what was the reason that he was so unfortunate above all other men: amongst many things which came to his Fancy on this account, the great severity with which he had us'd his Wife, by giving too much scope unto his passions, did not a little perplex him, which might be [Page 231]the cause that she had hearkned af­ter any designs that had been pro­pos'd to her, of freeing her self from it, which otherwise peradventure she had refus'd: No, no, then would he say again, I must not charge my self with a fault that is wholly hers; those most lascivious papers which I did see so lately, by meer accident, do but too well express her inclinations; yet she did not write them, continued he; then after a little pause: but she receiv'd them, and gave them harbour in her own Bed; and it is consequent­ly to be believ'd, that she own'd them, approv'd of them, and gave a silent consent to all the ill that was contain'd in them: At this reflecti­on he made a great sigh, and re­main'd a while silent, after which, he again broke out in this manner: But when I first had her, and that she did yet enjoy some moments of liberty, I could never tax nor excuse [Page 232]her of any the least correspondency imaginable with any man; neither could I with all the exactest inquisi­tion that I could possibly use, learn that she had ever had any publick, or pri­vate and particular converse with a­ny Person; so that this Pilgrim who now possesses her, is perhaps known to her but of late, and by meer accident, and she perceiving him to be a man of good meen and parts; why might not she wish that he might know of her hard restraint, and desire that he might relieve her out of it; and where is that man that would refuse her; she in all this may have aim'd but at liberty; and notwithstanding what hopes soever he may build upon, as he express'd in his writing: She might have nobler thoughts, and such as might defeat all his ill designs: Yea, but those Kisses, would he say again, in a little passion, those lascivious kisses might have been stoln from her, continued he, as ansering him­self, and I think that they were so [Page 233]mention'd, and if stoln from her as well as from me, why should I think that she did approve of it, or consen­ted to the stealth? Thus was he canvassing the case to himself, wil­ling in some measure to take upon himself the cause of his Wives leav­ing of him, when on the sudden, a noise which he heard, did cause him to look out of the Litter, at which the Mules did stop, this made him to alight, and present­ly he perceiv'd that he was not far from his late House, where his Ser­vants were still, he therefore find­ing that that noise which he had heard, was termining into a quar­rel, and that there were Swords already drawn, and being not in a humour to mind such things, at that time especially, he made what hast he could towards his Door; but as he came forth of the Litter, he perceiv'd some scatter'd Papers in it, which he had the curiosity to take up, and having given a blow to one [Page 234]of the Mules, they went on, while he got into his House, where he was receiv'd with as much wonder as unexpectedness, by all his Servants. He presently caus'd what they had displac'd in his Chamber, in order to transportation, to be laid in order again, and having forbid any of them to ask him any questions, he went to Bed, where he read those Papers which he had found in the Litter.

The one of them was that Letter which the Marchioness had torn, not thinking it severe enough to rebuke Camille's insolence, in kis­sing of her; at which the Marquess seem'd as well pleas'd, as if it had been news of getting his Wife a­gain. The other were indifferent things, yet with something or other still in them, which spake more a desire of being freed from Slavery, than of Love: these loose Papers were, it was likely, scatter'd in the ha­stily getting out of the Litter, at the [Page 235]time of the seising on the Marchio­ness; but such as they were, they did so confirm him in those thoughts which he inclin'd to have of his Wifes honesty, that taking hold thereon, he did lay the whole cause of her miscarriage upon him­self; this with his late mischance of the Tub, and his over-heating himself in running after the Litter, together with the trouble of Spirit which he had upon him, for ob­liging, and in a manner, forcing his Wife to that extremity of leav­ing him, did presently cast him in­to a violent Feaver, to which a re­morce of having divers times had a design of poysoning of her, did not a little contribute.

