Esmerelda
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] A I BY GEO. CANNING HLL. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY FREDERICK GLEASON, "AOOF OUR UNION OFFICE....MUSEUM BUILDING, TREMONT STREET . 1852. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by F. G ON, n of the District Court of Masachusetts, page: 0Advertisement[View Page 0Advertisement] PUBLISHER'S NOTE.-The following Novellette was originally published. in TnE FLAG OP OUR UNION, ad is but one among the many deeplyinteeresting productions emanating from that source. The FLAi has attained. to a circulation unrivalled iri newspaper literature; its contributors form a corps of the finest, tlent in the land, and its romances, tales, and poetical gems are of a high order, and such as enrich the columns of no other publication. 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TERMS TO SUBSCRIBERS. t subscriber, one year, . . . . . $2 00 8 subscribers, " . . . . . . . . 00 4 00 8 u ' ' ' . . . . . * 600 16 2 O . . . .. . . 2 00 One copy of the FLAG OF OUR UNION, and one copy of the PICTORIAL DRAWING-ROOM COMPANION, one year, for . . . . . . . 00 Invariably in advance. No further reduction made from the above terms. BSb' iers or postmasters are requested to act as agents, and form clubs, on the above terms. *.IilU o rdere Audd be addressed, IosT PAID, to to e PUIBLIsHR OF TH i o OP O XOr U - .O urie/, at 3oou OCENTS per copy. CHAPTER I. THE STONE HOUSE, The strawherry grows underneath the nettle, And wholesome birries thrive and rien best Neighbored by fruit of baser quality. SHAKSPBARE. 'THERE stood a small, peasant hut, on the Adriatic shore, built of stone, but one story high, and looking off upon the waters. A small garden enclosed it, a roughly paved path oonducted to the sea, and a fqw straggling trees and shrubs formed its back-ground. The spot was far from being an inviting one, either inter- nally or externally. There were none of those delicate evidences of refined taste without the hut, that point as with a finger to the cultivation of the hearts that beat within. If ever the meagre grounds -had been under the surveillance of skillful hands, they had now, at least, too sadly run to waste. Dreariness and desolation united to call' everything their own. The hut within offered no more attractions either, to the eye of the beholder. #,he only room that had any appearance of being habita- de, was but scantily funihea, and dimly t- ed. The floor was bare, and rude benches oflr- d ed seats for the inmat. The ceiling was low, dirty, and begrimmed. The door generally swung open,' disclosing a broad and unbroken view of the. great sea beyond. Just at evening, the view of this place was indescribable. Italian sunsets have so man times been painted on canvass, that it would seem to be a work of supererogation to attempt their description on paper. - The effect of the view at this place at evening, whether before or after a sunset, was perfectly enchanting. Gor- geously attired clouds hung in the horizon, as if they formed the pavilion for the great lumitary they but partially concealed. Softest oelors, and the most dreamy and bewildered tints, uni- ted to fling an enchantment over the view, which in turn brooded sweetly upon the blue waters. The soul would grow calm, would grow happy, in the oontemplation of the view. And the place seemed, too, only a plaine where he pIrrest thoughts coui be nourished, and the noblest aspirations allowed life. It was long after the sun had sunk belo'*th dim and dis t line of the horizon, and sobe page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] time after the silvery stars had appeared upon the broad, deep shield of the sky, that a boat; skimmed lightly over the sleeping waters along tebhore, and three men disembarked and made fast their light craft. They then took their way sraight to the stone-hut hard by, and went in. Seating themselves on the benches that offered, 'they ,commenced unpacking a variety of bundles they had brought along with them, and talking rapidly of the recent events that had transpired. A young girl of surpassing beauty sat in the room, watching all the movements she would have been too glad not to see, and catching all ,the expressions she would have been glad enough Ito lose. She ,was of a slight figure, with deep ihazel eyes, and a brow of Parian purity. Pro- ffuse quantities of dark brown hair fell carelessly over her shoulders, reaching far down her back. Jier hands were small, and slender, and her fingers were delicately diminutive and tapering. She sat at .a distance from the three new comers, regarding one of them, at least, with eosider- able anxiety. Having secreted their booty-for such it was-in a room beneath the floor, to which ac- cess was had only by a trap-door of ingenious construction, they drew out a rough table before ,them, and sat round. One of them, whose name was Jaconet, and who was in fact the proprietor ,of the hut ;in which they were, set on the table a few olives, some bread, and a quantity of clear :and sparkling wine; to which refreshments they ;all gave their imnediate and undivided atten- tion. The ecnversatian, however, Suffered no notice-'t ,able loss of life therefrom, but was continued by them dIring their occupation of eating and drinking. ,I thimk wo had bltter return to the moun-j tais,tonight," said Jaconet, looking steadily . for a momezt atone of hiscompanions, and then gulping down a large potion of his wine. "But, by all that's holy, this wine makes my heart stong! added he, striking his cup fierce- ly down upon the table, and smacking his lips with satisfaction. "Y'sT to the mountaiaw to-night," relied the one at whom he looked with such steadfastness. ,t"The moon will be up ere long, and then surely we should be there. You have not forgotten the probability of the dtike's coming that way rto-night?" "Not I," answered Jaconet, with some spirit. "I am not one to forget such matters 5myself! H'-' At this moment the girl rose from her seat, and stood in the middle of the floor. Her face was a picture of the deepest anxiety. / But her movement went unnoticed by Jaconet, He was too much occupied, with both mind and ;eye, upon what was before him, to bestow ary attention at that time upon her. "How soon, then, shall we got" continued Jaconet. ' Let us be first well rested," spake the third. "Yet we may rest ourselves too long," intei- rupted the second, " and then we shall have all the time to rest anid to starve, even, that we need. Why wait another hour?" "'Tis just as you say," replied Jaconet '"We will wait no longer than we need. Tho moon will soon be up now; and the stars arM thickly set already in the sky. Here I Fill again, and nerve your hearts with this strong wine!" "It's a question if we need such strength as that onily can give us," said the third: "yet I will drink more wino. 'Tie good; and one's blood effervesces the quicker when it is but onco down. Gracious! How it burns its way through my veins!" The grl now advanced nearer to Jaconet, as he rose from his seat, and only at this moment did he espy her. He started, and glared wildly in her face. I'"My father! My father!" exclaimed she, in a soft, lute-like tone, laying her soft, white hand simultaineously upon his rough arm. [SEE ENGBAvi - i "You here!" he could not avodexclaimin ug in reply. ", You here, Esmerelda!" "Yes; it is I, father," said the girl, look- ing up with an exceedingly anxious expression into his face. "And you have heard all, then!" "Indeed, I could not help it, father; I coutd not help it!" "But why not up bed at this hour? Why, sitting up so late from your sleep?" "Because I wanted to see my father so much before I could close my eyes. I could not sleep until I had seen you. I had waited long and patiently. I have long been watching for you over the edge of the waters." "Esmereldal Esmerelda!" exclaimed he, a more loudly than before. The other two men were engaged in talking upon the probable events of the coming night, and so were unable to catch a syllable of what passed between Esmeielda and her father, Jao- a net, even if they talked loudly enough to be p overheard by them all. "What, father?" was the girl's interrogatory while she anxiously essayed to rend the mean- ing of her father's exclamation in his looks. I "You should never watch, or wait for me," said he, with a slow precision and marked em-h phasis. "And may I not ove you enough, then?" "Always lovo me, child; always love me; th but do not sit and watch for me, either upon the en shore, or by the mountain deiles. I will always bo with you when it is permitted.," ou "Then I may love you, father?" ' "Assuredly would I have you, my child. " "And I may tell you all my thoughts, ten- der as pome of them are?" "Yes, Esmerelda; aU." "Then," said she, clasping both hands upon d one of his biawny boulders, ," then let me tell ht you, father, how much I fear for you from this peition t-night. Do not go out upon it! ion "Child! elaimed he, in a low vo, be. tween a whisper and an articulate sound. "I know that I am but a child, father, aad Wd how dependent I am upon you; and it is for th yery reason that I come to beg you-to impre y, you with tears in my 'yes, not to go out with these men!" "Child! Innocent child!" was his a.. p, mation again, She leaned her head upon his shoulder and gave way to tears. "Look up! look up, girl!" ordered he, half affectionately, half fiercely. "This will new do. I must go where I have already resolved and many times promised 1" "Father! bMy father!" "To bed, then, child! It is no time for you to be awake at this hour, listening to the plus of those who are so much older than your- "Yet I am afraid-" "No matter for your fears, child! To bed,. I say. I shall be back again in the morning' "God grant you may!" prayed the child, as she bowed her head and slowly withdrew into another small and dreary apartment. The three men soon after 6eft the hut, takin their course to the seaside; where they again embarked in their boat, and were soon kimgn smoothly away behind the. headlands that lay out upon the bosom of the clear water. Just as they passed out of sight behind t&& last promontory, the moon sailed up in the eaa- orn sky, full, round, and golden, A fragile girl stood on the beach, turned away from the boat to the moon, crossed herseg and slowly and sadly retraced her steps to the hut. It was Esmelda; and she was sobbing and weeping. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] CHAP1ER jj. THTE DARK DEiFILE. At once there rose so wild a yell Within. a dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of hell! "ADY OF TiE LAKE, , OT far back from the very last headland S1' behind which the boat with its three men had disappeared, there was a narrow road, run- ning through the wildest region imaginable. The road was not the high-road, .so called, but seemed to be a shorter cut between two given points, and must at some distant place have again struck into the highway. It wa&s narrow, and not in all places safe for vehicles. At a certain place beyond where it passed the headland in question, there was a deep defile, walled in on both sides with huge, misshapen rocks, that ever overhung the passage, threaten- ing destruction at any time to the traveller. The moon had risen just far enough to flood these rocks with its yellow light, from whose -aggy sides reflected quite rays enough to illu- minate the deep gorge itself. Huge trees hung over the pass, whose outlines were distinctly and ith the, utmost delicacy traced against the sky, and whose strong arms seemed to be reaching across to shake hands with their fellows on the :opposite side. Vne-cs were intricately tangled in with brakes and bushes, concealing some of the Nast boulders, ambitiously climbing to the summits of the others, and running luxuriantly over the trunks and branches of the majesti; trees. At all times the place was but faintly illu- mined: A. dark spirit seemed ever .to be brooding over it There came no light there, as it came to other places. There 'swept no pure airs there, as they swept through other defiles. There was a dark, undefinable influence on the spot. It might have been, the growth of super- stition alone; it might, on the other hand, have been the result of the wild combination of rocks, trees, and vines. At all events, there always rested a strange feeling on the heart, whenever one dared the solemn-looking pass. A single vehicle was coming at a rather rapid rate up this road, on the way northward. Four horses were attached to it, two of which were ridden by postilions, while there was a guard on the box and behind. Ai The whip of the'forward postilion ever and ahon cracked loudly, its ,echoes reverberating far through the defile, ,and up anong the over- hanging heights. Away scud the horses at a more rapid rate, and now they were just enter- ing the defile itself. Another crack, louder than before, from the postilion's whip; a shout from the guard; and they were within the embrace of the deep and fearful shadows. - Stop! Stop! On your lives, stop!" came loud and reiterated shouts from both sides of the narrow pass. Again the whip' cracked, louder than ever; and the cry of the guard was more shrill and clear. Then came the report of a musket, and the two riders fell speechless from their horses. Three men instantly rushed up from either side of the road. and two of them sprang for the door of the carriage, while the third was enga- ged in an encounter with the guard behind. "Shoot them down! Where arc your gu's?" shouted voices from within. The door of the vehicle was instantly opened, and .a person drawn violently out upon the ground. At the same instant there was seen a- gleam of stilettoes in the reflected rays of the moon, and another report of fire-arms broke upon the ear. A young man was stirggling with all his might with the robbers, and a voice kept up its exited shouts from withLin the carriage. The forward guard urged on the horses again, with violent cries and impre,ations, and the rear guard still kept his hold behind.. A plunge-a leap-another powerful plunge, and the spirited animals attached to the vehicle aleared the pass, and were racing at the top of their speed away from the scene of the disaster. The conflict between the young man and the three robbers continued for several minutes, during which he suceeded in making one of them bite the dust, add the others feel the keen ', point of his poniard. At length, however, as ] might have been expected, he was overcome by f so great odds against him, and fell heavily to 1 the ground, the recipient of several wounds. Forthwith the brigands began to search and rifle his pockets. His clothes were minutely examined, so determined were they that nothing valuable should suffer successful concealment from their eager eyes. They took from him his purse, which was filled with gold. A superb gold watch, with' a massive chain of the same material, shared the same fate.- Then they stripped him of whatever articles of clothing suited their fancy or their avarice, and east him aside from the road track, apparently lifeless, and altogether worthless in their eyes. In less than an hour from the time when the vehicle rolled into the defile, all was as quiet as if no such bloody catastrophe had happened. Three men, who but a brief time before exulted in their life and str6enth, now lay stretched out lifeless, and stained with the crimson of their The moon still shone down into the dark shadows as brilliantly a s before. Nay, it mount- oed higher into the deep ccrulean, and silvered the hair and the rigid features of the two mur- dered ostilion s. The young man lay lifeless with1in a thick clump of bushes, where the moon-r beams c:ould not reach him. Perhaps an hour passed away, during theo whole of which silence as profound and unldis- turbed as tthat of the very grave reigned through- out the place. Presently a form moved but slightly; the form of the young man. His wounds had not yet proved mortal, They had only rendered him senseless for a time. Opening his eyes; he looked wildly and in- quiringly around him. He saw nothing but tho thick shadows that were -skullking behind the trees and the ledges, and the silver bars of moonlight that lay across the path. Ite endeavored to recall his scattered thoughks, and to concentrate them upon something definite in relation to his situation and the circumstances that had led to it; but his memory for the time seemed utterly oblivious of everything. Only knew lie where he lay-in a lonely and not much frequented road, wounded, bleeding, and faint with the loss of his blood. page: 12-13 (Illustration) [View Page 12-13 (Illustration) ] After the lapse of a considerable time, he raised himself partially up, and sat down upon the grass, leaning his back against a rock hard' by. Leaning his pale forehead in the palm of his hand, he bowed his head, and gave way to audible groans. His energy seemed, however, to return to him, at last, and with much effort, and painful effort too, he succeeded in rising to his feet and steady-, ing himself to the spot where the very unfortu-; nate rencontre had occurred.- There the first sight that appalled him was that of the two pos- tilos, lying with their pallid faces upturned to the moon. "Merciful heavens!" w t e OejactUtion that escaped his lips. nstantly he bent down over them, :md placed his fingers upon their wrists. No pulse boat, however slowly. He laid his hand against their hearts, tearing a open their livery in order to be certain of the; very worst. a The hearts were still. There was no throb- v bing in those bonoms. They were cold. The limbs of the murdered men were stark and stiff. Their eyes were closed, so that the light of the iL moon did not enter there, nor yet theo stiuggln t light of the stars either. Dead-dead-dead! With a sorrowful heart and weary limbs, the s young man took himself away from the spot and puresud his course' along the road southward. b He knew not, however, which way it was he had it wome, nor, of cotuse, which way it was he was going. Only he kept on, his heart each moment of sickening with the recollection of the dreadful fu sights he had just seen. He wandered on almost at random for a long, m long time. At length he reached an elevation, sh from which he took in a moonlight view around him. It was incomparably glorious. The moon he rode majestically in the heavens, as never moon, S1 eemed to ride before. He took his hat from .of Is bead, and exposed his pale forehead, reeking, c with persiration and blood, to the oool iinfluence of ta night air. wa e As he looked off in the distance, to him all I undefined and dim, his mind busy with the I' many thoughts and fears that crowded them- f selves upon his attention, he suddenly espied a ) house, or hut, of a light stone- color. Dete mined not to be deceived, he looked more stead- , fastly toward it, straining his gaze till his eyes swam with the effort. He could not be mistaken. It was a hut; - and he resolved at once to hasten toward it. t It took him a long time, and it cost him muoh weary labor to reach it; but he succeeded he desirel, at last. The door waa shut. annd going up to it, he' was about to make kiown his presence and de- 'mmnd admiusion and assitance. . But his pru- dence returned to him just as his hand was rai- ed to strike the door, and he stopped to reflect. "If this shouIchanoe to be only the hut of a robber," thought he, to himself. But his fears were cut short by the appear- ance of a female figure, who eame upon his view from around the corner oP the hut. It wtas Esmerclita. .he had not boon able to I slooeep tha't night, so anxious was she in watoh- ing the return of her father Jaconet. Between the hut and the beach sho had passed the greater portion of the time, giving expression to her childish grief, that her futher should yield to such evil courses, in various methods. When she saw the young stranger standing boefre the door, she would have retreated: but it was too late to do that then. "In the name of mercy I give me only a cup of water!" 'said he, with much feeling. I am fainting with loss of blood.'" And even before she could comprehend the meaning of what he said, the stranger sank slowly to the ground and swooned away. ' Although the girl was all unused to sich sights, yet her presence of mind did not forsake her in a crisis of such vital importance as thi". She instantly forgot all her fears and instinct' of delicacy, and hastened to lend what aid she could to the sufferer. Running into the hut, she soon returned -with water, wine, and a variety of restoratives, sth The Itlian Paant Girl in conveation with her father.-Se Chap. I, page 8. I' page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] As she might readily lay her hand on. For a oonsiderable tine she made patient and vigorous application of them to his person. While thus engaged, she was enabled to see the ghastly character of his wounds, as well as to study the beauty of the features his countenance presented to her. She was struck with his charms. His thin, livid lips seemed so handsomely chiselled; while they likewise appeared to be in the act of silently supplicating her for restorati6n to health and friends again. .' She took his hand within her own, in all girl- ish innocence and simplicity. How white, and soft, yet muscular! She thought it must be the hand of a woman. Never saw she the hand of a. man so fair before. That of Jaconet was not so. His was brawny, and muscular, and brown, and hirsute. How then could this be the bhand of a man? While she was thus alternately contemplating his beauty and bathing his pale forehead with cool water, the youthful stranger made a motion with his head as: it lay in her lap, and opened his eyes upon her. She uttered an involuntary exclamation of joy. 4CHAPTER III. "ADY TORTESA.. Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold ch'rity, Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the nlame of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love. "ADY OF THE LAKE., C ROWNING the heights of Ravenna, and 2 overlooking the distant blue sea, stood a noble mansion. It was all of white marble, and its stainless walls threw back the rays of the sun in all the purity with which they first embraced it. The way to its corridors was by a lofty flight of stairs, of the same spotless material with the mansion. On either side of these stairs grew umbrageous trees, whose long, finuated leaves lined the entire passage, and blew the most re- freshing gales into the nostrils of visitors. The view of the house from the foot of the teps was exceedingly grand. The building towered up before the swimming eye with a majestic gran- deur, while its dazzling layers of marble be- wildered the mind of the beholder. Galleries ran around the lower stories, and numerous bal- conies and fac-ade jutted out from the windows ,above. The windows on the front side faced the sea, and on either wing overlooked vistas of ;beautiful gardens, green arbors, grotesquely paved walks, and parterros of beautiful flowers. In the broad, bright sheen of the sun, this man- sion was a sight of incomparable splendor. In the rosiness of the moonlight, it awakened only the most beautiful dreams. Trees and shrubs without number skirted the mansaion and ornamented the grounds about it. The rarest exotics breathed out their fragrance from their garden-beds upon every gale that far-. ned their delicate cheeks. All varieties of tints combined to make a charming phantasmagoria of the parterres and terraces; and urns, fashioned after the most claasical and curious devices, de- corated the enclosure at almost every, angle. Then there were fountains playing, too-trow. ing up their silvery jets in the sunlight anmthe moonlight, and falling back again into the broad page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] bsofuio of the crystal basin with a tinkle more musical than that of a thousand fairi-y bells. gIagos, chef-d'oauvres of sculpture, stood at almost yery turn, looking with complacency upon the fair Eden in which they were permitted to remain, and a naterial part of whose, decora- tion they were. The plats of the 4ifferent por- tions.6f the grounds were skillfully devised and tastefully carried out. The effect of all was sweet, dreamy, and almost incomprehensible. It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine a spot where the spirit ofpoetry and romance could be nourished more tenderly and effectively than here. This was the house of one of the nobles of Havenna, a person of great character, and bear- ing a proud name. Wealth was his in abun- dance. All that ingenuity could devise, and refitemernt sggest, was his by right of immediate possession. He had long since been bowed down with sor- row at the loss of his wife, and his yearning heart reached out its -ympathies still more ten- derly toward the only child she had left whehind her-the young Lady Tortesa. Grief had not failed to do its wonted work, too, with the child; but hers was a h&rt that soon recovered from the power of its onsets. Youthful feelings present many obstacles that the fcelings of maturer age do not unders-tand, agdainst the continuance of a reign of sorrow and disappointment. In time the young girl's cheerfulness of spirits 'came back to her again. Her thoughts begui to rove off over the mmany guy scenes of the outer' world. Proi its influences, they took new coloring. She longed soon to meet with her old friendas; to mingle in the songs and dances of" her former companions; to be once more the careless girl she had so long, been. Nor were her hopes long delayed a fruition. The time soon came round, when, without any charge of levity or obliviousness of her mother's memory, I she might become the gayest of the gay, and dazzle the eyes and captivate the heart of every beholder with the images of beauty her presence invariably called up. The youthful Lady Tortesa was sprung from the proudest stock, and not a little of the quality that so decidedly characterized her ancestry, did she lack. Through her veins coursed the warm- est blood. Sometimes it sped more swiftly in its channels from aroused pride, and sometimes from excited passion. Humility she had little or none. Hers was a nature overbearing, fierce, not capable of suffering contradiction. She had now been too long her own mistress, to brook the rule of any one. In person, she was slender and graceful. Her expresion was not at all times placid and serene, but more frequently betrayed the fierce. and farful thoughts that ravaged her breas. Her eyes were bhlwk and twinkling; a living lustre seemed upon them always. There was firmness, if not cruelty itself, depicted in her curved lips, that though classically cut, yet, would not tempt the approach of Hyblean bees. A snowy forehead, soiiewhat projecting, too, was set within profuse locks of the darkest, raven hair, whose broad plaits fell in all their lux- uriant wildness down her back. She was in truth, a piotnre of beauty; but not such beauty as atracted others irresistibly to her. She was designing, artificial, and ex- acting. Hers was uo heart of soft and tender sympathies; not a heart only of flesh :-but filled to repletion with schemes of ambitious as- pirations, untempered by the genial warmth of a pure, ever-burning sympathy. So that it may well be supposed that whatever the Lady Tortess proposed, she designed always, at all conoeiva, ble hazards, to carry into execution. The name of Tortesa's father waa Gongalo. He had for many years been widely esteemed,. and his character as a noble established his fame and influence still more decisively. His wealth was boundless. From his lofty seat on the acclivity that rose like a beacon by the aide of the sea, he could look down with pride, nay. with contempt even, upon the rabble of peasants and laz:aroni below him. More like a eastle than a splendid mansion, was his house ; as if he was there defended against all the attacks of his foes, and felt powerful against every one. A night of revelry and merry-making had, come upon the palace walls. of the proud Gonga- lo. The halls were gleaming with lights and crowded with living beauty. Men and maidens, sturdy sires and haughty dames, mingled pro- miscunously in the gay assemblage. Music rang from lutes and harps, and the warble of rich voices melted away dreamily upon the listening car. None of all that gay company was prouder than the haughty noble himself. His eyes blaz- od with a supernal fire, as they rested on faces of matchless beauty, or were momentarily at tracted by the glare and glitter of hundreds of diamonds and precious stones. He regarded his daughter-her splendid figure-her winning, yet proud manners-her haughty expression- the band of lustrous diamonds that burned upon her brow, and encircled her dainty arm ; and a strange, a wild feeling came over him, such as he never had known before. It was the birthday anniversary of hi s only child, Tortesa. Among all the brilliant looking kiest that thronged his halls and crowded upon his corri- dors, and galleries, and balconies, there was one, a young man from Florence. His name was Cesare, and he was reputed to have come of noble blood, and in his own right to be pos- sessed of large fortunes. This young man, likewise, chanced to ,have been for some time the suitor-though the un- successful suitor---of Torte,. She was unwil- ling to admit that she cared nothing for his at- tention; yet she consented for a time, hi the absence of such a suit as she was ambitious to receive, to abide by his attentions. Tortesa herself, on this evening of the anni- versary,'was V tired in a fascinating costume. The riche st and the most costly laces, combined to e li her beauty. And high-. ) ly-prized jewels sparkled from her head to hr f feet. Never seemed she so truly regal, so really queenly, as on this occasion. She chanced to be loaning over the spacious balcony, gazing off upon the dim outline of the [sea. The lights firom the windows wore strong around her, vet flamed the silver mo6n beyond her still more dazzling and bright. She watch- ed the blue waves of the Adriatic, as they rolled slowly in shore and broke in long, rippling lines of diamonds upon the bench. She was deep in reverie, when a footfidall was heard near her, and she turned, to discover the intruder. "Lady Tortesa! Let me mingle my own hearty congratulations many times with those of your near friends, thiat you uhave reached your seventeenth birthday 1" spako a Voice at her side. She only bowed graciously, condescending to return a smile for the kindly wish. "My fair lady," continued the voice- "Signor Cesaroe does not forgot that he found me here alone," interrupted she, with a haughty curl of her lip and a majetic wave of her hand. "Pardon, my fair lady! A thousand times, pardon! I did but come here, because I knew you were alone." "So take advantage, thuen,-" No-no-no!" ho instantly replied. "Landy Tortesa, as I live, 1 love thee! Yea, my lips burn with the words my hearot alone can speak to thee! Heoar me, lady! But consider my prayer for your favor! Here on my knoees, I swear to-" "Swear not HRise, signer-rise to ybur feet. This is not the place, and this no time, for love. For your congratulations, receive my wanrmest thanks. Leave me to myself again." "O, my dear Iady Tortesa-" "No more words I It isas I command!" "Then may my poor heart break of itselof. It-is finished. My doom is sealed. I prayed only that I might be beloved in trnm, and then I could die happy." page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] "Mst I call for assistance to put my wishes in execution 't" asked she, with some show of haughtiness. "No, no; not for worlds!" replied he, pas- sionately. "This moment, this very moment will I go; but let me assure thee that my heart, while it continues to beat, will ever be the treas- ure-house of thoughts of thee! May you live, 'Tortesa, to enjoy many such anniversaries." Her eyes twinkled fiercely, and she made an impatientgesture with her hand for him to leave her presence. He was gone before she could turn back again to her view of the rippling water. "I wonder where he can be to-night?" she exclaimed to herself, leaning her white arm on the rail, and knotting three or four wrinkles in her forehead. "He should be, here. His father is not here, either. It is strange what , can have detained him. And then this Floren- tine Cesare--he must approach me with his pray- ers and petitions, too! O, that Francizeo were here, that I might show this presuming stranger where was his place! I wonder why I have heard naught from him these many days; nor of his father, the duke. Something must have befallen the family-sickness, mayhap death! If Francizco were dead! But a gracious Goti forbid!"-and she involuntarily crossed herself and tarned her dark eyes heavenward. Just at that moment, Lucille, her confidential waiting-maid entered her presence, and announ. ced that her father and several of the guests waited for her below. She broke away from the reverie in which she had been lost, in a moment, and hastened to la y her jewelled hands in the opened palms of her doting father. CHAPTER IV. TIlE 1lA N'D OP F UENrTLI WOMAN. The angels sar g i- headon when she was born! She is a precious jewel I have found Among the filth aud rubbish of the world. 'll stoop for it ;-. The world may towder, but it will not hnqh. SIp.,Si1 iSTUDENT. I God bless you, fair ,irl You have saved my life!" ejiCulate, the young wounded man, as soon as he had recovered his consioutness sufficiently to tu-- derstand where he was and what was his situation. I smereldaoffered him iin, Pl' t l of the cup to his lips, of which he swallowed a few SpS, and gently ptushed the cup away from hi. With her assitance he raised him slf, and sat upon the stone sile of the door. "O, if words were sufficient to thank you, my fair friend," said he, riveting his eyes on her channiing person, and drinking in deeply of the pleasurable expressions that lit up her speaking ountenance,-.. if words would convey but t Aa/f of what I feel of gatitude to thee." "No more-no more of this," interrupted snwtrelMa, anxious doubly for his speedy re, covery, and fearful lost her father Jaconot should return to find her in her present company. "I have done only what any one would do; I hayv, relieved you in the hour of distress, and (od has fiavored you with a return to health." u "But for thee, dear girl," continued he; heedless of her tender chiding, " and I might have died ere now. God bless thee for thy g- goldnes. I have indeed a sad story to toll of girl innocently dAw r her eatr nearer his lips, as if she must of all desired to hear the a- cidents and ill fortunes that had befallen him. "I would know it all," said she; yet I fear that my father may come." "Your father? Have you a father, then r asked he. "What is his name, pray ' "Jaconet," answered the girl. "And a mother?" inquired the' youthful stranger. The girl shook her head sorrowfully. A dark shadow paed ovr the brow of t ' page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] young man, which was too plain even in th subdued moonlight. "And you live here alone '?" "When father is absent." "But is he absent much of the time V'" Esmerelda fetched a sigh, but made no an- swer. "Poor-poor girl! I know that many of your hours must be lonely ones. Would that I could give thee a solace for all the sadness thou art called to endure! How strangely goes our fate!" he continued musing, iraudibly; " there is not a fairer flower in all the rank and nobility of proud Italy; yet she is called to endure more than heroines may boast of suffering-and all probably for the devoted love she bears this one man! Yet he wilfully deserts her, while she wanders sadly down to the shore to watch his Toming!, Poor--poor girl! What wretched- ness does not thy sex in silence and devotion endure. 7 A pause of a few moments pevailed; and the stranger asked Esmerelda whether she knew at what hour her father would return. "He should have been here long ago," re. plied she, with evident emotion. "I have \ watched and waited by the shore so long alrady. ' I am tired with the task. Still he comes not; , yet I may keep on watching and weeping." "Wretch!" inwardly eualated the young man; still he kept his tlhotts to himtself. I 'I will tell you now Wow I came in thi s plight," continued he, "and in what way I t reached a place so far removed from miy course as this. " "I should be glad to hear it, every syllable," clearly spake the sparkling eyes of' Esmerelda, although her beautifiu lips moved in no such v oonfession. "We were travelling-my father and myself, I in a diligenza from the southern eoast to Raven- na, where we hoped to reah our home. We } had got safely and pleasantly over the road as hi far a a point some three miles to the north of'bi this, when, it seems, we entered a defile. The st place was dark, and admirably sheltered for O ro4b ers and bandits." be i At the mention of those words, a convulsive tremor ran over the limbs of the sorrowful lis- tener. "The postilions," continued he, not obser- ing the sudden emotion of his fair companion, n-, "cracked up their lashes and shouted loudly to their horses, and we entered the dark ravine at of a truly fearful rate. 'The moon had all along I been glistening in through the earriage windows, u but at this point I could see that we were sub- mr merged in total darkness. Ce {"Suddenly I heard the wild s bout of strange y and fierce voices; and forthwith followed the e reports of carbhinc s. I knew that we were at- "tacked by robbers, and I grapped the handle of e my stiletto-the only weapon I h]d about my e person-rsolved to defend my own and my s father's life with all the energy I could corn- - mand. ' Tim carriage door opened, and before I could grasp my weapon so as to u so it with any 1 effect, I felt myself seized by a couple of rufians, r and( was instantly and violently drawn out upon the ground." "How many robbers werd there?" iate- rupted she. "I saw but threo," responded he. The fair girl grew ashy paleo, and quivclrod from head to foot. T "They seized hold upon me with violence, and I used my dagger when and where I could. I struck madly-blindly-to the right and to the left. I felt blood trickling from my breast, saturating my garments. I know that my strength was fast failing me. Then came a choking sensation. I heurd the yelling of the guard. I cauglht, too, the loud rattlhi^ of wheels. I heard no more, save that at blow fall on my head. I saw nothing then of my enemies. I dropped to the ground." While the young stranger was narrating this. Esmerelila was so overcome with sympathy, that her bosom agitated itself convulsively, and audi- ble sobs escaped her. Tears, too, hot tears stole from beneath her long, dark laches,. and coursed their way silently down her pallid cheeks. Perhaps, however, her heart at that, moment was divided equally between sympathy and fear-fear for the career and final fate of him she had so long and so lovingly called "father." ' "How long I lay there in this situation, I have no means of knowing. I only know that when I came to myself again, my pockets were cut from my garments, and all my money was gone. My purse was filled with gold, and the robbers took all. But this I would much rather they had taken, than my life. "For a long time after my recovery, I lay there, ignorant of what remained to be done for myself. In truth, I hardly knew where I was I hardly remembered how it was I came there My strength came back to me but slowly, and then my recollection seemed to return too. It flashed suddenly across me, that I had been way- laid, robbed, and murdered-for ought the banditti knew to the contrary. I remembered with distinctness then the violent encounter. I saw again the flash of the murderous fire-aims. Their deadly echoes were once more in my ears. Their sulphurous smoke was in my nostrils. 1 "I felt a frenzy come over me; and I leaped t to my feet, as if the strength of a dozen men had t suddenly been concentrated in me. I thought I of my father, the duke,-and-" " The duke!" wildly exclaimed Esmerelda, v clasping her hands tightly together, and casting le a look of indescribable agony up to the face of T the stranger. "Yes; have you seen him? Have you heard a of him?" quickly inquired he, his features d lighting up with a new expression. M Esmerelda feared already that she should have not betrayed her feelings so much as. she had to th the stranger. She only hung her head sorrow- he fully, sighed, and answered him that she had wi seen nothing of him, nor yet heard of him. d 'The young man hesitated a moment to try to understand what might have been the meaningto of her explanation, and then went on. ree "I looked around me to see what had become of my father, and the carriage, and the horses me They were 'gone. All were gone. Only two the iff and motionless bodies met my gaze. They 2 me thy were the murdered bodies of the postilions. ' of They had been shot off the horses they rode." led " O, heavens!" shrieked the innocent girl. "I stooped down to look at them, while the I pale moon lit up the ghastly expression of their hat features. Their teeth were gnashed. Their Dre eyes were closed. I cannot tell you how I felt ras then. I feared the worst for my father. No he carriage was there-no horses-no guards. er The place was as silent as the gate of the grave. "I again returned to the murdered men, and ay stooped down over them. Again I felt their or pulses. Stripping open their garments, I laid s. my palm against their breasts. The heart had e. long since stopped beating. Their breasts were id motionless and cold. It "Northward and southward I directed my y- anxious vision, while everything seemed to be e swimming around in my eyes. I' saw the pale d face of the moon, riding slowly in the upper sky. I I knew it would light me safely wherever I would 3. go. "Not knowing whether my father had gone back in flight by the way he came, I resolved- I though I sarcely knew why I did so-to re- I trace my steps. I had already walked on until I feared my weary limbs must finally give out with me, when I reached the summit of an ele- vation. I looked eagerly about me, and at length descried the white walls of your cottage. To this spot I came, desirous only of getting a little relief from my sufferings, and a little rest. O, I cannot thank you enough, that you have done me the service you have. You have saved my life!" He looked into Esmerelda's eyes, and saw that they were filled with lustrous tears. His heart was deeply touched for her, and he felt within himself that for such sympathy, and such devotion, he loved her already. "Where shall I go, to find rest and shelter to-night?" asked he, after a pause. "I may recover all my strength by the morning." " Let me help you to your feet," replied E. merelda. " Your forehead burns already with the fires of fever, and you should be protected against this night air, too. Come within with me. and you shall have shelter." page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] She offered him her fragile support, which he gratefully received, and conducted him into the hut. Leading him into an unoccupied. room, she there spread a pallet for him, and urged him to recline .upon it. She then hastened to collect some herbs, which were reputed to possess great medicinal virtues, and, bruising them together, bound them upon the wounds on his breast. The young man felt as if he could not suffi- ciently evince his gratitude to her for her un- solicited kindness. He vainly endeavored to throw all his thankful feelings to her in his pas- sionate glances, well knowing that all he could utter, was impotent to express even the half lie was made to feel. e -She brought him food and wine, to invigorate e his system after so long suffering, of which he partook, and composed himself as if for sleep. e But tlhere was no sleep for his eyelids on that ) night. He was haunted with the vision of a t fairy maiden, her face all sunshine, her hair all t golden, and her heart all love and charity. She kept dancing before him, and it was impossible for him to think of slumber. He thought not even of his wounds-of his wretched condition- of his desolateness. He did not stop to bethink himself of what sort of a place he had fallen into, caring not whether he had got into a den o thieves and robbers again, so that this bright presence only hovered nigh him. CHAPTER V. A FAIR NURSE FOR A PATIENT. lIer step was royal,--queen-like,-and her face As beauteous as a saint's in paradise. Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak It serves for food and raiment. Bnt that one deed of charity I'll do. * SPANISH STUDENT. IARLY the next morning, when the golden M light had already begun to stream in at the dim window of the sick man, Esmerelda wa at his door, to see how he had rested through 'the night-watches, and whether he had grown any more feeble from the suffering produced by his wounds. Her surprise was really unfeigned, - as it certainly was hearty, to find him already awake, and much recovered from the effect of his laqt night'srencontre. Still his eyes looked red and swollen, and he plainly showed that he was not yet rested from the fatigue to which he was so little accustomed. There was more fever in his cheeks, Esme fi relda found, on sitting down beside him, and i she observed that his hand *as arid and hot. Tears sprang to her dark hazel eyes, as she in- neently took his hand within her own, and her beautiful lip quivered- with 'the sympatiihs-she f dared not then utter. She perceived that her patient was threatened with a high fever, and did not hesitate8so to inform him, without an af tionate prevarication whatever. He gently inquired of her whether she thought an his situation was critical, or promised, however at to become such; when her repressed tears broke s suddenly forth, and deluged her fair face like h rain. n i lMy lovely friend," inquired the young man, "why is it that you weep? It must not be for m me; no, it cannot be for one like me I Then r wherefore these tears?" "My father has not yet come home; and I fear to have him come, too," answered she, be- tween her sobs. "A vagrant is he, then?" broke in' the young man. "By my faith, I will defend you! He. shall never live to harm a hair of the head that - is so lovely! A tyrant; truly! to think of I breaking the heart ofso gentle an one asthot!". "No-no-no; he does not that to meo': replied Esmerelda, quickly. father. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] "And treats you with cruelty?" No-no; he leaves me too long alone, -" "And what is that but cruelty, then?" The girl hesitated. "He does not, -then, treat you as he ought, t if hle abandons you to your fate, here by your- self as you are," continued the young man. "Yet he is my father, and I have been taught to love him," replied she. Esmerelda's heart was divided between sym- pathy for her patient, and fear lest Jaconet should suddenly return home and find this stran- ger in his hut. She knew not what might be the result of such a disclosure, yet she stood much in fear of what it might be. The conversation suffered a break of several minutes, during which the young man allowed -his eyes to drink in the beautiful impressions of so fair a vision as his youthful nurse . created. ie felt that a creature so graceful, so young, snd so winning, was only the counterpart of her who had so long lived in his dreams-; and on the spur of the impulse, he came very near making the confession to her at once. Was ever maiden so "rare and radiant?" Was ever beauty so simple, yet sio matchless, nevertheless? How could it be that this flower had lived to bloom so long upon this wild and mninhabited shore, while many more of her sex, of far less pretensions to graceful beauty, were sarrounded in dazzling saloons with retinues of passionate suitors? V The youth was sorely puzzled. He had, un- ,xpeotedly to himself, encountered a diamond of thi first water in a bed of rocks. He had come suddenly upon a rare exotic in the heart of a wilderness. I do not know what my father might say, if he were to come back now and find a stranger here" she broke in upon the silence. "What would he say to his daughter?" "Then I compromise you in his eyes?" asked tht young man, impetuously, endeavoring to rise ,itius bed. "By the Holy Virgin! But this w Anot be t" O, no, no " answered Esmerelda, putting out the palms of her delicate hands towards him, as if to stop him in his rash design. But she had no need to take this precaution, for his strength was too far gone to permit him to move from his pallet alone. "I would wish, though," continued the maid- en, " that he know nothing of your presence." "And do you think I shall tell him of it- tell him that I am here?" asked the young man. "He comes hopme but seldom, lately; and he does not stay long, either, when he does come. Perhaps, after all, he will not come before you have recovered your strength sufficiently to go back on your journey. Heaven grant it may- be so! And yet I would see him, too." And thus was the tender heart of the girl di- vided betwixt conflicting emotions. Her guest saw it all for himself, and set himself busily to work to devise some method by which they might be reconciled. "Does he ever enter this room?" asked he. "Yes, he is apt- to," replied Esmerelda; "yet he might not see you, though." '"And is there no other place?" The maiden thought a moment: "I will hide myself in a grotto, or cavern, if there be such a place about here, if you would only come with your kind hands to relieve my sufferings," said he, sorrowfully. "Will you help me to one, then?" "That would never do," answered she,- "never! You must have shelter-warmth-.. care-nursing-"' The maiden might have been about to add "Iove," but she was restrained by some unseen influence, that she felt but too strongly. "Then will it be safe for me to be here?" he asked. "Let me think," said she, placing her finger tip upon her lips. "Yes," continued she, after reflection, " there is an asylum for you in the little room above. You will be obliged to remain perfectly quiet there-no word-nor lisp-and, even if your wounds trouble you sorely-no groan." "I will do it." "But how shall you get there, inquired she, again falling into a reflective mood. "Is there no ladder?" "I can speedily make one," she answered; "but how can you climb? Yoi are weak; you are almost helpless; and a fever is on your limbs already." "But with your help?" said the young man, inquiringly. The girl smiled faintly, as if she would ridi- cule the idea of her being of help to any one. A rope ladder was, after much trouble, fixed in order, and the young patient was cautiously treading, its yielding rounds. Esmerelda was close aftdr him, to steady his motions, her face beaming with but a single expression, and that expression-anxiety. A couch of cast-off garments had been sedu- lously prepared for him above, and after a few seconds of labor, he was safely stretched upon it. Esmerelda opened an aperture at each extremity of the apartment, which served the double pur- pose of admitting light and fresh air. Then she questioned him anxiously, and particularly in relation to his feelings, and whether any change in his symptoms had occurred by reason of a change in his position. Finding him comparatively easy, she hurried down again to make ready something nourishing for him, with which she was not long in return- ing. Placing all by his side, her fears respecting Jaconet compelled her to retreat from the apart- ment, which she did, closing the trapdoor after her, and pulling away the lalier from its fast- enings in the wall. All things appeared now just as they did be- fore all this commotion took place. The apart- ment looked as if nothing had transpired, and nothing at all as if a stranger were above. Esmerelda was soon watching for her father without the door again, straining her gaze over the water, now hurrying to the beach and now running back again, anxious to meet him, and fearful lest her patient might want for some at- tention she alone could bestow. She finally, however, sat herself down on the stone door-sill, and began to braid the long folds of her dark i brown hair, and to let her fancy rove freely over all the wastes she could conjure up in her mindl She could not help wondering' who this young and handsome stranger could be, and she half chid herself that she had not plumply put to him the inquiry before she left him. Then a thrill of fearful horror shot througmb her soul, on recollecting that she had lieard him speak of a duke, with whom he was travelling when he was robbed and wounded. She remem- bered at the same time, that Jaconet had used that same phrase-the duke-in his convers tion; and she trembled with fear for what mighh possibly have happened. The sun was at this time far risen, and flook of golden light were pouring upon her, as she sat in the door, through the leaves of the shrub-' bery that all but formed a roof, or screen, for one side of the house. The distant waters wers gleaming in the morning light, and reflected back beds of sparkling diamonds to the eyes of the saddened Esmnerelda. Suddenly footsteps were heard near at handL The maiden started hastily to her foot, aid awaited their nearer approach. They were coming around the further cornmer of the hut. She looked in that direction, and Jaconet himself appeared to her. With a sin- gle bound, she was close at his side. "Father! dear father!" said she, with tem- derness, " you have kept me waiting so long for you!" - "But my child should never sit up for me," replied he, calmly. "My duty often calls ma far away, Esmerelda. I must often be gone from you, too, in these times." "How is this, father?" exclaimed she, sud denly, springing away from him. "What?" coolly demanded he, looking so- pinely in her face. "There's blood! Yes-blooda " cried pointing at his clothing. "It's only a scratch I received in a confi with a robber, child. Ask me no more ques tions about it." The maiden continued speechless for fear o incurring the displeasure of Jaconet; yet AW her mind none the more at rest for the explar tion he made. Both returned silently to the hut. page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] CHAPTER VI. THE CRUSHED HEARTS. E,en as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis discharged, Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, And with less force the arrow hits the mark; So I gave way under this heavy burthen, Guishing forth into bitter tears and sighs, And the voice; fiinting, flagged upon its passage. DANTE'S BEATRICE. THE mansion of the Duke of Ravenna was an elegant structure, removed somewhat from other buildings, and surrounded by magni- ficently furnished grounds. All that art could do, was done to improve and beautify the place. There was mourning-bitter, inconsolable mourning-in the house of the duke, and his doors were closed against the usual ingress of visitors. All the rich tapestries of the different apartments had been concealed from sight, and gloom settled down on everything. A cloud seemed to rest on the casement-on the door- on the very life there was beneath the vast- roof. Is there sight in this world-so melancholy, as that of an entire household plunged. into the deepest grief for the sudden intrusion of death within its circle? Can the heart be ever touched With sympathy so thoroughly, as when the eyes behold strong oxen bowed down to the earth, 'helpless as infants, to bear up beneath the sor- rows they are called to endure? And what sight so deeply deplorable,-as that of a father bereft of an only child-a son-an only son, in whom he had long been wont to centre all his hopes and aspirations?-around whom he had affectionately clustered all the dearest feeling his heart ever knew?-on whom he had fondly laid his right hand in blessings. day after day and year after year? O, can any trial be more severe to a father, than to behold that promise of his old age torn from him as if by ravenous wild beasts, and to be made to feel that no power, no, supplication, no intercession, no mortal wealth, is able to restore him again? Surely-surely is a father in such circumstances deserving of the world's largest sympathies. Surely is his situation greatly to be deplored - Thus felt the Duke of Ravenna. His son had been suddenly snatched from himby a fate far more cruel even than death. He was torn away even from before his own eyes. A mo- ment ago, he was by his father's side; happy in his youth, trusting in his filial confidence, and joyous in all his hopes. Now he was gone, no one knew whither; no one knew whether yet alive; and if dead, no one knew at whose hands he might have met his fate. The house of the duke was thus left desolate. He went through his lalls all the day long, pac- ing, now slowly- and now at a quicker step, wringing his hands, throwing his eyes supplica- tingly to heaven, and uttering incoherent ejacu- lations with his lips. Though there were never so many about him, ready and anxious to per- form such offices of consolation as they could, yet he would not be comforted. All day long, he kept pacing--pacing through his lofty halls. Sometimes he mounted to an upper balcony, as if he would even then seek to descry the coming of his son in the distance. All day long his brow continued furrowed with anxious thought and terrible fear. And even into the night, yes, far into the night, and sometimes even all through the night, his grief kept gnawing at his heart, and-growing greater off the food that sus- tained it. , Rich clothes of deep mourning were hung about all the walls, over all the doors, and about all the outer entrances. Though these dark folds could not contain a tithe of the real sorrow that smote the heart of the illustrious mourner, yet they shed an influence of a sombre cast over the mansion, such as no other symbols of grief would seem able to do. Silence reigned from roof to foundation-stone. Not a loud word, save perhaps the occasional exclamations of the father's grief, was heard in all the apartments. Servants went to and fro on their different rounds, as if they were mutes. An expression of sorrow spread over the counte- nances of all, from the highest in rank to the lowest. And it was no feigned sorrow, either, with any one. The sentiment that pervaded all breasts was profound and truthful. The proud Duke, of Ravenna had long years before been bereft of his wife, and very naturally his best affections grouped themselves about the only child she had left behind her. This son he had loved almost to idolatry, never fearing that a cup so full even to overflow with sweet- * o ness and pleasure, could by any human intorpo- t sition be suddenly dashed from his lips. But s trials are allotted to no particular class of peo- ple. No rank, or station, is exemnipt from tihe havoc they may at any time be pleased to - commit. , For this son had the duke long cherished the * highest hopes. How like the stroke of death * itself must it have been to hiim, then, to have him suddenly wrested from his affectionate em- brace! He had built up for him noble schemes. in whose ultimate success he staked all his own ideas of happiness. He had planned a glorious life for hini; a life of honorable service to his native city; and a life of esteem in the eyes of his fellow-countrymen.' Alas! alas! how had he been stricken! And a fair lady, too, was bowed with grief at the news of the young nman's fearful end. It was the Lady Tortesa. Her heart had long been turned to the son of the duke, and, if shei could love any one, she believed that he was now really beloved by her. She retired to the privacy of her own apart- ment, and there carefully nursed her grief, as if it had been a truly enjoyable sentiment. She declined seeing any of her friends, and likewise left them without any specific reasons for her seemingly strange conduct. Only her confi- dante and waiting-maid, Lucille, was admitted to her presence and to a share in her thoughts. She sat by one of her high windows, lookin/- out over the sloping lawns and picturesqueB. arranged terraces upon the broad watersibeyond. They only called up the saddest images, how- ever, to her vision, and brought tears into her eyes. Then she felt how subtle a feeling is love; how it steals silently and almost imper- ceptibly into the heart, and how it does not always assert its true power until some dark hour of melancholy has overtaken it. Lucille slipped into the apartment unbeknown to her mistress, and stood waiting behind her chair. The maiden kept on with her sad reve- ries and reflections. . ' Presently she gave utterance to an impt., sioned exclamation respecting the death of tho page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] young man she so much loved, turning quite round in her seat as she did so. Then for the first time she espied the girl. "Lucille, you here?" exclaimed she.- The girl courtesied with a natural grace, and drew nearer to the side of her mistress. "I mourn, Lucille," said the maiden,. "for one who is not. I grieve for the son of the duke. I loved him, Lucille, although none might know it. He alone, of all the suitors for my hand, was the one I had chosen. I could love none other." A pause ensued, during which Tortesa lost herself in the whirl of her excited thoughts, and her mind cast about to find some phrase by which to open conversation on so delicate a subject. "Have-you seen any of the duke's family lately?" at length inquired Tortesa, turning her eyes full upon her maid. "I saw one of her maids yestereven," replied Lucille. "And was anything said by her in relation to this sad affair? Does the duke continue to feed his hopes?" "Alas, no, sweet mistress; the mansion is hung in mourning throughout, and the duke gives himself up wholly to grief. It is said that he shuts himself up within his walls, and refuses to be seen of any one." "Heaven preserve me!" exclaimed Tortesa. "My hopes, then, are all crushed, just as they were about to blossom; would that I could have died with him!" Yet there were no 'tears accompanying this remarkable speech. It came from the lips of the fair maiden as if the words were all of crys- tal-so cold and calculating were they.. Yet the proud maiden deceived herself, or tried to deceive herself, with the ideh that she really loved the young son of the duke; and she planned and prayed that he might love her in I turn. " They have said that the duke has given up- all hopes of ever hearing from him again," said the maid, Lucille. "He is supposed to have been dragged off by the bandits, and, after be- rn ? 'ing robbed, killed.' The blow falls heavily on , his father's head." "It must; and not on his alone, either." "But is there no chance of his ever coming back again? Is there no chance of escape for him from the robbers?" "Does the grave ever give up its dead, Lu- cille?" The girl shook her head sowly and thoughts fully. "Had he money about him?" asked the girl. "All travellers carry money, girl, for their own convenience," returned Tortesa, affecting something of haughtiness in her manner. "Then they must have slain him for that," innocently rejoined- the girl. "Dead men tell no tales," said her mistress; "and that they know as well as they know any- thing. Even if they secured the money of Fran- cizco without difficulty, yet their work was but half done. then. To conceal all traces of their guilt, they must make way with him whose evi- dence against them would be the most dawmning. It was for this that he was probably long since slain. For this, that he has ere now shut his eyelids together forever." "How pitiful!" exclaimed Lucille, in an un- dertone that conveyed the deepest sympathy. "Yes, it is pitiful, indeed!" added Tortesa. "But I know not why it is harder for the duke to bear it all thah for her whose heart yearns so much for the love of his son. Why should it be, Lucille?" "Indeed, I know not, madam," answered the girl. "I would have you watchful this day, and the next, and the next, Lucille." "For what?" asked she. "To see what are the feelings of the duke and his household. Mingle what you can with those of the mansion whom you know, and ascertain every fact you are able respecting Francisco." "I will." "But mind-" "What, lady?" "Be careful by no single word or whisper to make known to any of them how I am affected by the death of the young man." "No-no-no!" "And use not my name at any time in con- nection with his." "I will not-I will not." "And yet learn all you can, Lucille--every item of intelligence; for I think there was never one dearer to me than Francizco." "It shall be just as you have directed, Lady Tortesa," replied the maid. "Then be on the alert as soon as you can." "Now?" "Now is none too soon. Remember not to implicate me in your mission. And yet I would have you feel as if you were only on an errand of love. Yes, go now, Lucille! Go at once, and joy go with you!" The girl left the apartment. "O, if she could but bring back news of his return!" exclaimed Tortesa, when she was left alone again. "But that can never be!" page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] CHAPTER AII. THE DIFFICULT CHOICE. - A child of air: an cello of his heart: And, like a lily on a river floating, She floats upon the river of his thoug1hts! -- And is it faring ill To be in love? -- I will speak freely, r will teach my heart To love vyo. SPANISH STUDEN'T. T was towards the close of the day on whiel ,i Jaconet had returned to his hut from the expedition of the night before, and Esmerelda and he were walking together slowly downI to- ward the beach. "O, father," said she, "if you will promise me not to go off any more on these expeditions." "And what if I should promise you?" he asked, rather roughly. "Then I should be so happy!" "And you could not be without?" he added. 