Huge impending cliffs with their crown of trees imparted a shadowy
depth to the solitude, which the travellers did not seem to relish.
"How cursed inconvenient is this dell with its frightful woods," said the
baronet to his smiling daughter, "one might as well be sequestered in
Dante's Inferno. Look at those awful rocks--my mind misgives me as I view
them. Sure there are no brigands concealed hereabout!"
"Hope not, Pa'," replied the graceful Rosalia; but the last word had
scarcely died on her lips, ere a discharge of shot was heard. The baronet
opened his carriage door, and leaped on the ground.
"Hollo! John, Tom, pistols here, my lads, a pretty rencontre this! Stand
by Rosalia, my own self and purse I don't value a grout, but stand the
brunt, lads; here they come--oh, that I had met them at Waterloo!"
This attack perplexed the thoughts of the poor baronet. He regarded it as
a romance in which he was to become the hero. But his present situation
did not allow him the fascination of a dream. The brigands advanced from
their concealment, and their chief, who seemed a most pleasant and polite
scoundrel, commanded his men to inspect the luggage of the travellers.
"Humph! and is that all?" growled the baronet.
"I want a thousand crowns," said the chief, in a gentle tone, "you may
then proceed.
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