Of truth the Marchioness was not so much to blame as some Per­sons might imagin, if all the cir­cumstances of her late action was weigh'd with an equal hand, in the scale of reason: She was young, beautiful, and endowed [Page 236]with excellent parts of the mind; she had been forc'd by her Parents into the arms of a Person for whom she had a natural aversion against his Per­son, as well as against that morose, crabbed, and jealous Nature, which had always been so predominant in him, that even before Marriage he had made her sensible of some of its ill effects, and had given out such words within her hearing, as did sufficiently express how he would use her, when once she was his Wife; she had ever since that found and felt the sad effects of those Menaces, without the least cause given by her to be so ill treated; it was a very hard Fate, for her thus to be sequestred from all conversation, though never so modest and innocent, to be buried alive in the Arms of a Person that she so perfectly loath'd, and that far from endeavouring to gain her affection, did use her so barbariously, that it daily did increase her aversion a­gainst him. All that she had done [Page 237]was but to free her self from that intolerable slavery under which she lived most miserably, and what­soever her deliverer did promise, or propose to himself, as a reward for his Services; she knew what was fit for her to give, not to prove un­grateful, and what to retain, not to be counted vitious: It is true, that she had thrown her self into the Pow­er of an amorous young man, whom peradventure nothing would satis­fy, but what she was not to give, but then she had not the opportu­nity to pick and chuse: Camille was the only Person that had proffer'd his aid, to free her from her misery; if she refus'd this, she knew not whether the Heavens wou'd be so kind to her again, as to send her a­ny other opportunity; she was go­ing to be made yet more miserable than ever, by that severe restraint that her too cruel Husband was go­ing to put her under, as he had of­ten given out he would, nay, her very Life had often been threatned, [Page 238]though at a distance; in all these conditions she could not hope to find any relief but in Death; she was sequestred from all her Friends and Relations, carried away into a strange Country, where she had no body to make her complaints unto. In the midst of all these af­flictions, Camille seem'd to her, as sent from Heaven to be her delive­rer; he was a Gentleman so all his actions did speak him, he might for ought that she knew be virtuously given as soon as vitious, or at least virtue might have so much ascen­dant over him, that with a modest resistance against any inordinate desires, she might assist that virtue to get the upper hand in him. That in case he should prove otherways, she would endeavour to get out of his power, by the assistance of some Re­ligious Persons, or by giving pri­vate notice of it to her Relations, that in the mean time she would stave him off with fair promises and [Page 239]delays, and finally if all that would not do, she was resolv'd to sacri­fice her Virtue to Death, rather than her body to his lascivious Em­braces.