4 "No, not when I am left to myself so long, i and my hours slip away so listlessly. No, fa- i ther-no!" "You must rememberthat you are yet nothing but a child." t "And I am sure that I never do forget it." "And likewise that Iknow better than your- self what is for your good." "O, father! father!" "And that it is not for such a youngling .s you, Esmerelda, much as I love you, to dictate to me." ," O, I do not! I would not, father! I only-" 1i "Well, what then will you call it?" O "But I cannot keep that blood out of my L. eyes!" - Child! what did I bid thee?" said he, in a tone of threatening. The girl looked fearfully up in his face, while he griped her slender arm fiercely. "What, father, what?" asked she. "To allude no more to those stains; and now you taunt me with them as if they were of my own deliberate shedding! Peace, girl! Re- member whose daughter you are! You have none but a brave father! Be, then, as becomes such a parent!" The frail girl bowed her head, andglistening tears dropped to the ground. Jaconet walked on alone. Esmerelda paused -looked a moment after him through her tears, and then sadly turned toward the hut again. When she reached the door, her surprise was unbounded, to find that the young stranger had himself left his asylum above, aIl then stood before her in the middle of the floor. His face was uncommonly pale, yet flushes of crimson passed rapidly over his cheeks and fore- head, as if they could not refuse to betray the deep excitement that was worklng within his breast. He made a motion to Esmerelda to express no surprise at his presence, and imme- diately walked to the door and sat down whore he could readily command a view of the path to the water. The maid would certainly have uttered some cry of surprise, but for the caution of the stran- ger. As it was, she regarded him with breath- less wonder, her lips refusing to lisp her surprise. ' Sit-down here by me," said he, in a gentle tone, although it was plainly evident that he made a great effort to command his overwrought feelings. ' Esmnerelda did as he desired her. -le took her yielding hand within his, and began to explain himself to her. "Iy sweet maid," said he, "'you must know that I am now strong enough to pursue my jour- ney again.". Esmerelda looked at him in thl deepest; surprise. "You must not wonder at anything I am go i ing to tellyou," continued he; " you must only 1 listen till I have done; then let me know all i your thoughts." She looked assent to his injunction. "Esmerelda," said he, again, " for I hope I t maybe permitted so to call you, as I feel strong again, 1 have determined to set out at once for s home. I shall return to the nearest town below a this, and there secure a conveyance to Ravenna. 1l Undoubtedly my father this day mourns me as one lost forever. I feel it to be my sacred duty I to go at once and relieve his mind from the cor- p roding grief that I feel must be preying upon h him." . "I have yet to tell you who I am, fair one. w My name is Francizeco; and I am the son, and ai only child, of the Duke of Ravenna." b as Esmerelda became nueli agitated. id "It was he who was assaulted the other night )d by bandits. hand by this. time he is mourning deeply over my death. Esmerekl I could not of leave you without taking the first o portunity to e- express to you my deep gratitude for the favors ie you have done meo. They will never go unre- is quited, believe me. To you I owe my life. to You are my preserver. You have done for me e- when there was no other one near to know of re your disinterested charity. I was a perfect o stranger to you. I was without money. I was wounded. and even weltering in my blood. But e you have been an angel to stand by the road- i- side and .save my life. For this great kindness, i- I feel that I can never sufficiently thank you. I can never do enough in return for your c services. "Yet it is not all gratitude, Esinerelda--not t gratitude alone, that fills my heart. I am not"' unobserving of the same graces and charms that attract others. I hope that you will, therefore, I forget that there is any difference in our condi- tions in life, and receive just as I offer it, the love of a true and untrammelled heart. Esme- relda. from the first moment I saw thee, I felt myself in a angel's presence. Thy sweet image has haunted my dreams for years before I ever came to rest my eyes upon thee. Ever since I have been under thy most gentle care, I have been unable to keep thee out of my mind. I love thee, Esmereld?. I love thee as I have never loved another!" The youthful lover paised a moment, and tenderly regarded the object of his adoration. She sat with her eyes downcast, powerless to say a syllable. Yet Franeizeo fancied lie reami an expression of more than ordinary humility in her countenance. "Do not fear, sweetest, dearest Esmerelda! I know that your home is a cot, while mine is a palace; but I do not forget, either, that your heart-nay, your form,-is an angel's, while mine is human; all human. What I am, and what I ever hope to be, Esmerelda-I now freely and fully offer myself to thee. My life shall be all given up to thy service. All my joys page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] shall centre in thee. All my hopes shall begin with thy wishes! I will give thee a ho6me where living foun- tains play, and birds of richest and rarest plu- mage sing in the trees. All the fragrant odors of a thousand choicest flowers shall be made sub- servient only to thy will. For thy pleasure, golden fish shall sport in the crystal lakes. Statues shall be placed for thee at every corner; in every conceivable niche. Strains of sweetest melody shall be borne to thy ears, and with mu- sic, and poetry, and love, and flashing waters, and musical fountains, and the aroma of rarest flowers; thou shalt sink into the pleasantest dreams. For thee there shall be no night. All shall be day,-brightest day. No care shall thrust its thorns into thy tender flesh, from the garlands with which I will decorate thy brow. All thy hours shall make one continued round of pleasure. No clouds shall gather over thy fair head. Sunshine shall always rest there, as it does now among the locks of thy golden hair." Esmerelda spoke not a word yet, but continued gazing upon th6 ground. "Wilt thou once tell me, dearest one?" con- tinued he; "am I worthy of thy love? One. word-only a syllable-and I am forever happy, or miserable! Dost thou, Esmerelda, love me in return? Can I hope for so much happi- ness? She bowed her head.. She- could not speak even a word. Yes? Is it yes, Esmerelda? Am I happy? Am I not disappointed, 4hen? O, do but speak it to me, dearest!" "I love thee too truly, Francizeo," replied she, in a sweet voice, and with an air of hesita- tion. "But--" Before she could go on with her sentence, he had embraced her passionately and pressed her to his bosom. "Yet I am not worthy of one like thee," she added. "Me!" exclaimed he, in a tone of self-con- tempt; "as if I, or any like me, should presume to think myself worthy of you! What I ask, I crave as the only boon that my heart will ever desire. I love you, Esmerelda; I cannot help telling you Cob!" / Again he embraced her, and imprinted upon her forehead a kiss. It sealed the words he had just uttered. "But I am nought but a poor and friendless girl." "Then will I make thee a peeress! You shall have wealth, and homage, and honors, as thickly as the proudest of those who mingle in the festivities of my native city. Yet should I love thee less, dearest, if I did not know that the heart beating within thy breast was far more at- tractive, far more wealthy, than all the sights and sounds of gaiety that can be imagined. It is thy heart, Esmerelda, that I love ;-thy own self-thy character- thee! Not thy fortunes, or thy misfortunes; only thee!" A brief pause ensued. "And while I confess my burning' love for you, Esmerelda, I would fain speak on another subject. It troubles my heart sorely. Indeed, I am agitated when I think of ever breaking it to you." She looked alarmed and amazed together. "From my hiding-place above stairs, I have bseen your father, whom you call Jaconet. I must tell you, dearest-I cannot keep it from one I love so much-he is one of the three men who robbed and sought to murder me in the dis- tant defile! I have seen him, and recognized him!" Esmerelda bowed her head in her beautiful hands, and gave way to violent weeping. "And now, my sweet one," continued he, as if heedless of her tears, " and now I am puzzled what to do. To leave the one I love so much- the one, too, who has already made mehappy by telling me that she returned that love-in the hands of such a man, is difficult; nay, it is very dangerous. I should never be happy again, if I thought that her mind was under such an in- fluence, or th'at her precious life was in his hands. Come and see you I could not, forqny own ex- istence would surely be the forfeit. I know not what to do. He may return soon, and he may stay frem home a long while; in either event, I cannot remain here very long with safety. Be- sides, I must be home to my father-the duke. "Esmerelda, I have to make of you one sin- gle request." "What is it?" asked the girl, sadly. "That you will return with me to Ravenna." "But my father! my father! What will be- come of him?" "He cares but little what becomes of you; then why so much anxiety for him?" "But he will miss me, and will go sorrowing all the day for his child!" "That were, but a small punishment, Esmer- elda, for the crime of which he can at any mo- ment be proved guilty. If you still love me, v dearest, and yet cannot determine temporarily to forsake such care as he gives thee, then must I complain of him as a murderer-a brigand-a robber! In that way alone-" "Francizeo! Dear Francizco!" "In that way alone can I ever hope to visit you here with safety. It is a hard choice, my dear, I too well know; but much as I love you, I cannot offer you any better one. It is only because I love you as I do, as my heart tells me I do, that I am obliged to speak thus to you, Esmerelda." She was fearfully agitated. She hardly knew what to answer. Her love for Jaconet, her fa- ther, was strong; but that for Francizco-was it not stronger? "O, my poor heart will break!" said she, clasping her side with her hand. Break for Jaconet? Or break for me?" "O, I cannot tell you all! Indeed, indeed, I cannot leave Jaconet without one to care for him!" '"But he will care for himself, child. And perhaps, when he comes to find his home deso- late-" The yoimg girl burst forth in a sob. "Perhaps he will repent him of his evil cour. ses, and yet be an honest man-an upright man. Speak, Esmerelda; this is his only chance. Shall I not hear you say that you will go home to Ravenna with me? On this condition, dear- est, I consent to spare Jaconet; and on this alone. He has made himself already an out- law, and his life is utterly worthless; yet a word from your lips can save him." "O, let me speak it! What is it?" "That you consent to return with me." "Yes-yes--I consent,". said she, sobbing. "Thank God, that he has led your heart to such a choice!" exclaimed he, embracing her fervently. "But your father-" said she, anxiously. "What of him?" "He is a proud duke?" "Yes." "And he will despise one so humble as Is- merelda. He will never consent that his son shall love one like me." "No father of mine can ever expect to create, or unmake, objects for my love. No, dearest; lie will love thee, even as 1 do. -He cannot help loving one so pure, so angelic as thee. O, Esmerelda! do not fear for this! Go with me only as you would prove your love to me. I ask nothing for the gratification of others. I seek to gratify mine own self." "But-my father-" "What of him?" asked Francizco. "Poor-poor Jaconet!" said she. "Yes, but he has brought it all on himself. Not one hair of his head, however, shall be harmed by any act of mine, if you will only con. sent to accompany me to Ravenna." "For his sake, then, will I freely go." "And not for mine, too?" eagerly inquired he. "O, yes-yes! A thousand times-yes! I go to prove to you how deeply I am moved by your affection for one like me! Yet I could wish I was more worthy of thee." "Say no more of that-no more! It will be my happiest, nay, my proudest day, when I stand up by thy side and wed an angel!"And with these words, he kissed her snowy forehead many times. "But we must go to-night, Esmerelda." "To-night--so soon?" page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] "Yes; thile hours are none too long for our safety. I must not tarry here longer. I must begone." "But you are not strong enough," plead she. "I feel within me the strength of manymen," was his energetic reply. ' I feel that for your safety and happiliess I am henceforth responsi- ble; and new energies burst into life within my soul when the thought takes possession of me! s Come-we must leave here as soon as we may." Esmerelda once more gave way to her tears, and broke forth into the wildest ejaculations. Her heart was almost rent with thinking of all the memories that still clustered around this solitary spot, and feeling that this was the last hour she would ever probably spend among them. It was strange to her, this severing of old and endeared ties. She feared she should but poorly m hold out against her weakness, when the moment of separation came. "Remember, my sweet," said Francizco, as they rose to return within the house, "remem- ber that this act of thine is all that saves the life of thy brigand father!" r r "I do not forget that," she sorrowfully re- t plied. "And also remember, that hereafter thy path- l way is among the proudest of the proud-among wealth, and beauty, and friends, and fame." "And [ am nothing but a simple girl!" re- plied she. "Yes, and for that reason shall thy career be the more bright. For that reason' is thy nameJ spotless-.-thy heart untainted. It is only in sweet and secluded places that the most fragrant flowers blow. It was only by this desolate shore that one so pure, so loving, so devoted, as thou, could be found to grace the halls of a ducal palace. I speak only what I know, dearest, and only what I believe." "Yet I am too unworthy all this praise." "And because you think so, are you still more worthy of it! Esmerelda, dost thou love me yet?" She laid her head on his bosom, and wept tears of heartfelt joy. It was an hour of new hopes to her. CHAPTER VIII. e NIGHT AND MORNING. Is this a dream? O, if it be a dream, Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet! Repeat thy story! Say I'm not deceived! Say that I do not dream! I am awake! Speak! Speak! Let me not wake and find it all a dream! SPANISH STUDENT. BY sea, instead of-as was first intended- by land, the two lovers reached Ravenna At some distance from the noise of the city itself, and half hidden in the overhanging shrub. bery, there stood, upon the back of a hill, a small cottage. It was inhabited by but a single individual,-an old- woman,-whose name was Marmaline. The cot would have been abundantly conceal- ed from the distant passer, even without the as- sistance of the clambering and clustering vines that run over its low eaves, and upon its humble roof. It was but a single story, and plain, even to rudeness. As you entered at the door, you could not fail to be impressed with the neatness that prevailed throughout the apartment.' The furniture was enough to be comfortable, yet it was scanty. Simplest devices were adopted for obviating the necessity of such articles as should incur ex-, pense. And a pure well of crystal was set into the hill-side, as into a rude frame-work, from whose overflowing cup fell a frothy cascade upon the rocks beneath. Without, all was mild and fantastic. Nature had not been disturbed in her disposition of rocks, and trees, and vines, and shrubs, and - waterfalls. Everything was just as it came from her hands. Yet there was an air of beauty breathing itself out around the place, more sub- tle than that any one could seize to analyze it, yet not so ethereal as that one could not be di'rawn within its influence. It was just at sunset, and two persons might have been seen wending their wa$ over the back of this acclivity, apparently in pursuit of a stop.- ping-place; and this little cot was the one most conveniently provided for them. ' I 1 They reached'the humble door, and went in. "Francizco! Signor Francizco 1" exclaimed the woman whse/ habitation it was, rismig to greet the new comers. "It is I, Marmaline," replied Francizdo,- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] for it was only he; "I. have come back from long journey." '"But all think you are dead!" said she. "I should not wonder at all," replied the young man; " in truth, I did come very near losing my life. But here behold my preserver!" "She!" exclaimed Marmaline,'pointing sur- prisedly at the young girl he had with him. "Yes; Esmerelda." "Esmerelda! A sweet name!" "And a sweet maid, indeed," added he, gleefully. "But I will not stop at this time, good Marnialine, to tire you with explanations. I wish you to grant me a single favor. Will you promise?" "Name it, though it were anything next to- my own life!" !"You shall have gold enough." "Yet would that be worth not the h]alf of thy friendship," interrupted she. "It is my wish that you permnit this fair maid- en, whom I have brought with me from another land, to remain with you, until a convenient time shall come for me to remove her." "Certainly, signor; certainly will I." "Call her your niece." "Ay, my own laughter!" e "But that will not do as well. Call her your niece, your ward,-and keep her here in all the secrecy and care you are able." "It shall be done-it shall be done!" "Treat her with the most tender regard, for she is the most chosen one of my heart." "And well looks she worthy of your choice." "Treat her, then, as I would treat her my- self; and try to love her for my sake, even if I you do not for her own." "As I certainly cannot help doing," inter- h rupted the kind-hearted Marmaline. se "But look you," said Francizco. U "What, signor?" "It must never be known who brought her lo here." "No-no!" "Nor where she came from." F "No- -nono!" A. s a "Nor must my name be used at all in con- nection with hers, at present." "It assuredly shall not '"! [ "When the appropriate time shall come, I r will make the disclosure that is needed, to the world. Until then, wait." "-I will-I will!" "And now, dearest," said he, addressing Esmerelda, "think you that you can content yourself, for my poor sake, in this rude abode, until the doors of a palace shall be thrown wide, open for thee?" "O, all for thee! Anything for thy sake, dear Francizco!" answered she, throwing her head upon his shoulder. "Till another time, then, dearest, farewell! The image of thy sweet face, and the remem- brance of thy poor charities, Will ever haunt me, go where I will. I live now only for thee, Esmerelda!" "And Ionly for thee," replied she. And the two lovers fell to embracing each other again, even in the presence of Marmaline. The latter was affected to tears by so tender a sight. She walked hurriedly about the room, wringing her hands, and looking the picture of excitement and anxious concern, Poor soul! The sight of so much happiness had disconcerted her. "I go, dearest," said Francizco, "to take off the deadly weight that at this moment presses on my father's heart-" "Yes, do that now!" urged Esmerelda; "make his heart glad again, even .as I could wish to make glad the bereaved heart of-" "No-no! Do not talk of that now," chid Francizco. The maiden would have spoken the name of her deserted 'father, Jaconet. Nature still."s serted her claims, as none other claims may be urged. "But if the duke will only condescend to look with favor upon one so humble as myself!" Marmaline had gone from the room. "He will! He will!" quickly responded Francizco. "Then will my happiness be complete.