The Prime Minister. Kingston William Henry Giles

on his way from Lisbon to his father’s quinta, near Coimbra, accompanied by Pedro and some other attendants. As, with considerable risk, he galloped between the trees, he did not even turn his head to see if his servants were following, so eager was he to rescue the daughter of the venerable-looking person he had observed bound. As may be supposed, from the intricacy of the thickets and the closeness of the trees, very slow progress could be made by people encumbered in any way as the robbers were, and thus scarce three minutes had passed before Don Luis perceived them a short distance in advance, they being unconscious, from not hearing his horse’s hoofs on the soft grass, that they were pursued. He was thus enabled to approach close to them before he was discovered, when, seeing only one man, the whole band reined in their horses, the hindermost wheeling with the intention of cutting him down, their leader ordering them not to fire, lest the report of their arms should show where they were: but the first who attempted to attack him paid dearly for his temerity; for, drawing a pistol from his holster, he discharged it, and the ruffian fell from his horse. This success somewhat checked the ardour of the rest in closing with him, and at the same time drew the attention of his servants to the spot. Fortunately for him, too, the robbers, having fired their guns, had forgotten to reload them, and before they could do so, his attendants were seen urging on their horses through the trees. The banditti, upon this, drew back together to reload their pieces; but Don Luis, seeing the advantage this would give them, drew his sword, and rushed on the foremost, his valour excited by catching sight of the light robes of the lady among them, the trees growing thickly around preventing more than one attacking him at a time. The captain of the band now approached, still holding the fainting form of Donna Clara in his grasp. “Fire, you fools!” he cried. “Never mind if you hit Damiaö. It cannot be helped; for we shall be cut down in detail, if we get not rid of yon daring madman. Fire!”

      Two of his party obeyed; but their aim was uncertain, and the balls struck the trees near them.

      “Fire again!” shouted the Captain; and another of his men having loaded his piece, discharged it; but it was for the destruction of a friend; for the ball striking Damiaö’s horse, the animal fell, and Don Luis, dealing a blow on the ruffian’s head before he could recover himself, rode furiously at the captor of the lady. His three followers at the same time coming up, gave full occupation to the remainder of the band, who were, however, still superior in numbers; and though their courage was somewhat lessened by the loss of their companions, yet the hopes of keeping possession of their booty induced them, led on by him with the slouched hat, to continue the combat. The bandit chief, encumbered as he was by his fair prize, would have been completely unable to defend himself from Don Luis’s furious attack, had he not interposed her as his shield; but the young cavalier was not thus to be baffled; for, changing suddenly his sword to his bridle hand, and leaning forward, he so dexterously clasped the lovely girl round the waist, that the robber, completely taken by surprise, relinquished his hold, and beheld her securely seated in front of her rescuer before he had time to draw a weapon for his defence; when Don Luis, again changing his sword to his right hand, dealt him a blow on the shoulder, that completely disabled him from further resistance. A shot from the pistol of Pedro had likewise severely wounded him with the slouched hat; and the shouts of Gonçalo Christovaö, and his attendants, being now heard, the banditti lost courage, and, turning their horses, galloped after their wounded leader, leaving Don Luis master of the field, with all the booty, except the jewels and money they carried about them. With the fair charge he held in his arms, it was impossible for him to attempt to follow; nor did he think fit to risk the lives of his attendants in a pursuit, which, considering that the robbers were probably well acquainted with the country, would no doubt prove fruitless.

      As, his faithful Pedro holding his horse, he gently lifted Donna Clara to the ground, he now, for the first time, observed her extreme beauty; and, though he had fancied his heart seared to all female attractions, he could not help acknowledging that he had never seen one so lovely as the fair girl to whom he had just afforded such essential service. “Fear not, lady,” he said, in a tone modulated by his feelings; “you are free from all danger, and your father, also, is unharmed. See, here he comes to assure you of his safety.”

      As he spoke, the fidalgo arrived on the spot, and Don Luis’s heart beat quick with new, undefined sensations, as Donna Clara, forgetting all her terrors and danger on seeing her father in safety, sprang forward, and fell weeping on his neck, while he folded her in a tender embrace. For some minutes neither could find words to give utterance to their feelings of joy, which were too deep, too tender, indeed, for mere words; the father standing gazing on the lovely countenance of his daughter, as she reclined in his arms, while she looked up with an inquiring glance to assure herself that she was not deceived. At length, the Fidalgo addressed Don Luis with that dignified air which marks the man of true nobility.

      “Senhor, you have bestowed an inestimable benefit on me,” he said: “let me not longer remain in ignorance of the name of one to whom I would endeavour to offer that earnest gratitude which, however, no words can express.”

      “Oh! do not speak of gratitude, senhor,” answered Don Luis: “it is I who have to rejoice in my happiness at having been of service to one so fair and lovely as your daughter. My name is Don Luis d’Almeida.”

      “Ah! the son of one whose reputation I well know,” answered the Fidalgo. “And truly delighted I am to hear by whom so great a weight of gratitude has been imposed. My name, also, you may probably have heard; it is Gonçalo Christovaö.”

      “A name so illustrious I could not fail to have heard, senhor,” answered Don Luis; “and my satisfaction is doubled at knowing to whom I have been of service.” The fidalgo bowed in return for the compliment, at which he was well pleased; nor did it fail to increase his estimation for the person who paid it.

      “But pardon me, Don Luis,” he said; “we ought no longer to remain here; for those wretches are capable of any treachery, and may return to fire on us at a distance.”

      “You observe rightly, senhor; we will no longer delay here,” answered Don Luis; and, offering his support to Donna Clara on one side, while her father aided her on the other, – she, expressing her thanks to her gallant deliverer much more by looks than words, – they conducted her towards the spot where the litters had been left; the patient mules having stood quiet during the whole time of the affray.

      The muleteers, with shouts of pleasure, collected their scattered beasts, whom they had never expected to see again, and busily employed themselves in putting the litters and baggage to rights. Leaving the body of the slain robber as food for the wolves, the servants dragged forward his companion who had been wounded, one of them, more humane than the rest, attempting to stop the blood flowing from a deep wound in his shoulder, but in vain; yet the man, though he felt himself to be dying, would give no information respecting the rest of the banditti. They were close to the road, when they encountered the priest; and the wounded robber, seeing a person in the clerical dress, earnestly entreated that the consolations of religion might be administered to him. At a sign from the priest, he was therefore placed on the bank, facing the road, and the servants retiring, the holy man knelt down by his side, to hear the confession of his sins, before which he could offer none of the satisfactory comforts of absolution; but the detail occupied a considerable time; for his peccadillos were, alas! of no slight magnitude, nor of little interest, it would seem, by the look of earnest attention which overspread the countenance of his listener. The robber threw many a dark imputation on the characters of some of high rank and influence in the realm, by whose instigation he had committed various atrocities, yet unconfessed and unabsolved. “Now, Father,” said the dying man, “absolve me from these sins which press most heavily on me, and I will afterwards make confession of the remainder.”

      “Not so, my son,” answered the Priest; “you must make a clear discharge of your conscience; for I may not afford absolution to a heart yet loaded with iniquity.”

      “Oh! Father, I am dying, and feel that I am a miserable sinner!” ejaculated the man, with a feeble voice; “but there is a deed I swore not to reveal to any one, and I may not break my oath. Oh! grant me, then, absolution, ere I die.”

      “That may not be,” answered the Priest; “oaths made to sinners like ourselves, for a wicked purpose, can be annulled by a minister of religion, as