It were with these and divers other considerations of the like Nature, that were back'd with that last reso­lution of dying rather than yield­ing, that the Marchioness had cast her self into the Arms of Camille's protection, which she did soon put in­to Practice; for the next morning, Don Alphonso and his Lady going to see how Camille did, after the first Com­pliments were over, he did beg of her before her Husband, that she would endeavour to prevail so with the Marchioness as that he might but see her. She immediately went about it, and was not long before she re­turn'd with leave for him to come to her, where he might stay so long as she were by, to which he pre­sently consenting, he went with her to the Marchioness's Chamber, he [Page 240]was no sooner at the Door, but that he run, and casting himself at her Feet, he said: Madam, I am come to offer you an heart more busied with an earnest ambition of serving you further yet, than possest with the thoughts of receiving any recom­pence for his former Services: Yet Madam, not so wholly insensible of the happiness, which he might re­ceeive from you, if you would but al­low him some place in your esteem, as not humbly to sue for it. Sir, re­plyed the Marchioness, making some motion which express'd her desire that he should rise, I cannot be so insensible, of that generous assi­stance which I have receiv'd from you, as not to resent it with all the gratitude that my bosome can be capa­ble of, and it is so lately that I have felt the advantage of it, that I can not so soon forget it. I do acknow­ledge, Sir, before this Lady here, continued she, that I am infinitely oblig'd to you for what you have lately [Page 241]done in my concerns, for proof where­of, I do confess that I owe you all that my abilities in the present condition I am, and that my honour can per­mit me to give you, besides this, I being of a Disposition, as will not per­mit me to remain long in peace with my self, while that virtue lies unre­warded: I gladly receiv'd, and en­tertain'd your request of seeing me, that I might have the opprrtunity of giving you some small Tokens of my gratitude, till my good Fortune does enable me to further reach the merits of your singular Services to me; be pleas'd therefore to accept of all that little which I have in my own dispo­sing at present, till Time and Fortune do further enable me to suit my rewards more proportionable to your deserts. Camille was going to answer, when she thus went on, taking hold of the middle of a Toylet that was upon a Table near her: Here, Sir, is all I have, it is small, considering what I owe you, I doubt not but [Page 242]that a Person that has acted so gene­rously as you have done, will be contented wiih the good will, where the Power cannot extend any fur­ther, with that she lifted off the Toy­let which she held in her hand, and discover'd to Camille's Eyes, a par­cel of Jewels of great value. Camille had no sooner cast his Eyes upon them, but turning his Face from them, with an air that did express a contemning of such trifles. You have a design to mock me, Madam, said he, with an emotion which ex­press'd his dislike, in pretending to gratify me, while you offer me this parcel of Jewels, and at the same time you reserve to your self that inestimable Gem, your heart, which might set me in possession of those Mines of Treasures which discover their Lustre over your Face, and — he was going on, when the Marchio­ness did thus interrupt him: Sir, you have very soon forgot the promises which you made to my Servant [Page 243]here, and doubtless that you were thinking of something else while you made them; yet I am happy in that you have observ'd so much of them as has invited you to put me into the hands of so worthy a Lady as this is, and in a place where I need not fear any thing beyond words; yet give me leave to tell you that they surprize me much; but however, Sir, I am extream­ly sorry, that I cannot gratify you out of my own store, and that you covet that which I was forc'd long ago to part with to another, though I must confess absolutely against my will: but however now it is no more mine, and though this Bosome, pointing at her Breast, is still the Caskanet, wherein it is kept; there is such a strong Guard set upon it by Virtue: as can never be forc'd but with the loss of my Life, till the right owner of it, though he is never so unworthy, looses his property in it by death. If that were all, Ma­dam, [Page 244]said Camille, his Life were not so considerable, that he should be loath to lose it, or any one fear the taking of it away, which would be but like the removing of a Stone out of that way, that would lead one to the possession of that preti­ous Jewel: This did Camille say, in a tone that express'd much disorder in his mind, of which the Marchio­ness taking notice: That were the way, said she, to cast so dark a Cloud over it, and the rash under­taker of so foul a deed, as would e­ternally darken its lustre, and hide for ever from my Eyes that Person, that should so unworthily attempt it, or should they offer the least vio­lence to deprive me of it, I should look upon them, as on the worst of men; and I would certainly sacrifice my Life for its preservation. This did the Marchioness speak with so much resolution and boldness, that Camille was at a stand, not knowing what he should say. Which gave the [Page 245]Marchioness leisure to continue in this manner. But I can distinguish between what is spoken in raillery, and by way of common discourse, from that which might proceed from the Heart, and I have better thoughts of my deliverer, neither can it enter in my imagination, that a Person that has so franckly serv'd me, should harbour in his Breast, such mean and unworthy designs, while he contemns those things which might have taken with any mercenary, and low Spirited Per­sons. But I am confident, continued she, that you are above those trifles, and that like all other brave Souls, yours expects its reward from that virtue, which set it on those brave actions, which cannot be recom­penc'd, but by that same virtue, which first did move it, to the per­formance. Here Camille being over­come by the Marchioness's gene­rous expressions, and looking upon those designs with which he had ap­proach'd [Page 246]her, as gross and foul Earthy exaltations, which if not dispersed from his mind, by those refulgent Rayes, which the bright­ness of the Marchioness's brave ex­ample did cast upon him, would hinder him from appearing with the like lustre, and from moving in the same Sphere of Virtue that she did; he therefore, wholly chang­ing his mind, and first designs as scorning to be out done by a Wo­man, did immediately cast from himself all lascivious desires, and low thoughts, to give a full and entire possession of his Soul to Vir­tue, which made him answer the Marchioness in this manner.

That Virtue, Madam, which shines with so much lustre through­out all your actions, were more than sufficient, were I any other ways inclin'd, to work perfect re­formation in me. It appears, so great so glorious, and so aimable in you, that nothing but that can be [Page 247]said to surpass all those other bles­sings of body and mind, that the Heavens have showr'd upon you with a prodigal hand, which moves an emulation in all generous Spi­rits; henceforward, Madam, con­tinued he, I bid adieu to all the little Sallies and Gayeties of inordi­nate Youth, to wait with patience at your Feet, for what the Heavens will be pleas'd to set apart for me; only this, Madam, I humbly crave of you, that if ever there be hopes, I may stand the fairest in your af­fections; he will out live your pa­tience, Sir, reply'd the Marchio­ness; then turning her Head aside to hide some blushes, which what she was going to say did spread over her Face: at least I fear so, continu­ed she, with a sigh, after a little pause: Oh! Madam, what a Cor­dial have you adminstred to my fainting heart? reply'd Camille, say but once more, Madam, that you have that esteem for me, as to al­low [Page 248]of your Hearts good Wishes in my behalf, and I protest by all that is sacred, never to endeavour my happiness by any sinister means; I shall with an exemplary patience wait for what my Stars and your fair self have decreed for me, and employ all that time that shall run betwixt this moment and then, in admiring your Beauties, in setting forth your praises, and in obeying your Commands, with all the fer­vour, zeal, and diligence, that a Heart so possest with the admirati­on of your Virtues, as mine is, can be capable of. And I must tell you, reply'd the Marchioness, that so long as you bring that temper along with you, you shall be welcome to my heart, in which you may claim as great a share, as Virtue and Hon­our can allow you. This Crowns that Victory, Madam, answer'd Camille, which I have lately obtain'd over my passions, and that honour which I receive of being the first in [Page 249]your esteem, is so far beyond all that I shall ever merit, that I can desire no more than the permission to seal the protesta­tion which I here make to be eternally yours, (with that the Marchioness gave him her Hand to kiss) upon this white Au­thor of my happiness, continued he, till I have leave to tast of that Nectar, which flows on your Lips. That you once took, said the Marchioness, when I was not in a condition to for bid it, which I have now you forgiven you, and I will not refuse so insignificant a thing however you e­steemit, when you sue so modestly for it, but stop there, and let the bounds of your desires be limitted within this compass; till it shall please the Heavens to enlarge them: after this Camille kiss'd her Lip, and was going to return her thanks with an assurance of his moderation, when Father Andrew enter'd the Chamber as brisk as could be, saying, Madam, give me my News-guift before I tell you the best news that you have heard since your de­liverance. That I will good Father, re­ply'd the Marchioness, for I own my self already much indebted to you; with that she took up a fair Diamond-Ring which lay upon the Table, and taking out of her [Page 250]Poctet a Purse of Gold, Sir, said she in a low voice to Camille, giving him the Ring, accept of this pledge of my Friend­ship, and wear it for my sake; then turn­ing to Father Andrew; and you good Fa­ther, continued she, receive this small re­ward of your Services, until I am in a bet­ter capacity to acknowledge them: saying this, she gave him the purse of Gold. The good Father having receiv'd the golden blessing with an humble bow, he thus be­gain his Story.

