"So much the worse; they may only provoke the wrath of your captors. 'T is a pity your fair one, Signora Montecino (that's her name, I believe) lives in so dangerous a vicinity."
"I am only going to visit the bishop of Nicastro."
"A shallow excuse, Oliver: you are not a man to relish the old bishop's society. By-the-bye, his niece is very pretty; is she not?"
"Rather," said he, drily.
"So much so, that you think her face cannot be delineated too often?"
"Stay, Claude; no quizzing: I won't stand it."
"She has a brother, or cousin, a sad fellow—an outlawed guerilla, or something of that sort; who has served under Francatripa, and is stained with a thousand nameless atrocities. And do you know what people say about the pretty signorina herself?"
"What say they?" he asked, sternly.
"That she is a nearer relation of the good padre bishop than he cares to have generally known: priests' nieces——"
"D——n their impudence! only yourself, Claude—Capt. Dundas, I must request——"