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  The younger lady replied, in a voice often broken with sobs:    "Though I know well that my recital will subject me to worse treatment  by the barbarous man who keeps me here, to whom this woman will not  fail to report it, yet I will not hide from you the facts. Ah! why  should I fear his rage? If he should take my life, I know not what  better boon than death I can ask.    "My name is Isabella. I am the daughter of the king of Galicia, or  rather I should say misfortune and grief are my parents. Young, rich,  modest, and of tranquil temper, all things appeared to combine to  render my lot happy. Alas! I see myself to-day poor, humbled,  miserable, and destined perhaps to yet further afflictions. It is a  year since, my father having given notice that he would open the lists  for a tournament at Bayonne, a great number of chevaliers from all
course to pursue. He was directed to raise the stone which served as a  threshold, under which a spirit lay pent, who would willingly escape,  and leave the castle free of access. Astolpho applied his strength to  lift aside the stone. Thereupon the magician put his arts in force. The  castle was full of prisoners, and the magician caused that to all of  them Astolpho should appear in some false guise--to some a wild beast,  to others a giant, to others a bird of prey. Thus all assailed him, and  would quickly have made an end of him, if he had not bethought him of  his horn. No sooner had he blown a blast than, at the horrid larum,  fled the cavaliers and the necromancer with them, like a flock of  pigeons at the sound of the fowler's gun. Astolpho then renewed his  efforts on the stone, and turned it over. The under face was all  inscribed with magical characters, which the knight defaced, as  directed by his book; and no sooner had he done so, than the castle,  with its walls and turrets, vanished into smoke.
laid prostrate, with broken heads and limbs; the rest got away as  nimbly as they could.    Leaving the den and its inmates to their fate, Orlando, taking Isabella  under his protection, pursued his way for some days, without meeting  with any adventure.    One day they saw a band of men advancing, who seemed to be guarding a  prisoner, bound hand and foot, as if being carried to execution. The  prisoner was a youthful cavalier, of a noble and ingenuous appearance.  The band bore the ensigns of Count Anselm, head of the treacherous  house of Maganza. Orlando desired Isabella to wait, while he rode  forward to inquire the meaning of this array. Approaching, he demanded  of the leader who his prisoner was, and of what crime he had been  guilty. The man replied that the prisoner was a murderer, by whose hand
of horses, and the menacing voices of armed men. Soon he perceived  Medoro, on foot, with the cavaliers surrounding him. Zerbino, their  commander, bade them seize him. The unhappy Medoro turned now this way,  now that, trying to conceal himself behind an oak or a rock, still  bearing the body, which he would by no means leave. Cloridan not  knowing how to help him, but resolved to perish with him, if he must  perish, takes an arrow, fits it to his bow, discharges it, and pierces  the breast of a Christian knight, who falls helpless from his horse.  The others look this way and that, to discover whence the fatal bolt  was sped. One, while demanding of his comrades in what direction the  arrow came, received a second in his throat, which stopped his words,  and soon closed his eyes to the scene.    Zerbino, furious at the death of his two comrades, ran upon Medoro,  seized his golden hair, and dragged him forward to slay him. But the
The younger lady replied, in a voice often broken with sobs:    "Though I know well that my recital will subject me to worse treatment  by the barbarous man who keeps me here, to whom this woman will not  fail to report it, yet I will not hide from you the facts. Ah! why  should I fear his rage? If he should take my life, I know not what  better boon than death I can ask.    "My name is Isabella. I am the daughter of the king of Galicia, or  rather I should say misfortune and grief are my parents. Young, rich,  modest, and of tranquil temper, all things appeared to combine to  render my lot happy. Alas! I see myself to-day poor, humbled,  miserable, and destined perhaps to yet further afflictions. It is a  year since, my father having given notice that he would open the lists  for a tournament at Bayonne, a great number of chevaliers from all