after me, gently; but if she attempt to cry out, why, force enough to
silence her, not more. As for you, Beatrice, traitress that you are,
I could strike you to the earth, but--No, this suffices." He caught his
sister in his arms as he spoke, and regardless of her cries and
struggles, sprang down the stairs.

The hall was crowded with fierce, swarthy men. The count turned to one
of them, and whispered; in an instant the marchesa was seized and gagged.
The count cast a look over his shoulder; Violante was close behind,
supported by the man to whom Peschiera had consigned her, and who was
pointing to Beatrice, and appeared warning Violante against resistance.

Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Peschiera smiled cynically,
and, preceded by some of his hirelings, who held torches, descended a few
steps that led to an abrupt landing-place between the hall and the
basement story. There a small door stood open, and the river flowed
close by. A boat was moored on the bank, round which grouped four men,
who had the air of foreign sailors. At the appearance of Peschiera,
three of these men sprang into the boat, and got ready their oars. The
fourth carefully re-adjusted a plank thrown from the boat to the wharf,
and offered his arm obsequiously to Peschiera. The count was the first
to enter, and, humming a gay opera air, took his place by the helm. The
two females were next lifted in, and Violante felt her hand pressed
almost convulsively by the man who stood by the plank. The rest
followed, and in another minute the boat bounded swiftly over the waves
towards a vessel that lay several furlongs adown the river, and apart
from all the meaner craft that crowded the stream. The stars struggled
pale through the foggy atmosphere; not a word was heard within the boat,
--no sound save the regular splash of the oars. The count paused from
his lively tune, and gathering round him the ample fold of his fur