e not
adorable?"

"Not exactly," said Sir Edmund with a smile; "but some of his
accounts were interesting."

"Was he fierce?"

"No, not the least. I fancy he had followed that line in his
younger days, more because his father and his brother were
brigands, than from any inclination of his own. One of the
stories he told us struck Middleton and myself in a very
different manner."

"What was it?" I asked, unable to restrain my anxious
curiosity.

"I am afraid you may think it long," said. Sir Edmund; "but if
you are to decide the point in question you must have patience
to hear the story:--

"Lorenzo, that was our friend's name, had been engaged in
several skirmishes with the gendarmerie, that had been sent
into the mountains to arrest the gang to which he belonged; he
was known by sight, and had once or twice narrowly escaped
being seized. He had a personal enemy among the gendarmes--a
man called Giacomo, whose jealousy he had excited some years
previously at a country fair. They had quarrelled about a girl
whom both were making love to. Lorenzo had struck him, and
Giacomo had not returned the blow before they were separated,
and his rival safe in the mountains beyond the reach of his
vengeance. He brooded over this recollection for several
years; and when he found himself, at last, officially in
pursuit of his enemy, he followed him as a hungry beast tracks
his prey. One evening, with two or three of his men, he had
dodged him for several hours. Lorenzo had made with incredible
speed for a spot where, between the fissures of the rock, he
knew of a secret passage by which he could elude the pursuit,
and place himself in safety. He strained every nerve to turn
the corner before his pursuers could be upon him, and mark the
place where he disappeared. Between him and that comer, there
was now nothing left but a slight wooden bridge thrown over a
precipice. As he was rushing across it, Giacomo, with the
instinctive feeling that his enemy was escaping him, by one
tremendous leap from the top of the rock which overhung the
bridge, reached it at the same moment. The shock broke to
pieces the frail support; the hand-rail alone did not give
way, and to this, by their hands alone, the two men clung.
They were close to each other--they looked into each other's
faces--neither could move. Lorenzo's eyes were glazed with
terror; Giacomo's glared with fury; he was nearest the edge,
his men were in sight, and he called to