“Unfortunate wretch! what will become of me, if you should forsake me. Reduced to the cruel situation of bewailing you both, where shall I find a solace for my miseries? Will my children console me? Alas! in two years death hath snatched four away from me; and the Russians, equally pitiless as death itself, have bereaved me of the last! I have only you remaining in the world, and even you wish to abandon me! my father! my husband! Will such dear connexions as these be insensible to my sufferings! Have compassion, take pity on your own Lodoiska.”
. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . .
Her tears now intercepted her speech. Micislas wept; my heart was torn with anguish. “You are resolved to accompany us, my daughter---be it so; I consent,” says Pulaski, “but I wish that heaven may not punish me for my complaisance!”
Lodoiska now embraces us both with as much joy at if all our ills had been at an end. I leave two letters with Micislas, which he undertook to transmit according to the direction: the one was addressed to my sisters, and the other to Boleslas. I bade them adieu, and I recommended to them, to neglect no means to endeavour to recover my dear Dorliska!
It was necessary that I should disguise my wife---she assumes a masculine dress; we change our own, and we employ all the means in our power to disfigure ourselves in such a manner as to elude research, and prevent discovery.
Thus altered in our appearance, armed with our sabres and our pistols, provided with a considerable sum in gold, with some trinkets, and all the jewels of Lodoiska, we take leave of Micislas, and make haste to regain the woods.
(To be continued.)
OBSERVATION.
He whose passions are mild, whose fortune is equal to his desires and situation, who passes his life with his relations and friends, and dies in their arms without remorse, fear or pain, is a happy man.