- O, how does my heart bound, to have the day dawn when we may be entirely happy! But do you think, dear Francizco, that your father can ever love me?" The young man took the hands of the inno- centl within his own, and told her in a calm whis- per to be strong in her trust, and all should speedily eventuate well. Then kissing her again and again, he took Marmaline aside, exchanged a few confidential words with her, and was soon wending his way down the hill-side towards Ra- venna's streets. It was now dusky, and large shadows rolled about on the acclivity, now hiding themselves in the nooks, and crags, and caverns they could find, and now stretching their vast bodies away before the weary traveller. F'rancizco felt faint from sickness and his wounds, yet he was much too near home, and he had too great a responsi- bility resting upon his heart, to reproach his fate. Every stone felt as soft beneath his tread as if it had been a cushion, purposely placed to assist him in his descent. lHe reached home-the door of the palace of his father; that father, once proud, now humbled as a young child. Without alarming any of the retinue of ser- vants, either within or without, he pushed open the door and went in. His father was pacing the hall, and at that ti moment his back was turned to his son. Francizco could not contain himself; but in- stantly sprang forward beMore his father and made known his return. At first his parent did not recognize him. His w mind had too long been brooding over the mel- y ancholy event by which his son had been lost to him. "My father!" exclaimed Francizco. "Do to you not know me? Do you forget your own son?" "Francizeo!" said the duke, half inquiringly, half abstractedly. "Francizeo, is this?" 'It is-itis! Father, know yourson again!" The proud man fell upon his son's neck, and er wept bitterly. Amid his tears he gave loose to p awn )ud exclamations, in which both surprise and you oy were wonderfully mingled. ver His cries soon brought men and maid servants into the hall, who instantly sot up a combination no- of noises such as had probably never been heard is- in that hall before. Some wrung their hands uld wildly; some danced, in testimony of their ain pleasure; some tore their hair, and set up wild red shouts; some clustered about their young mas- on ter, all eager to seize hold of him, yet each one la- sedulously careful not to touch so much as the hem of his garment; some laughed, while others ed cried; some ran in all directions about the aput.- in ment, exulting in the very unexpected return of ld the son of the duke. It was not long after this very joyous recep- nt tion, before Franecizco found himself in the hands 3h of most experienced surgeons and nurses. His si- wounds were freshly cared for, although, after e. all, Esmerelda had shown herself more skilled if in nursing than many of those who then waited St at his couch. Perhaps, however, it was more in the magnetism of her presence than the skilful- )f ness of her nursing, that the steady recovery of d Francizco lay. Soon the cloths of mourning were all removed from the walls they had so long enshrouded with : gloom, and the richest colors, expressive of the highest joy, were made to serve in their stead. The apartments did not seem to be the same ones' they looked but a half hour before. All faces were lit up with unusual gladness, and unadul- terated, unobstructed sunshine seemed to have come down again. "Father," said the son, when father and son were together in the apartment, "I will now tell you the whole of my escape; what I suffered, and what risks I have run." And the duke sat down by his side, and lis- tened with breathlessness, almost, to his narration. He described to him the conflict he had with the robbers; their overpowering him at last; his being felled by a heavy blow on his head, and lying senseless for a long time; his recovery, and search for the carriage in which was his fath- er; his discovery of the dead bodies of the two postilions; his -wanderings to the southward; his page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] finally finding the hut of Jaconet, and the treat- ment he received at the hands of Esmerelda. Of course he descanted freely and feelingly upon the character of the fair girl, and of course he failed not to posess his father's mind with very much the same ideas he eherished himself respecting her. Yet he studiously refrained from alluding to the discovery he made, that Jaconet was one of the party who had just before waylaid and sought to murder him. His promise had been given to Esmerelda; that could not be broken. -The congratulations of the duke, after all was known, upon his escape, were many and oft re- peated. Francizco received them all with affec- tionate gratitude, and united with his parent in praising the Providence by whose kindness he had been preserved. CHAPTER IX. "ADY TORTESA S JEALOUSY. Thou hast a rival, lover, however blest thou art,w How dear so e'er the object that kindles up thy. heart; It may appear that all in all, thou art alone to her, And yet, thou hast a rival, deluded worshipper! WILLIS GATLORD CLARK. TIME had passed along rapidly, and the cottage of Marmaline received daily vis- its from Francizsco. Lady Tortesa's maid kept her advised of all that was going on in the family of the duke; and through her she had been seasonably advised of the frequency of Francisco's visits to the young girl at Marmaline's cottage. She sat in her reception-room alone, one day,. brooding over the plans she entertained for the impressment of the son of the duke into her heart's service. "O, if I but had the little fool here!" she exclai ed, alluding to Bmerelda, whose rivalry in Fra isco'a ffections looked far too formida- ble to ier. "I know that her work would soon be finisheI," and her black eye twinkled very fiercely indeed, as she spoke. Lucille, her waiting-maid, entered, and cut ihort further ejaoulations. "Lucille!" called she, quite energetically', tapping her little foot impatiently upon the thick- ly-carpeted floor. "Yes, mistress," answered the girl. "Anything more from Francizco?" "I saw him but lately, Mistress Tortesa." "And whither was he going?" "To the hill." "What I to the hut of Marmialine?" "So I surely thought, mistress." "Everlastingly there!" impatiently replied she, giving her head a haughty toss. "Lucille!" "Mistress." "Have you ever seen this girl he visits?" "Never, my lady." "And do not know her name?" "No, Mistress Tortesa." "Then I have got something for you to do." "What shall it be?" asked the girl. "Goi to the hut of Marmaline yourself, and rmake the acquaintance of this girl." "I will-i wh." "Learn her name ; " "Yes, mistress, I will do that." "Ani her- birth; learn all you can about her.' '? * 'd "Yes, all I can." Find how much Francizco really esteems her, if you can, and whether he seriously thinks of ever marrying her." "2hat's not at all likely!" exclaimed Lu- cille. "Yet stranger things have happened," replied Tortesa. "I want you to ingratiate yourself as much as you can in her favor, and bring back to me the fullest account you can." "That I will do-I will perform it all." "And preserve your secret, too?" "Yes, Lady Tortesa." iThe door of the apartment opened wide, and Cesare, the wealthy Florentine, was ushered in, making the most humble and devoted obeisance as he entered. "I wish you the return of many such beau- tiful mornings," said he, saluting Tortesa. She received his gallantry with a common- place expression of thanks, and coldly motioned him to a seat. He took his position near her. The brow of the fair lady was knotted with many anxious wrinkles. She was really dis- turbed by what she had so recently heard re- specting Francizco; and now the entrance of Cesare-the man whose attentions were abso- lutely repulsive to her-seemed to put a sting, in her feelings, so that her manner was very s much excited and vastly strange. d Suddenly, however, the thought flashed across her, that she might employ this very man to punish the obstinacy of Francizco towards her p advances, and to eventually bend his affections ti towards herself. She was again quite as much changed in her manner. Now her face was lit c' only with the most pleasant expressions. V This sudden change in his favor mwas not lost sight of by Qesare. He was as much delighted E with it as he could be, and at once allowed him- self to make the most affectionate and confiden- t tial overtures to her. He was honest enough, though he was but a sad dupe; she was the false one, who had determined to play with his heart whenever a good turn of her own could be served. "I cannot rest, signora,-I cannot sleep," as said he. ks c"And wherefore, Signor Oesare?" asked she, her face beaming with sympathy. - "It would be useless, I fear, to tell you the cause," he replied. d "Yet perhaps you may for once be mistaken, is Cesare 1" said Tortesa. k "My heart,"-and he placed both hands up; on his left breast, sentimentally. Tortesa preserved the same kindly expression on her countenance, and dropped her eyes mod- estly to the carpet. . ecr "d O, if but a single word of yours could be , spoken! I know how happy, Lady Tortesa, e you could make me in a single moment!" A pause-but she said not a word. "Will you at least not tell me that I may hope, my fair lady," he continued. "Tell me that you will not refuse to receive my love, even if that love be not reciprocated!" "I will not refuse, then," said she; but there was no feeling, no het, in her tones. Cesare passionately Ikelt down and took her hand. He ardently covered it with burning kisses, again and again repeating to her ears the story of his undivided and undying love. "O, if words were not so weak-so meagre /" said he. "But words cannot tell you of the depth of my devotion for thee!" "Rise, Cesare 1" ordered the maiden. "Nay," said he, "I would here on my knees protest my affection, if need be, for a whole life time 1" " I do not ask that," replied Tortea. " You can prove it to me in a much shorter and simpler way."- "And pray tell me what that is I Speak to me, my lady! Speak quickly!" Will you perform a certain deed for me?" asked she. " Whatever i may be,-however difficult,- however perilous,-I swear solemnly that I will." / "Then listen." "I am all attention." page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] He-rose to his feet, and she addressed to hit her plan. "Signor," began she, "I would have you do me a favor." "Whatever it may be, my lady." "In the cottage on yonder hill, there lives a maid. I hear that the sow of the Duke-Fran- cizco-there passes a considerable portion of his time, in her company. Whence she came, no one yet knows. Even her name is unknown to any one." ' "It is with her, then, that my business is?" "No-yes--no, not altogether," hesitated Tortesa. "You are to play the lover to her; not to go and see her exactly,-you need not do that; but pretend to Francizco that you are the rightful possessor of her heart, and order him to cease his visits where he is not wanted." Cesare betrayed a troubled look in his coun- tanance, as if he were not quite sure that his being mixed in this affair was much to his honor. But in another moment, his eyes met the per suasive, flattering glances of Tortesa, which she followed closely up with the question: "Will you do this?" He had no time for reflection, but answered on the spur of his first impulse: . '"Most assuredly will I." "Then be here this very afternoon again, " said she. "Excuse my presence any longer. This afternoon, seasonably." She swept proudly out of the apartment. As soon as Cesare had time to recover himself somewhat from his surprise, he followed her out by the same door, and was soon away. The afternoon brought him to the side of Tor- tesa again, who apprised him that she iad just learned the name of the maiden to be Esmerel- afl da. This was all he need know. With a few further words, purely of encour- agement, she started him from her again, bid- ding him report to her at the earliest time possible. , tes Hie was the slave of his foolish passion. iHe was blind! Going from the magnificently-furnished rooms of Lady Tortesa, he adected his steps toward fll tim the hill on whose back stood the snug little cot of Marmaline. He had already made perhaps do half its ascent, when he saw another person ap: proaching him from the opposite direction. It chanced to be Francizco himself! a Cesare recognized him, and when he came m- opposite him, addressed him: is "You have come from a visit to the fair Es- no merelda, signor," said he. to "And what is that to thee?" indignantly replied Francizeo, his face burning with blood. " "Much-very much to me." d "Pray explain yourself, signor." ; "You have no right to visit at the cot of lo Marmaline," energetically replied Cesare. e "In good truth, what have I a right to do to then? But who are you, that address me in this way?" l "I am Cesare, the Florentine; and I here- s after forbid you to go near that girl! She is mine--wholly mine!" "But you talk bravely, sir; let me assure you, however, that your words will have no weight with me. What more have you to say?" "Then you disregard my order?" "Most decidedly. Your order " added Francizco, contemptuously. "Then you will fight me?" "With pleasure." "When?" "At once!" "Enough. Go with me." "Where?"' "To my room at the hotel." "No. I have a better thought." "What is that?" "And one that shall test the strength of your affection for this girl." "Name it-name it." "Come with me," said Francizco. The other followed on a little way. "But you lead me into some snare!?' pro- tested Cesare, halting suddenly. s"On the honor of a man, I do not," replied Francisco. Again they walked on, in silence and thought. fulness. - Presenitly they reached a high precipice. They had reached its very verge before they paused. "This is the place," said Francizeo, breaking the silence. "But we have no arms," protested the other. "We need none," said Francizco. "What then?" "You say, on your heart, that you love Es- merelda?" asked Francizeo, his face turning ashy pale with excitement. "I do. And furthermore, I say that she is my betrothed-only mine!" . "And I know that what you say is not so," coolly added Francizco. "Now I propose to test your affection." "Say on what you have to say," replied Ce- sare, folding his arms, and regarding his oppo- nent with a feeling of strange and growing fear. "Here is a coin of gold," said Francizco, holding the glittering piece between his finger and thumb. "I will toss it in the air, and if heads come down, you shall jump from the edge of this precipice below!" Cesare regarded his proposition with unspeak- able horror. "But if heads come up, 1 will make the plunge!" Cesare was still more horror-stricken at his calmness of manner, and looked at him as if his eyes would not move themselves from his person. "Do you agree to this?" demanded Fran- cizco. Cesare bowed slightly, but his lips were motionless. "Remember," a second time enjoined Fran- cizeo, "if heads are down, you jump; but if heads are up, Ido!" Cesare bowed again. lie flung the coin high in the air. It glis- tened as it went twirling upwards, and looked as if it were a dozen coins, all together. Then it struck in the sward near their feet. Both bent forward eagerly, to see what was their i fate. Both knew that either one or the other would in a moment have his doom sealed. Their cheeks were blanched with the fearfulness of their excitement. The coin fell in the emerald grass, but it did not fall flat. It struck upon its edge, and be- gan slowly to roll a distance down the acclivity. Both men followed it up closely, their eyes straining to catch the figure that should firt show itself. It commenced rolling-rolling on, and at one moment seemed to hesitate, as if it would then stop to decide whose lot it should be to make the fearful plunge. Their eyes were set fiercely upon it. It rolled on, however, still farther, farther down the hill, and it lay at length half hidden in the grass. Both men sprang simultaneously towards it. Botlh thrust their heads down to look at it at just the same moment They were on their hands and knees by the side of each other. Thle surface of the coin shone brightly in the sunlight. The heads were down! It was Cesare's fate to jump from the precipice! Neither of them spoke a word; but both, while still on the ground, bent their eyes fear- fully on each other. They could truly read each others' thoughts in that fearful moment. Cesare rose hastily. "At least give me a moment to write but a single line," said he. Franeizco looked at him in amazement. "I would desire to entrust it with you for my friends," continued the other. "Then you are going to make the plunge?" asked Francizco, looking steadily in his eyes. "Most assuredly," said he. "And all for what, then?" "Because I have pledged my word." "And not on account of your love for Es- merelda?" "No; I do not so much as know her." "You shall not sacrifice yourself!" energet- ically cried out Francizeo. "But my word-my sacred wordi" plead Cesare. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] "I absolve you! freely, voluntarily I! Your word will then still be good!" "From my soul, I thank you!" said Cesare, with fervor. "I know nothing of this girl. I have been made a dupe. I see it all now. You are hr lover, if she really exists; and you have abundantly proved yourself worthy of her' regard!" Hee extended his hand to his highly honora- ble opponent, and in a moment they were friends. "Now whose work was this?" asked Fran- cizco. "I will tell you all," replied Cesare. "Lady v Tortesa, the daughter of Signor Gongalo, bade me prove my love for her by endeavoring to 3 bully you out of your love for this girl." - "And you were willing to run all the risks?" asked Francizco. f "Assuredly I was. I promised her I would attempt what she proposed, and I have done it." b "Like a brave, but still like a foolish man t" "Yes, I confess it. But I told Tortesa that I loved her, and that I was ready to do anything she commanded, to prove my devotion." "And she commanded this?" 'She did." "What could have been her motive?" And Francizeo fell to dreaming. At length he raised his head again, but a flush was upon his pallid face. Taking the road down the hill again, he proffered Cesare his arm, and both walked off as if they had always been friends, and had not just now met as open enemies. The sunset was gorgeous in the sky at that moment. Crimson and golden clouds, and banks of the deepest, purple, were in:.'e west- ern horizon,. whose reflections gilded tleir path far down the hill. ' The spires, and domes, and towersof the eity below were a dense mass of splendor. CHAPTER X. A DUNGEON FOR AN ANGEL. - Her heart is seared: A sweet light has been thrown upon its life, To make its darkness the more terrible. And this is Love! Hath then the heart of man no love, To spare for such a sacrifice . L. E. L. SMERELDA was at her devotions before S the altar in the vast church of Ravenna. She had entered with others by the main door, had slowly and solemnly wended her way up the aisle, and was now on her knees before the altar. An old priest was before her, gazing intd her' dark eyes of hazel, and searching anxiously for the truth that lay in her confession. "And is that all?" asked he, when at length the girl hesitated. "Yes, all," replied Esmerelda,' innocently. "Can I not have Father Paolo's blessing?" He stooped down over her until his cheek and lips touched her beautiful golden hair, and whispered something to her. * She raised her face suddenly, and looked in his face with humility and fear. Again he whispered to her. This time she rose from her kneeling posture and walked slowly round the altar rail, until she reached a small door of oak, slightly opened. Through this doorway she continued, pursuing her way through several small and ill-lighted rooms, until she reached one that seemed to be the very heart, or interior one, of all the rest. Finding a stool near the entrance, she ven- tured to seat herself upon it. She was suddenly started, however, by a low -voice from behind her, saying; " Rise I Rise I Such sinners should never ipresume to sit, in the presence of their spiritual superiors 1" She rose hastily, glancing round to see that it was Father Paolo who was speaking to her,' and looking thenceforward sadly down upon the floor. "Esmerelda," said the priest, in one of his irresistible tones. The girl looked up; yet she was the imper- sonation of humility. I "How can you come to make me your con- fession, when a lie is on your lUps page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] Esmerelda almost shrieked, for excitement "You have said that all that lay next your heart, had been disclosed to me. It is not so!" "Why is it not so?" innocently inquired she. You did not confess to me your love!" A crimson blush burned all over her fair countenance, and her eyes again sought the floor. "You love some person, my child," said the priest, insinuatingly. She bowed the assent her innocence would never have suffered her to refuse. "And he is a person of' character in' a- venna." No reply. "It is a crime for a poor girl like you,-house- i less, defenceless, forlorn,-to tamper with the I hearts of those above you. Your charms and t grace of person, whatever of each you may pos- sess, are for the glorification of God; not for s the ensnaring of others' feelings, and the help n of the devil." Not a word of reply came from her lips. S "It is well known to me, child, whom your disposition has thus led you to inveigle. It can tt be done no longer. You will remain under ho my care until all such rumors may have been d finally set at rest." And with these cruel words, he suddenly al closed the massive door on her, and left her in de solitude. She dropped dispirited and overwhelmed with O grief and fear into the seat from which she had be just risen, and buried her face in her hands. Grief was in her heart; grief was in her syl- lables. She raised her head again, and for the Sh first time saw that there was no window in the dir apartment! There was no light of any kind the there. Not even the faintest taper glowed upon in the stone floor. Then-and not till then-she set up a cry of bac agony that should have melted into pity the tea very walls that hemmed her in. It seemed as Bu if her sobs would rend