I am but just now return'd from the City, where after divers inquiries, I have learned that the Marquess your Hus­band, Madam, was returned to his Lodgings before day, that he had been taken so violently ill of a Feaver, that all the Physitians of the Town that are about him had given him for dead; notwithstanding the frequent repetiti­ons of bleeding, and all the other means that their Art can use upon him; his Feaver increasing so violently that he sayes himself that he is a dead Man: This made me go to a Religious Father of my acquaintance here, where having fitted my self with a Religious Habit, I have desired him to accompany me to [Page 251]the Marquiss, where I prayed him to mix amongst his comforts some gentle touches of his hard u­sage of you, with s [...]me admonition to make you amends at his Death. But when we came there, I standing a little aside, lest my presence should distract his thoughts, I found him already dis­pos'd as I would have him, he was saying to his Kins-man the Justice that is with him, that he was very sensible of the wrongs which he had done his Wife, that he wish'd that he could but once again see her before he died, to ask her pardon for it; that for proof that this reconcilia­tion to his Wife was sincere, and in it after some few Legacies and some guifts to the Church to pray for his soul, he would leave his dear Wife sole Heir of his Estate. This news made the Marchioness to go immediately to her Husband, who did no sooner perceive her but he took her by the hand, and did a Thousand times ask her pardon for his ill treating of her, and after he had ratified the Will which he had made, since Father Andrews absence, & which was in his Kins-mans hands, having call'd for it and given it to her in the presence of all, he presently after gave up the Ghost. The Mar­chioness after this, leaving directions with her Husbands Kins-man concerning what she would have done, leaving to his management all the con­cerns in that City; as also the care of her Hus­bands Transportation and Burial in his own Country according to his desires, amongst his Ancestors; she returned to Alphonso's House, where being fatigated and late in the Night, she went to Bed.

The next morning after that she was up and ready to receive a visit, Camille came to her to re­new his suit, summoning her of her promises, to [Page 252]which she made answer, that she would do him Justice; after which, Don Alphonso, his Lady, Fa­ther Andrew, and Zora, being present, she de­clar'd before them all, that she receiv'd Signior Camille for her Husband, she gave him her hand in assurance of it, and further said, that so soon as she had paid those formalities which were due to the dead, she would confirm it by marriage. Camille full of joy did return her all the thanks imaginable; the whole company did applaud her choice, and wish'd them both all Joy and Hap­piness.

After that all the ceremonies of the Funeral were over, and that the Marchioness had sent her late Husbands Kins-man to take possession in her name, of what he had left her, she began, through Camille's incessant importunities to think on Marriage: In short, within the compass of some Months they were Married, to both their contents, after which they having return'd infi­nite thanks to Don Alphonso and his Lady, to and given them some presents, as also the Justice who had been their Friend: they took leave of all and return'd into Italy, taking a­long with them, the good Father Andrew, and Zora, where they were both provided for during their lives very plentifully; and Camille having made his peace with the Church, he enjoy'd hi [...] Marchioness with great pleasure and content.