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To this speech, in which the offended pride of the Abate overcoming all sense of justice, accused and threatened to punish Julia for the fault of her friend, madame listened in dreadful impatience. Every word that detained her struck torture to her heart, but the concluding sentence occasioned new terror, and she started at its purpose. She fell at the feet of the Abate in an agony of grief. 'Holy father,' said she, 'punish not Julia for the offence which I only have committed; her heart will bless her generous protector, and for myself, suffer me to assure you that I am fully sensible of your goodness.',She shrieked, and fainted. On recovering, she found herself supported by Ferdinand and Hippolitus, who had stolen this moment of silence and security to gain admittance to her presence. Hippolitus came to urge a proposal which despair only could have suggested. 'Fly,' said he, 'from the authority of a father who abuses his power, and assert the liberty of choice, which nature assigned you. Let the desperate situation of my hopes plead excuse for the apparent boldness of this address, and let the man who exists but for you be the means of saving you from destruction. Alas! madam, you are silent, and perhaps I have forfeited, by this proposal, the confidence I so lately flattered myself I possessed. If so, I will submit to my fate in silence, and will to-morrow quit a scene which presents only images of distress to my mind.',“Come on, Bob, let’s get a couple of horses and ride up into the range country. I hear there are some wonderful ranches farther up country.”,“You mean you can come to Crossways?”,“Yes—it was as unlucky as it could be,” said Tellef. “Perhaps it is as well not to say anything about the umbrella just at first.”,“Don’t you think it might help if I got my boss, Mr. Whitney, to come down and talk to him about it?”,“I’d like that,” he said one day as the trio were loafing away the afternoon in the shade of Holman’s bunkhouse, “and I think I’ll drift up that way and tackle it.”,Johnny Blossom put his hands in his pockets and whistled, “Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” loudly and shrilly.,And of his beard, whate'er the hue,,He looked in again.,Cease your ruin! spectres dire!,Beauties, that charm, become you more than dress,.