her bosom, so deep, so hav passionate were they. And her lamentations Iall her ejaculations of sorrow,-what could possibly ion have been more touching? d t. ', In this place she remained, alone and weep-- Tour ing,' until the hour of even. Then the door !" suddenly swung open, and a strange man, ac- she. companied by the priest, stood before her terri- fied vision. The latter, in as few and curt words fair as possible, informed her she was to follow him. the "Whither? O, where?" asked she, holding up her hands, supplicatingly. the "No words, child," coldly answered the priest. "Follow on!" ild They led the way before her, and, with almost a bursting heart, she followed on behind them. Ia- Through dark and damp passages they went, only the feeble glimmer from the taper lighting up the cavernous darkness. So feeble and faint se- was it, that it seemed as if the black walls must he have crushed its very life out, as it passed be- id tween them. s- Then they brought 'her to a flight of stone 'or steps, to reach which they had been obliged to lp make a journey through circuitous passages. Down these steps they plodded, slowly and silently. tr "Where could they be going? What can n they want of me?" were questions that the r heart-sick Esmerelda asked herself many times i during their walk. Arrived at the foot of these steps, they pushed y along but a little way further, and opened a a door. There appeared to be several other doors of similar construction, sunk into the massive l walls. As soon as the terrified girl was brought before the opening, her eyes took in at once the awful prospect before her. But no time for hesitation was allowed her. She kad scarce a moment in which to survey the dimensions of the cabined apartment. -Instantly, the priest bade her go in, and a taper was placed in her hand, which the attendant had hastily lighted. She went in slowly, turning her head back supplicatingly to Father Paolo, while large tears welled up into her clear, speaking eyes. But no attitudes nor looks of supplication could have done any ghod there. His heart was as callous as steel to such. overtures. His profes- sion had long ago made him familiar with such deeply trying scenes. And "so great was Esmerelda's fear of the priest, that she dared not utter a syllable. His very look forbade it as completely as any far- ther words from his lips would have done. She broke forth into weeping, and paced mournfully to the other side of her cell. At once the heavy iron door fell back into its place, a large bolt was slid into a socket, and she faintly heard the receding footsteps of the priest and his attendant. She was alone. O, the fierceness, the wildness, of the tumult that raged in her bosom at that moment! It was as if a huge and heavy weight had been laid down upon her breast, and there locked for- ever! What burning thoughts flashed through her brain! What desperation seized sudden hold upon her! What undying energies, all wild and unnatural, too, broke forth into life within her, even as fresh fires break forth from slumbering, smouldering ashes! She groped by the light of her taper, through the compressed apartment. It was all dark, and damp, and repulsive to her. There was a bed ef coarse straw strewn in one corner of the cell, and a table, on which was placed a small amount of plain food, with water, stood in the other. A low stool was standing near it. The floor was of wood, rough and unclean. Her little feet. almost purpled with the shock of cold it gave out. She went frantically about ; the cell, the taper in her hand, to make a close 3 examination of the walls of solid stone. As if * she might move them from their secure founda- tions, she placed her delicate white hand against them as she walked along, and pushed with all her might. Poor, poor girl! As well might she have undertaken to stir the great building itself, all of massive stone as it was, from its foundations! She called several times aloud. She called on the name of Francizeo. She begged himn that he would come and save her from her liv- ing death. She implored hilm, as hoe really loved her, to come and take her from this awful confinement. Then she rested her eyes on the walls again, inl a gaze of wild despair, her countenance wrought into the fiercest and most agonizing ex- pressions. These walls were even then sweating out their cold, clammy drops, just as the snowy forehead of the poor girl was exuding the great drops of perspiration. They sent a chill to her very heart. They looked to her already like the prognostic damps of death itself. She seated herself on the stool, rested her elbow on the table, and laid her forehead in her hand. Then she gave free vent to the re- flections that chmned so rapidly through her mind. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] CHAPTER XI. FRANCIZCO'S UNEXPECTED DISAPPOINTMENT. Had I but died an hour before -this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality; All is but toys; renown and grace is dead The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. MACBETH. Ji ^HE maid is fair,-exceeding fair," said Francizco to his father. "Yet what of her birth?" asked he. "Of that I know nothing. Yet she betrays nothing so much as refined breeding, and her heart is so pure, too,-O, I know you will love her as soon as I bring her into your presence! I know you cannot help it, father!" , "But where did you say she was at this time, my son?" ^ "In the cot of old Marmaline, a retired old nurse, who lives on the back of yonder hill. Say that I may bring her into your presence, father! Do but assure me that you will try to love her, for my sake!" "I know nothing of her, my son," replied the proud duke, " save what you have told me. I am as grateful to her as any one can be, for having done all that lay- in her power to pro- serve your wasting life. Yet gratitude is not love, my son. Have- you not mistaken- the two sentiments?" "If I know my own heart, father, I am well assured that I love this girl. I loved her from the first time I ever saw her. I shall always love her. My happiness will never be complete until I may call her all mine own. Call you that love, father?" ," Enough; you may bring her here!" "A thousand, thousand thanks, father, that your mind is not too trammelled with prejudices to consent to see this poor angel! I will bring her here at once!" And he hastily left the apartment. "The boy is crazy!" muttered the duke, as soon as he had gone, while he commenced pacing the lofty room impatiently. "Yet it were far better, methinks, to humor him a trifle in the matter. He may be cured of his passion in that way best. I have higher hopes for him than this. He can wed whom he may. He need not wed a poor girl only to prove to her his un- dying gratitude!" At that very hour, Lady Tortesa was holding a private meeting with Father Paolo. "She is in safe hands," replied the wily priest. "I do not doubt it, father," said Tortesa, "if she is in yours." She held out to him a long purse, through whose*silken meshes gleamed pieces of gold. "Take it, father! Take it!" she urged. "Yet as no price of iniquity," said he, en- deavoring to acquit his conscience before her. "No-no!" "But only as an. offering at this altar," added the Jesuit. "Yes, father, only as a consecrated gift," said Toresa. The ag\cious old priest stretched out his hand and gr'wed the bag of coins. It felt to his palm like a thousand new joys to his heart. His religion was according to no rule so strictly as that of avarice. "How long can she be kept from the light?" asked Tortesa, in a whisper. "Forever!" answered 'the priest, pressing her still extended hand. The proud girl shuddered, and became sud- denly pale and dizzy. "But the earth keeps all its own secrets," added Father Paolo, seeking to encourage her spirits. "She will never come forth again!" "Yet let there be no violence!" implored Tortesa, whose small glimpses of natural affec- tion began to exhibit themselves. " There will be none; there is no need of it," calmly answered the priest. "Silence will soon do its own work for her. Would you know more?" The Lady Tortesa asked for his blessing, which he gave her, and she passed from his presence. * *. * * * * But a very brief time had elapsed after Fran- oizco had left the duke to go in search of Esme- relda, when he again returned into his presence. This time he was alone, as before. He was much heated with rapid running and walking, and his heart was boiling over with rage and disappointment. "She is not to be found, father! Not to be found!" "What mean you, my son?" demanded his father, quite as much surprised with the inform- ation as with the wild appearance of his son. "Esmerelda has gone from home, and has not yet been heard from!" said Francisco, his eyes flashing with their fiercest expressions. "She has deserted you, my son!" replied his father, hoping to make him forgot all about ' the girl. "No, never I never would she do that!" "How do you know? You have no proof of her conduct in her rank. Why might you not expect different things of her from what you would naturally look for in the conduct of those above her? You have flattered her too highly, my son, and this is what comes of it." "No, father, you can never persuade me that she is false!-that she would without rea- son betray or deceive me!" "But why put yourself, then, so much at her mercy as you seem to have done? Why trust her with so much of your own heart's wealth?" "My father!" exclaimed the young man. "Well." "Have you ever loved?" "You ask a silly question, truly. Have I yet forgotten, think you, the memory of your dead mother?" "Forgive me, father; then you must know with what a feeling my soul has yearned to. wards this fair girl!" The duke became suddenly sober. " I adore her because I cannot help it! She is the one fond image that had' lived in all my dreams for years before I ever saw herb andbe- fore I ever knew that such an one as she existed in any but a form of my fancy. Not gratitude alone do I entertain towards her. It is some- thing deeper, more passionate, more warm, more lasting than that. It is love; and I fear not to avow it!" "But could you learn nothing from this wo- man as to where the girl could be?" "Not a syllable." "What does she say about it?" page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] "She is in the deepest distress. She is in- consolable in her grief. Yesterday, towards even,-so she says,-Esmerelda left the cottage for Ravenna. She told her that she was only going for an evening walk, and that is the last that she has seen of her." "There is something very mysterious in this,' said the duke. "There certainly is, something very myste- rious," responded Francizeco. "No one has seen the girl; no one knows aught concerning her. Can she have got lost? Can she have been inveigled into wicked dens, poor innocent, of whose character she would know nothing?" "Yet she may return to-night," urged the duke. - "Then why should she stay away so long as she has? Where can she have been gone one single night, even? O, it cannot, it cannot be, that I am thus to lose the life of my soul, and all-for nothing!-for I know not what! Forbid it, Heaven! Grant me yet one more interview with her, though it should be my last." "Keep up courage, my son," now encouraged the duke, seeing to what a frenzy Francizco was driven by the contemplation of his incon- solable loss. The- father's old feelings were rejuvenated. L- In his mind, he lived over again the blessed s hours of his own love. His heart was sorely e touched, and his sympathies asserted their F strength again as in days gone by. t The young man was conscious that a new thought flashed-across him. What it was, he told not. He suddenly clapped his right palm to his forehead, and mut- - tered something to himself aloudl "Impossible! impossible! Yet it may all be but too true!" his father readily distinguished, among his many exclamations. He left the room as if he had been struck with a panic. In another half hour,-it could not have been -as long afterwards as that,-he had seated him- self at the door of Marmaline, and was rumina- ting upon the chances of recovering his lost betrothed. His head was sunken upon his breast, and his eyes were on the floor. He was in an agony of grief, and but a feather's breath would have driven him to any deed of desperation. A footfall was heard upon the sill. It was light, and the figure that entered threw a shadow over the whole room. Francizco looked up mechanically. It was Lady Tortesa! His face grew suddenly livid with excitement. CHAPTER XlI. MEETING OF FRANCIZCO AND TORTESA. Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; If all else fail, myself have power to die I ROMEO AND JULIET. 'RANCIZCO hardly knew how to corn X mence even the most timid conversatiol with Tortesa, so broken was his spirit with grief Yet when he saw with what light-hearted grace she saluted him, and what sunniest smiles wreathed her lips as sh. addresEed him, he could no longer refuse to yield temporarily to her sociability. "A long walk I have had here, signor," said Lady Tortesa. "Indeed, this is an extremely difficult hill to climb at all times; but more par- ticularly when one is already tired," "It certainly is," mechanically responded Prancizco. "Do you know Marmaline?" con- tinued he, looking about him, to be sure that the woian was not in the room. "Know her? I have for years, signor! At least, ever since I was old enough to know what pleasure there was in coming here to have my fortune told." "Then sjie tells fortunes?" asked Francizco, surprisedly. "She has often told mine; I know not what she has done for others. She is, in truth, a very honest soothsayer, too." "Have you been here lately?" asked he. "Not for many weeks." "And imay I ask if you always come alone?" "No, Lucille often accompanies me ; but I s have left her behind to-day." The recollection of the disclosure Cesare made to him respecting Tortesa, came vividly before him; when he instantly softened his look towards [ her, and asked her, almost with a smile upon his countenance, whether slhe had ever seen a young maiden living here with Marmaline. Tortesa at a glance saw through the whole [ object of his interrogatory, and her face burned * with delight at( thinking of the whole secret of ; which she was possessed. She knew of such a girl as Esmerelda. She knew just where she ; was at that moment. She knew that she was then wholly within her power. As might be expected, she replied to Fran- cizeco, that she knew not of such a person as she to whom he made allusion. But his question page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] was nothing less than an open confession to her from him, of his regard for the girl. hier heart burned again with its jealous fires She gave birth to a resolution, at that very mo- ment, too, that Francisco should never see the maid again, come what might. Even if he would not listen to her own overtures, still he should not be indulged with the enjoyment of his own voluntary choice. Ere long they started to go, Tortesa leadin the way, andre questing the attendance of Fran- cizco down the hill on the way home. The lat. ter stopped long enough to exchange a few words with Marmaline, and then followed briskly after All along their course, Tortesa was more than ordinarily talkative with Francizco. She alluded to his recent rencontre with robbers, and con- gratulated him most heartily on his safe return to his home and friends again. She even made advances towards him, in the way of confessing her heart's preference, that a more refined mind would have shuddered at. But he appeared to take no heed of them. Yet he saw through her design, as through a film of gauze. As they walhed on, Francizco suddenly turned a her questions upon her, and asked her if she a ever knew a Florentine by the name of Cesare. "O yes," replied she, thinking, perhaps, that he was about to acquaint her with the news of h his having put him forever out of her way. "He's an odious creature! He is often on his t knees, suing for my hand. But I tell him I h have given my love to another." She turned her head partially round to Fran- s cizco, as she spoke. f Francizco preserved his calmness, and said: "I have seen Cesare lately." I "Have you, indeed, signor!" exclaimed La. P dy Tortesa. "And what had he to say of me? re All about his conquests and his successes, I sup- s pose he talked?" "Not a bit of it, signora." "Well, what then?" "He did have much to say of you," said wl Francizco. "And pray what was it?" J "ie disclosed a conspiracy." ir Tortesa turned ashy pale, while Francizco coldly looked in her face. s. "Then he has told-" she was about to ex- o- claim something which was never heard. e "He has confessed to me, Lady Tortesa, that e it was your wish that he do you some special e favor, by which he might prove his love. He f said-that he bound himself by his promise to do whatever you requested." g "The knave!" muttered the 'beautiful To,- - tesa, between her clenched teeth. r "He told me further, that you requested him s to play the part of the lover to this girl, who has been living with Marmaline, and to confront me with transcending my rights, and the bounds of i propriety, in visiting her." "But that is false!-allfalse!" cried she, in an outhurst of rage. "God grant it may be! He did thus con- fi'ont me, as you ordered him." "As I did never order him!" interrupted she, passionately. "He forbade my ever going to see the girl again. I asked him by what authority he thus addressed me, and he answered me, 'by his own; by the right of a lover.' I denied that he was her lover, or that she so much as knew him. We agreed to fight it out." Tolrtesa's eyes at this moment were fixed upon the countenance of Francizco. She could hardly have expressed her hope more plainly, even in words, that Cesare had fallen at his hands, than she did by that settled and fierce look. It was full of the direst revenge. "We went to the brow of a distant precipice. Instead of making a resort to weapons, I pro- posed to him that'the fealty of each for Esme- relda-for that is this fair maiden's name-- should be put to the test in another way. It would be the more truthful a test. . "I took a coin from my pocket, and, holding it between my thumb and finger, I said that if, when it fell, the head should be down, he should jump from the precipice." "Merciful heavens!" shrieked Tortesa, hold- ing up both hands. "But that if the head should be up, I should make the plunge." "And you risked all that?" asked she, seiz- ing his arm passionately. "I did." "And would you have jumped, if the lot had fallen to you?" "I should not, at least, have been faithless to my promise!" answered he, with a disdainful curl of his lip. "And the coin! the coin!" "It fell and rolled a distance, and then fell over upon its face. Heads were down. It was Uesare's fate to jump,' "And Ihave thus been the thoughtless means of his sacrificing his life! Gracious heavens!" "Hear me through, Lady Tortesa. You would have been the cause of his death but for one thing." , Not until Fr'anesco had thus repeated her impulsive confession, syllable by syllable, did she fully understand the manner in which she had so carelessly committed herself. Her face flushed instantly with the deepest crimson, and then it was as quickly turned pale with rage. "I saw he was resolutely bent on making the fearful plunge, like a man of courage, true as steel to his word. I spoke to him earnestly. I 'asked him if ho still continued to love Esmerel- da. As he was so soon to die, he said he had no object in concealing all from me. He con- fessed that he never so much as knew Esme- relda, but that he was obedient only to your will! I grasped his band with all the warmth of my feelings, and bade him refrain from mak- ing that fatal plunge. I voluntarily forgave- him all, and we instantly became the best of friends. How strangely did it happen!" Tortesa's countenance was a strange map of i stranger expressions. What must have been her feelings at that moment, no one can tell. "So you see, Tortesa, Cesare is not yet dead; but he is the same as dead to you for all hereafter." "Amen! say I to that," broke forth from her tremulous voice. 'I' "You will hardly expect to see him again.". "I cannot desire it!" "No, one would hardly think you would. Probably he would shun you as quickly as you would shun him. But I would ask you, Tor- tesa, if you have ever heard of this Esmerelda?" "I shall answer you nothing respecting her," replied she, haughtily. "Then farewell!" said he, with dignity, yet with much severity of manner. The two separated,--Tortesa to enter the sol- itude of her owi apartment, and Francizco to brood over his troubles alone. All the way to her mansion, Tortesa gave utterance to low and suppressed exckmations. Curses were deep in her heart. Curses some- times even sprang from her hasty Italian tongue. Her delicate hand was nearly all the time clenched, and her pearly teeth set tightly together. She reached her apartment and threw by her light scarf and hat without calling in her maid. Shutting the door, she secured it, and gave way to her passions. "The knave The wretch I The foreign villain I To hear his love-sick words to me,- to see his humble attitudes before me,--and now to think of his thus betraying me to Fran- eizco I O, that the cowardly villain were but here this moment, that I might wet this steel with the black blood of his heart 1" and she grasped a small silver-handled stiletto with her hand as she said it. "Fool! Fool I Fool " she continued, her rage growing greater. "Worse than fool I To think/aw of ever wedding this man I He has found meeout ere now. I am no longer the same in'his'eyks. He can see,-nay, he has been told, as if from my own lips,-that I care but for him, and that this plan of mine was only to rid myself of Cesare, and him of this young girl! Now my schemes are all defeated H worse than defeated!