or Speech, he besought her to fear nothing from him, for his
Flame was too sacred, and his Passion too holy to offer any thing but
what Honour with Love might afford him. At last he brought her to some
Courage, and the Roses of her fair Cheeks assum'd their wonted Colour,
not blushing too red, nor languishing too pale. But when the
Conversation began between them, it was the softest in the world: They
said all that parting Lovers could say; all that Wit and Tenderness
could express: They exchanged their Vows anew; and to confirm his, he
tied a Bracelet of Diamonds about her Arm, and she returned him one of
her Hair, which he had long begged, and she had on purpose made, which
clasped together with Diamonds; this she put about his Arm, and he swore
to carry it to his Grave. The Night was far spent in tender Vows, soft
Sighs and Tears on both sides, and it was high time to part: but, as if
Death had been to have arrived to them in that Minute, they both
linger'd away the time, like Lovers who had forgot themselves; and the
Day was near approaching when he bid farewel, which he repeated very
often: for still he was interrupted by some commanding Softness from
_Atlante_, and then lost all his Power of going; till she, more
courageous and careful of his Interest and her own Fame, forc'd him from
her: and it was happy she did, for he was no sooner got over the
Balcony, and she had flung him down his Rope, and shut the Door, but
_Vernole_, whom Love and Contrivance kept waking, fancy'd several times
he heard a Noise in _Atlante's_ Chamber. And whether in passing over the
Balcony, _Rinaldo_ made any Noise or not, or whether it were still his
jealous Fancy, he came up in his Night-Gown, with a Pistol in his Hand.
_Atlante_ was not so much lost in Grief, tho' she were all in Tears, but
she heard a Man come up, and imagin'd it had been her Father, she not
knowing of Count _Vernole's_ lying in the House that Night; if she had,
she possibly had taken more care to have been silent; but whoever it
was, she could not get to bed soon enough, and therefore turn'd her self
to her Dressing-Table, where a Candle stood, and where lay a Book open
of the Story of _Ariadne_ and _Theseus_. The Count turning the Latch,
enter'd halting into her Chamber in his Night-Gown clapped close about
him, which betray'd an ill-favour'd Shape, his Night-Cap on, without a
Perriwig, which discover'd all his lean wither'd Jaws, his pale Face,
and his Eyes staring: