94 THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 
arose, and, like the young lion, shook 
off the dews that hung about his fore¬ 
head. He went to sleep a desponding 
coward, and he awoke a hero. He 
returned unnoticed to his lair in the 
neighbourhood, and wrote the omi¬ 
nous letter that I had suggested. Ere 
the day broke, he had placed it with 
a bag of gold on the intimated spot. 
The sun had not been two hours 
high, before Lelia, Violetta’s cherished 
and faithful maid, repaired to the 
place. She took up both the letter 
and the gold. She understood it: but, 
alas, as she was about to convey it, 
with a religious faith, to her beloved 
mistress, she was accosted, and both 