-they are all discovered- made plain- laid bare,-and I O God I I am forever disgraced in his eyes! page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] "But what shall be done? Here is my poniard! Here can be placed, within a mo- ment's time, the most deadly drug. I have courage; yes, to die, but not courage to face him again. Then I should die! Yes, if it has at lastecome to this, that Tortesa-the proud, the greatly admired Tortesa-is afraid to see any one, then should she surely die! "But no, no, no! Not so! My passion gets the mastery of me. I am chagrined a little now, but shall soon recover myself again. I am blind just now with rage. Let me reflect a mo- ment. Shall I thus sacrifice-myself for nought? "No! but this will I do; I have this fair young maid of his already in my power! She cannot escape me in any manner. Father Paolo is faithful,--she cannot survive in her dungeon long, at the very longest period. I will hence- forth, then, study only revenge! Yes, REVENGE shall be the aim of my life, Wand Francizeo shall -live to rue the day when he dared my ven- geance!" CHAPTER XIII. SMBRELDA WEARING AWAY.-THE BSERPENT AND THE DOVE. She could not weep and she could not pray, But she wasted and withered from day to day, Till you might have counted each sunken vein When her wrist was prest by the iron chain; And sometimes I thought her large, dark eye Had the glitter of red insanity I L. E. L. TILL alone-alone in her dark, cold cell I Still the sweat dripping from the roof, and trickling slowly down the walls I Still the light of the dim taper, and the scanty meal of bread and water daily I Still the same fearful round of self-destroying thoughts, and the same flow of scalding tears! The same silence-the same deathly, grave-like calm, brooding all around her 1 No fresh air,-no fresh-blowing wind to infuse life and breath into the stifled atmosphere of this subterranean dungeon I This was the life of Esmerelda; or rather, this was the crushing out of the frail existence that still remained to her. For nearly two days subsequently to her be- ing thrust into this cell, she' had tasted no fobd whatever. She had only wetted -her lips with the water, which had grown in that time to be almost tasteless. Again and again she shrieked out at the height 4 of her voice, as if it afforded her mind tempo. rary relief from the insufferable agony that preyed upon her. Her cries were not heard in the adjoining passage. They were not so loud that they could penetrate the door or the wall They struck the roof and the walls with a dull, hollow sound, as clods fall on a coffin freshly et into its grave. Her taper had long been gone out, and an- other had been supplied her; fresh ielays were furnished once in so many hours. She fell on her knees on the cold floor, before the one who brought the taper, and entreated, in burning ao, cents, for her life. She prayed that the heart near her might but this once relent, and aid her in her escape. But the silence that momentarily ensued, was unbroken by any reply. It was prohibited her ever to hear again the sympathetio tones of a hu. man voice. She was completely walled up from life,-as much so as if she were already buri d, She was buried, and, this was her living grav . "O, sir . i, irl " begged ah eof the tt , ant. "If you wil but eay a single word to me, page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] and that word be favorable to my prayer! Money shall be yours I All the gold that you ask shall be laid in your hand! O, if you will but suf- fer me to pass this dungeon door! I smell the breaths of death here now! Let me go-let me go, I entreat you, at once! No harm shall ever reach thy head! Not a single hair of thine shall be injured! O, pity-pity the condition one so young, so ignorant, as I am I I have willingly committed no crime that leads to this awful punishment! I have done nothing to deserve this doom! "Will you, then,-will you let me pass by you and escape? Let me hide anywhere. Put me in darker, and colder, and damper places than this horrid dungeon; nay, cramp my limbs till they be stiff with numbness; only let me have my liberty I O, Francizco! O, Jaco- net! Could you but know how awful this is! " Speak, sir-speak to me at once! Tell 'me that I have put no vain faith in man!" She paused; but no answer reached her ear. The man drew back the heavy door with a sud- den clang, that awoke dull echoes all along the. sub^rranean path, and fell upon the ear of Es- merelda as if it had been the knell of death. )', O God! O mercy! O heavens!" cried shq, as she threw herself; back again upon her stool and looked wildly around the cell. "This is death!---ay, worse than. death! It is living torture; and all this comes upon the innocent head of poor Esmerelda! O, why was I ever born? Why do live? Why did I ever live to behold the face of my dear Francizco, that I might suffer all this for his sake? Wherefore are these walls, and dungeons, and massive doors, and heavy bolts? Why should they all wall me in? What, have' done, what crime reddens my hand-this poor, white hand--with blood, that I should be thus visited with pun- ishment? Would that I coul- have staid in my home cotrb? the' Fide of the sea-! Would that I had never Ifee* Fraicizeo-dear Francizco!-that I must love him so much as to come. away from Ja'oIet i ;And: yet if I had never come, heI would have never had faith in my love. Nay' more, he would most surely have caused Jaco- net to be pursued by officers of justice, and I should then have wished myself dead many times! -- "Come, Jaconet! come, Francizco! Come, come, O my helpers'! O, free me from this cruel, cruel bondage! Open these horrid doors, and let in the free sunlight again! O let the fresh airs blow in here again on my temples, as it once did, night and morning, by the sea- shore, when I was only happy! "O, is my heart breaking? Is my brain burning? Does death ever come to relieve such as I? Is there anything in this dizziness that swims around me, and makes me look steadily before I can tell whether these are stone walls about me? "See my poor hands-how they grow whiter and thinnen every day! See how the big purple veins begin to show themselves, and how lean my poor wrists have grown of a suddenA I can even see my pulses beat! low wildly they flutter,-as if they were all in sympathy with my beating heart and my impetuous thoughts! And I know that my eyes must have grown red and swollen with weeping, too. They feel so strangely to me; and my head all feels so strangely, as if it were twice its common size, and it were all on fire,-all inflamed with the wild workings of my brain! O poor, poor Esmerelda! "Yet I can die I No one can help that. But to die thus! O what a wrong! "No, I would live! I would live for dear Francizco and for Jaconet! I would live to tear off the mask from those who have cruelly con- fined me here, and to look them fiercely in their faces before I die! I must live,-I cannot die I "What will Franeizco think? What will 'he say. He: has missed me long ere this. What must be his feelings? Can,'he-O cruel- 'fate--can he think that I have requited all his love by falsely deserting him? Can he believe tht ,I would be so faithless to my vows, to my 'own self-so entirely false to every duty-as to flee frdm the embraces of-hislove?- O no---to I Heaven forbid-forbid it!" Such were' her melancholy wailings from days to 4ay -Regularly, once each day, food and water were brought to her, and passed in at the open door; and each' time that the messengei came with them, she would begin her tearful prayers' to him for relief. She appealed to his pity, and asked him if he had a heart that would see one so innocent as she suffer so cruelly. She asked him if he had a mother, and whether he could live an hour, to know and to feel thut that mother's heart was being broken by his long ab- sence. She dropped again and again on her knees on the,cold floor, and with upturned hands supplicated him to make her only a single word in answer. Even if he would not release her, even if he felt no pity for her sufferings, still she craved but the favor of hearing him speak a sin. gle word. But the attendant's education had taught him nothing but-obedience. Sympathy had-been no part of it. He had been schooled to bear such sights of wo, without betraying the slightest com- miseration for it. So he made to all the frenzied girl's appeals no answer. Only the echoes of her soft voice broke just without the thick-ribbed door of the dungeon. Then she would resume her seat, after the door had been closed upon her, and be for a time occupied in deep thought. As if, however, her excited feelings had full control of her body, she would in an instant jump to the floor again, and pace frantically her narrow confines. While she continued in this state of frenzy, her eyes would roll wildly about her cell, and then turn, in an' agony of supplication, towards heaven. Alas! alas! Heaven seemed a great ways off, to her short vision!' It was the stones, the great walls and the massive buildings above her, that 1 made her very heart feel as if there lay a crush- I ing weight upon it. She sat and dallied with her golden hair, and childishly wondered how long it would be before l her Sorrow would blanch it all out as white as' 1 snow, And her fair arms seemed like ivory, all bestewn with the tresses that escaped &heir a wonted confinement. -She would wonder, too, how long it had been 1 s ince she had left' the house f- Marmai n4, it I how long since she had seen Franid" 'A': .. a she wondered if Francizeo would :eveir indut I that she had.' been thus thrust unmde the girs I into a deep dungeon, even if she ,ould i 4-t see him again. ' .. , . Then the thought that she by some poixalt' might regain her liberty and live to look on the face of her dear lover, awakened all her frantie feelings again. All her gentle sadness disat. peared before it, as a hoar-frost before a burning sun. She became instantly a new creature ; ; and it seemed as if her energies were all suddenly recuperated. Sadder and sadder grew she, however, with the passage of each long day. No hopes, how- ever buoyant naturally, could long live in such a dark atmosphere. Hers were becoming more and more lifeless daily. The light was going out slowly in her eye. The rose had fast beerfaJd ing from her beautiful cheeks. Pallor-2the flag of death itdelf-was beginning to steal over her once scarlet lips, and to wave its mournful folds over her broad forehead. The. latter beGa to look deathly already. Her flesh was wasting from her boine. Hev fingers were thinner than the veiiest shadows; and her weight seemed aa nothing; upn her del- icate feet. Yet she tottered as she walked" across her cell. Could it have been Ae wid qA*, and that so very much slighter? Or waU it O weakness? O, it' was pitiful, pitiful indeed, to wae!h't"M way of this young girl down to dedti' ,'lt. I held out much longer, she miuG ine*lW Lt . , come insane. Her eye' had,' a$s W ld Wt-t- wonted lustre; but as 'her face grW pilOr id1' thinner, an-d her forehead became weliki'bbfl marble, or spotless. ivory; therl wtwa 'lt4' gradually stealing-stesling.: overtaj;yb? augured everything but- loveliness; nid lai' health. It was the refleeted Iow of i',^u' heat,tat was burning itwwayrfdrsotiyiras' * mornelessly into her brain.. Itl wad lie O +l#,f a spirit that. wa evety day growing it* :' more unearthly. Thisulr was no natl^ X lustre. It was lurid and forbidding. Yet i page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] w all a gleam that attracted one by its very m9lancholy look. JhOg. days were going sadly on their silent rond, and-. lamerelda was going slowly on to her doom. She thought she could see her own failure herself, and she indulged in mournful solioquies upon the fate that had so remorse-, lessly consumed her. It was as if she had been laid away in her own coffin, there to study closely the fearful gradations to her final end. Was ever cruelty so cruel? Was ever bar -barism so refined? And this was the spirit of Jesuitism itself I CHAPTER XIV. THE FEARFUL MASK. There is none but he Whose being I do fear, and under himn My genius is rebuked. ' Thou canst not say I did it never shake Thy gray locks at me I MACBETH. "Ravenna was in the midst of revelry. By order of the duke himself, there was to he celebrated a grand masquerade. The streets of the city were alive with people, eter after their peculiar amusement. Throngs passed in procession, now halting beneath bal- conied windows, and now pressing forward to sonoP point of attraction beyond. Men and wo- meln, proud dames and delicate girls, walked seoUrely behind their masks, throwing kisses upon the wind to their imaginary lovers, peer- ing coldly and roguishly into the faces of those they met, and making friends with those they hadnever so much as known before. iem were gay scarfs, of purple, and scarlet, and right crimson, and orange, fluttering in the wind, and gaily-dressed cavaliers chasing on after them, in the moving throngs of the city. Stot W arohed, or rode slowly, in the midst of banners, and trailing streamers, and brightly wavng gonfalon, some wore the most dainty of tunics, with silken vests of scarlet and white 'eta4h. Some threw bon-mots at the laughing ladies, and received therefor a sight of rows of pearly teeth, and an air-wafted kiss in return. Some chatted; some sang snatches of popular songs; and others, the stanzas of the musty old ballads of tradition, which still possessed power to stir a new life in the heart. . The air was full of music and merry voices. Never was the sun so brilliant and so golden before. Never seemed it to shine with such splendor on imposing cortege before. It fell on many a castle wall upon the -distant hills, and gilded with a sublime halo many a gloomy con- vent near the city. But it was upon the city itself that it shed a beauty that was indescriba- ble. Dome, and turret, and spire,-balcony, and roof, and facade,-statue, and fountain, and tree,-all were bathed in its sheen. Waters looked like sparkling silver, breaking breath- lessly from the jet of the marble fountains. Leaves seemed the greenest emerald, tinkling and clattering against the long shoots, and let- ting through the sunlight upon the chequered ground beneath. Never was an air more balmy, than on that glorious morn. Never had atmosphere such power t give new life to dull souls, and awaken to joy spirits that had been long asleep. And the streets!-they looked a perfect tor- rent of life; now obstructed with its own flood, now pouring on in one continuous roll. The people had brought their richest and most gaudy tapestries from old and darkened chests, that had been heir-looms for centuries. These they streamed out from their windows, all deco- rated as they were, with the most beautiful de. vices and representations. They made the streets look like some fairy palace passages, and con- jured up the brightest dreams in the imaginations of the beholders. And then there were bright faces,-brighter than all figures wrought on i rich tapestries,-radiant with smiles, wreathed with the soul's sunshine, and expressive of the purest joy! How they were piled and crowded i one above the other, as if afraid some part of the I pageantry should go unobserved by their eyes c How bright were the glances!--how snowy the l foreheads!-how dark the luxuriant hair, hang- n ing about the white brows, like dark clouds t about the brightness of the morning! The cavalcade passed on, cymbals rattling, tl tambourines thrumming, drums thumping, horns a playing, voices singing, and laughter rising clear a above all on the air. Dominoes were sedulously te passing to and from different doorways, giving in glances of the closest scrutiny to any one they chose. 'fr And their dresses-they were all so brilliant, d and attractive, and imposing! Silks of all as shades, and figures imprinted thereon! Silks a of green, and purple, and orange, and blue, and un white, and lemon; all imaginable shades were ies dancing. and glancing in the sun, giving the ac streets the appearance of a gay theatre. ent And locks of silken softness, and of golden, and raven, and auburn hue, were showered cia plentifully over their fair shoulders, flowing at to random behind the passing lady, or lightly wav- Es ing in the scarcely moving wind. Fans, with e hghly variegated ornaments,; and painted with fibr figures'impersonating the loveliest and tenderest sentiments, fluttered to and fro, screening theda ruby lips on whose sweetuess so many passion- ate glances were bent. mo And this the whole day through! This in I exa or- the streets of Ravenna from morn till eve.!s Ad, intermingling of persons of all ranks, and ages, and occupations,.-this grand eirnival,-thl ost bewildering vision, more unreal to the eye than Ats, a dream to the mind,-all this was kept iup Bse throughout the entire day. And when the gor co- geous purple clouds in the west had all faded le- away, and long after the bright scarlet, and deep ets cnmson, and dazzling gold, and pure pearl of n- their wings had melted into the dusky shadows ns of even,-the high revellers assembled within ht gaily-decked walls, and kept up their festiviti ,n with inspiriting old wines, and most enehanting ad music. e They had all assembled within the largest hall I, in the town, and it was long past even. e e lights flashed on beauty, and grace, and rank, ! combined. Sober dominoes were moving to tie e light strains of the music, in the most actle - moods, their temporary screens but ill toncealing s the levity that would break forth from beneath. Smallest feet were twinkling in the mazes Of , the giddy dance, and many a gay eavaliep, s across whose shoulder some fair lady had flung r a brilliant scarf, was then for the first time pro. r, testing his love to a pair of eyes that held him in complete bewilderment. The music inspirited all. The wine paseA freely. The lights were daling, lending ad- ditional charms even to beauty itself. An aromaw as of nepenthe, floated through the halls, driving away anxiety, assuaging mental pain, soothing unquiet spirits, healing bitter, burning jealtius ies, and drying up rolling tears. All felt all ,acknowledged freely its fragrance and soret enthrallment. . 4 A gay doming advanced to thb side of Fra. cizco,-for Francizeo was there, partially hoping to make some accidental discovery of his loc Esmerelda, and partially trying to drive away the grief that ate like a canker worm at the fibres of his heart. , Her eyes were black as jet, and her hmir ma dark as the wing of a raven, and quite as gloosy. She possessed an exceedingly fine figure, whoe motions she was anxious to make scrupulouslj exact with grace and fascinating ease. page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] Over her shoulders she wore a scarlet tunic bouind with a glittering baldric about the waist sand flowing in many graceful folds. A light vest of hite silk was underneath, studded with a row, of beautiful brilliants, and all contrasting most elegantly with the outer garment of bright /s earlet. '.Her hair was gathered in masses about the -thwk of her head, fastened with a golden cord - into a careless knot, and then suffered to escape freely over her round, swelling shoulders. Half her plump, fair arm was bared, whose ivory-like skin was banded and clasped with armlets the most dazzling and costly charac er. pTpn her beautiful hands she wore spotless gloves of soft kid, which reached far above her wrist, and were secUred on the tapering arm with acings of silver. From the ends of these de- lended tassels of the same material, drawn into shining threads as fine as the finest silk. - heo stood by the side of Francizeo, and laid ,her gloved hand softly upon his arm. Then moe crossed her other palm upon the wrist of ;this hand, and gazed fascinatingly-into the face of the young man. oVpr a moment nothing was spoken by either. " You are in love, signor!" at length spake the fair unknown. "t How know you that?" he mildly returned, Mooking steadfastly into her eyes. 4 Can you ead the heart's mysteries, then?" "I can read what thy face tells me, as I can read the pages of a printed book; and I say thou art in love I Confess, signor, is it not so?" He was obliged to relax his features into a smile; but it was not a smile of pleasure. It , was far too ghastly for that. "t have guessed it, then!" said she, tri- St tmphantly. " 1 knew I could not be mistaken!"I "You havu guessed it, fair one," replied Praneizoo. "Such sagacious eyes as you have e in your head, ought at least to be rewarded for t their fidelity by a candid confession of the truth. y I have made it." te "But you are sad, signor?" pursued the mask. 1 ic, . "All are sad, who are in love," replied st, Francizco, endeavoring to trifle with her words. ht "Yet why should you be sad at such a time ith as this, signor? Is there not everything here ng to make-one's spirits dance as gaily as the feet ht that twinkle on yon floor'?" "What if there be ten thousand happy ones he around me all the time, to tell me how much ra joy there could be compressed into an hour, yea, pe but a single hour of this existence,-yet should "f I be sad." e "You say you are in love?" asked the mask. "Francizeo bowed'an affirmative reply. "Yet it makes you feel sadder than if your ss heart had never been touched." or "I confess that it has that power," replied ,h Francizco. e- "Now what strange talk is this, signor. bo How perfectly inconsistent, too. To be joyous with love, yet only the sadder, because you are d in love. Then joy brings sadness, does it n signor?" "f I should not wish to deny that it does, if I e know my own heart as I think I do," said Francizco. "How do you explain it then?" asked the mask, in a soft, lute-like tone that thrilled him. She leant her head nearer to his shoulder, ' and clasped her delicate hands around his arm, as if she would gain his fullest confidence. "I explain it simply by referring to a well- known truth," said Francizeo. "What one?" inquired the mask. "That all our joys are but copartners to our griefs, throughout our whole existence. We may not plume ourselves upon our good fortunes, because the bad may be close at hand. No sun- shine, fair one, but what has its shadow. Shadows are only seen in the sunshine." " You speak truly enough," answered she, evidently more interested in his conversation than she was herself really aware. "In faith, you are quite a philosopher," added she, ban- teringly. "Now let me ask. you, and I shall think you will truly tell me,-where is your lovely lady? She is gone, is she not?" Franeizco started. "She is absent, I say?" repeated the mask. 4 Yes," mechanically answered he. "And that is why you are so sad." "I do not deny it." "Better not. But are there no eyes in all these gay halls, that will pierce as quick as hers? None that will pierce so deeply?" "No, none." "Really, you are not at all disposed toflat- tery, I see; but is there no person here, who can- revive your drooping spirits even mo- mentarily?" 4"I know of none," said Francizco. "Why may not I try it?" insinuatingly breathed the mask, clinging and clasping more closely to his arm. Franeizco was silent. Yet he could not re- move his eyes from the dazzling orb of his un- known partner. He drank in beauty, too, from the very sight of her ruby lips. "Conime, go with me," said the mask. "Where?"Francizco had sufficient resolu- 1 tion to ask. "Where? O, up and down these halls; over f all these apartments. Let us listen to the mu- sic, and gaze on the movements of the dancers' feet. We will watch the effect of the lights on t different figures. We will listen to snatches of love confessions, and give ourselves up to enjoy- ment entirely. Come, this gloominess shall pass away. We will have no more of it in a place like this.?'fi She slid her hand within his arm, almost be- c fore he felt it there, and made a movement to walk on. Instinctively he obeyed her hint, and h the two sauntered away as leisurely, and, appa- tk rently, as happily as if they had long been friends. B Each was occupied momentarily with their own thoughts. The fair doming at length, however, proposed that they should go to a corner of the farther th room, where she would take some wine; for, k she said, her nerves were sadly out of harmony, it and she required to have her spirits stimulated re a trifle. W Francizeoe gallantly acceded to her propos, k. leading her awayto the spotshe had designated He handed her to aseat, and called for some wine. It was instantly brought in tm suilr goblets, on a salver of the sone material. f Franeisco pledged the Uhealth of his unshit nm friend on his arm, and rauled his cup to hil lip The doming did the samne. "And now," said Francisoo, 'hi spirit seem. t ing to alternate between joy and oadnee, "I o drink the health, safety, And happines of the absent one." The mask asked to what name she should drink. "Esmeralda," said he, while s deep flush played over his excessively pale forehead. The doming inclined her head gracefidly, and drank somewhat deeply from her cup to the health, safety, and happiness of the absent one. They chatted gaily awhile on a variety of sub- jects, the mask all the time studying every ex,. pression of the young man's countenance, and critically picking in pieces the remarks that fell from his lips. "Try this wine, signor," said she, handing him her own goblet across the marble surface of the table. " Is it better, think you, than mine?" asked Francizsco, rather abstractedly. ",No, no," answered the fair unknown; "yet it will be a better proof of our temporary friendship, if we do but consent to the inter- change of such civilities." " Then here is my cup; but yours is nearly half full, while mine has but a few swallows in the bottom of it." "So much the more compressed will be its sweetness, then," naively replied the lady. "Upon my word, you flatter me," returned Francizco. And in return for such a compliment from those most charming of lips, he raised his un- known partner's cup to his mouth, and drained it at a single draught. She likewise 'drak what remained in the cup which she reeeim'd of him. For some time they tontinued their socia page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] bility over the table that stood between them. The lady's tongue was spiced with the pleasant- et bon mots, and her ingenious repartees were distinguihed for nothing so much as their per- feet good humor.. Francizoon began to feel strange sensa- tiops, however, about his head. His, brain be- gan toswim; his eyealooked glaring and glassy; and his hand shook with tremor, as with a sud- den shook of palsy. The mask noticed his peculiar looks, and said: You are not well, signor." ' Only a momentaq diiness," replied he. "It will soon pass off" Then a thousand dim and indistinct figures began to whirl, and. to dance, to leap, and to fly in his eye, a" if all the world were doing noth- but dancing before him. His flesh quivered as if he were in fearful - convulsions. His eyes seemed straining them- e selves out of their sockets. His hands began - now to spread themselves out in all directions, and his bloodless lips moved as if he would - articulate. "Signor? signor!" exclaimed the mask. He seemed in spasms, rolling his eyes fear- fully in his head. He could not answer her. "Here, let me call help! You are fainting I! You are in a fit!" cried she, rising and moving off among the crowd of strangers in the adjoin- ing hall. She disappeared in their midst, muttering to herself as she moved away: "Now is my revenge complete! I shall no more fear him." The mask was the proud and vengeful lady Tortes. CHAPTER XV. A GhOST IN PURSUIT OF ROBDIISS. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and immortal sleep! ROMEl AND JULIET. ,N the self-same night with the masquerade, a couple of sturdy fellows, with bronzed countenances upturned to the full, round moon, were paddling with muffled oars in the small bay, or inlet, that washed the rear grounds of the church of Ravenna. Their looks were anxious, and dark scowls occasionally passed across their brows. Now they peered closely and serutinizingly among the dark and glossy leaves that sheltered the bank, and now they strained their gaze in the direction whence they came. There was no sound near them-not a lisp of human lips. Nota footfall startled them. The very leaves lay breathlessly still upon the branches of the limes, carefully seeking to shut out the shimmer of the moon from the hard walks they so closely concealed. There was not a gust of air-yet all was cool and calm as man could have wished. "Ha, Pedro!" exclaimed one of the men to the other; "put in your bows now to the strand! It's all safe for us at this hour. No one is abroad. All the citizens are busy with , the masquerade. The very owls have grown 1 drowsy, and refuse to keep their vigils. Come, Pedro! Now for the shore." "Have you the key to fit the door of the F vault?" asked his companion, Pedro. "Yes, it is safe here in this pocket," ieplied Gonzalvo. "Then let us leap to the shore at this point, and draw our skiff close under the cover of these leaves." A single motion of the oar turned the prow in the direction desired, and both men leaped on the beach. They then seized a rope that was fastened to the skiff, and, by this drawing their craft along, soon made it Secure in the deep shade of the underbrush. A few steps brought them to an excavation in the rising ground, into which all kinds of rubbish had been cast for a long time. The page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] embankment around it was ragged in the ex- treme, yet it looked as if it had been broken for very many years. Rocks of considerable size were heaped up about the place, too, adding greatly to the roughness of its appearance. The two men clambered with surprising agility over these rocks, and all this rubbish, and stood upon a broad,. flat stone. Stooping down to clear away the dry sods that lay -upon it, one of then laid hold of an iron ring therein inserted, and lifted the whole stone from its resting-place. They then let themselves down into the cavi- ty thus uncovered, by means of a few stone steps placed there for that purpose, and moved along through a portion of the subterranean passage. When they had entered it a sufficient distance, one of them took a dark lantern from the place of its secretion about him, and proceeded to strike a light with flint and steel. The flame was soon faintly gleaming within the enclosure of thick glass, and, with the exchange of a few words in no louder tone then a whisper, they pushed on. Through a long and oppressed passage-way, t all of it far under the ground,- they went, their 1 light scarcely penetrating the thick bank of I darkness so much as a few feet before them. At length they came to a flight of steps again, damp, cold, and chilling to the feet. These they cautiously ascended, emerging through a e vaulted archway into another passage, much lower and narrower than the one from which t they had just ascended, and running off into X labyrinthine mazes again, of the most perplex- ing character. Round and round all these passages they e kept their way, occasionally stooping as they f passed through an. archway of lower structure 1 than usual, or gazing upward to note some pecu- g liarity in the massy wa lls. AlI were stone; a solid, unyielding, enduring. These were the t stones that smothered the plaintive cries of n feeble, dying women-and laughed to scorn the h, nnpotent yells of strong men, for the first time se hurried into their secrecy and safe keeping. v; They Came to a particular door, at length, in p] :- their wandering, upon the handle of which, r Pedro laid his hand. e It was close locked. g A huge 'iron key was, forthwith produced from his pocket, and fitted snugly into the lock. g He turned it with a strong hand, and bent the , bow. Again he turned-slowly, steadily pressing n with all his power-and the bolt slid back from I the socket. s They pushed open the heavy door, and went in. Casting their eyes around, they discovered s large masses of wealth, of silver and gold, in , the shape of crucifixes, beads, candlesticks, trays, cups, goblets, and all the usual appoint- ments of a church establishment. There were ornaments enough to make two poor men like these, wealthy beyond computation for their lives. All this wealth, too, hoarded in the vaults of a church, where poor men come to make their confessions, and solicit the blessings of the priest who had robbed them! The men felt that it was cruelly unjust that their fate should be what it was, while such un- bounded wealth was piled up before them; and . they looked inquiringly at one another in the dim light of their lantern, as if .the very same thoughts had occurred to each at the same time. The simultaneousness of their reflection seem- ed to determine each instantly what to do. They produced a large sack, or bag, between them, and without a word commenced filling it with such spoils from this repository of church wealth as their fancy, or prudence, led them to select. Many an article, not only of the high- est valum in and of itself, but trebly valuable for its sacred associations, was tossed remorse- lessly into their huge spoil-bag. Silver and gold lay in one promiscuous heap. Crucifixes, amulets, images, and miniature shrines, were all tumbled together. The hand of sacrilege knew no distinction in such matters as these. The hearts of the robbers had never been schooled to set any value upon these dead relies, save the value that the world universally attaches to the precious metals in the gross. As soon as their receptacle was carefully filed even to its wide-yawning mouth with these objects, the men took another hasty survey of the premises, and proceeded to withdraw. In silence they quitted the apartment, shut together the door again, and turned the lock All this was as if it had never been done. No one had been awakened by such an act of plunder; no one had been so much as disturb- ed by their movements. The bag was still not so heavy as but that one of the men could carry it over his shoulders, and Pedro, fancying and calling himself the stoutest of the twain, resolved to take that weighty res- ponsibility upon himself. They passed back again by precisely the same ways they had come-through the same low arch-ways, that left so strange a sense of oppres- siveness upon them-under the same narrow walls, down the same flights of stone steps, and along the same labyrinthine winding. At length they struck their feet upon the floor of the lowest flight of stone steps, when Gonzalvo I whispered to his laden comrade: "Thank heaven I! We are so far safe!" c "And the worst is yet before us!" grunted t Pedro, throwing the heavy sack still higher on f his thoulders. For a long distance through this subterranean r avenue they had gone, Gonzalvo swinging the e light carelessly in his band, and Pedro walking a cautiously before with his load- both for. the purpose of screening the light from the outer opening, and to be the more ready to run in t case of an unexpected pursuit from behind. to Suddenly a sharp and piercing cry burst into their astonished ears, echoing far along the th gloomy cavern. The cries were agonizing and he The two men turned a furtive look over their sn shoulders, for the moment standing as still in ev their tracks as if struck with sudden death. They caught a glimpse of a pallid female figure, rushing headlong upon them, and utter. ing the wildest and most incoherent screams. They were screams full of distress; yet th. dis- tress these two men heard not; they were smit- g ten only with the fear. illy As soon as they could sufficiently recover ese their senses to know where they were, and what r of was the strange plight in which they were, they broke into a fierce race, and scampered away at hut their topmost speed. ek "Hold! HoldI For the sake of the bless- No ed virgin, hold!" cried the voice of the female of behind them, seeming to proceed from far with- rb- in the depths of a cavern. But the frightened robbers had no thought to ne stay their speed. They imagined, too, that the nd figure in pursuit of them was a ghost. It was :st clad in white, and its fitco was of an unearthly s- pallor, while its very dark hair presented a fear- fully wild contrast to all. And it was so slon- ae der, and slight, and looked so like a shadow, w withal I How could it be other than a ghost, ,s- just risen from some one of these hidden sub- w terranean vaults? d They did not stop, however, to discuss the kt natter in their minds. Fully impressed with )f their present belief, they fled away as fast as o lively legs could carry them. They stopped not to throw back the stone over the mouth of the cavern, knowing too well I that such a step would prove an exceedingly a frail precautionary measure against the egress of so ethereal a being as a ghost. Their steps were - winged, and they plunged into the thicket, seat- ed themselves in their light boat, aud pulled far r away, in a quicker thne than it would take to describe even a small part of it. Still the female figure kept on her way, oon- tinuing her cries, and shouting loudly for them to hold until she should come up. Of a sudden she burst into the opening, through which a full, golden moon was pouring her chastest light. O, God I what a change! How freshly smelt that gust of outer air! How dewy is everything! O, what a new lEfe was suddenly born into the soul of the sufferer. She climbed up by the stone steps, and emerged upon the rubbish and stones. Laying hold of the ragged embankment, she climbed up, and threw herself joyfully upon the damp green grass. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] What a refreshing moment was that to both soul and body! The moon shone down never more brilliantly, and it silvered the golden locks and the hag- gard features of poor Esmerelda! But half an hour afterwards, she was thread- ing her way through the gay streets of Ravenna. A man partially intoxicated accosted her, thus arrayed in her wild-looking costume, and stopped to gaze in her face. " By my faith!" exclaimed he, with a stag- ger, and a hiccup, " but I was going to say this was my lovely little maid, Esmerelda!" She drew back in speechless affright, her eyes bent fiercely on his beastly countenance. But he let go his grasp on her arm, and passed along, reeling and rolling with the deep potations of the evening. He was Father Paolo-the crime-stained priest I CHAPTER XVI. THE HEART OP A PROUD WOMAN. And there is silence in that lonely hall Save where the waters of the fountains fall. We have scotched the snake, not killed it: She'll close, and be herself, whilst our poo r malice llemains in danger of her former tooth. MACBETH. A CRY went up through all the gay conm- pany of masqueraders: "Look! Look to Francizco!" Immediately a rush was made towards the place where he still set, and several arms were at once thrust arouud him, to support his sink- ing person. "The dukel Where is the duke?" shout- ed some. "Call the duke! His son is dying!" the cry was instantly taken up. "Nay, where is a surgeon?" called others. And there was great confusion on the moment, all running in different directions, and all ejacu- lating some faint syllables of surprise and fear. The duke was -at once apprized of the danger of his darling son, and hastened to his side. Beholding the fearful situation he was in, he' raised his hands, and uttered the most heart- rending cries. "Help him! For the love of God, help Aim! O, can no one save him! Will no one save him!" "Where is a surgeon?" again called out those who stood around. "O, my son, my son! Francizco 1" said - the frantic duke, , speak to me! Do but speak again to your father-your own father I Fran- cizeo! hear me. It is your father / Do you not know me?" He stooped down, and, taking the trembling * hand of his son, looked wildly in his face. He saw no sign of recognition in those fearfully rolling eyes. Blank desolation was upon them, as a thick film. They were glazed, and expres- sionless; or they but expressed insanity and death. Then he fell to embracing his son, moaning most piteously, and continuing to call loudly upon his name. He still retained his hold upon his hand, which he could readily feel was fast growing cold. "Here's a surgeon!" cried some of those standing around. "Yes, a surgeon-a surgeon!" took up the rest. it And a passage was made by the sudden j swaying of the mass, and forthwith a man of skill in his art was pushed rapidly forward to i the side of the dying youth. In another moment a half dozen pairs of stout i arms, by the physician's command, were placed ' about the almost insensible youth, and he was i borne through the surging multitude to the outer door. There a carriage stood ready to receive them, and father, son, and surgeon, rolled rapid- i ly away to the palace of the duke. But the mirth of the night was gone. Levity no longer sat on the faces of the masqueraders. The lights even seemed to burn with a dimmer flame, as if there were no more need that they should trick out to the best advantage the gay dresses of the now stricken revellers. Where were sounds of laughing voices and strains of enchanting music but a few moments before, was now no sound but a confused buz2 zing of low whispers. Melancholy was as plain- ly perceptible in the voices of the crowd, as it was in their subdued manners, and saddened . countenances. The revels soon ceased, and preparations were i instantly made for returning to the streets again. t Parties dispersed to different quarters, and in. c dividuals momentarily forgot their chivalry and a their former bearing of gallantry. a A single doming stole silently from the outer U door, emerging stealthily into the street. It I was the frail form of a beautiful female. She t was alone and unprotected. Yet she seemed to feel no fear. The tread of her buskined foot s. was as firm and unyielding upon the hard pave- e: ment, as if she were herself a queen, and all n fears and terrors only her subjects, made to is slink away when she approached. u It was the Lady Tortesa. She was hurry- b ing away in as unobserved a manner as possible to her own apartments, again. at At length she entered them. Lucille, her as waiting maid was close at hand, to attend her s8t commands. hi "You may leave me with tmyself for a time, Lucile," spake she, waving her hand in the tn direction of the door. of N o en The maid obeyed in silence. She was not at of all unaccustomed to be thus suddenly banished to from the presence of her mistress. "And this is my revenge 1" muttered she, at to herself, as soon as she was alone, "How ed sweet it is!" as She paused to throw off her mask and gloves. er "And this thin mask-frail, feeble piece of ve paper, as it is-is all that has concealed me I d- All my fell purpose lay under that. A single sweep of his hand-nay, only a slight slash of ;y his glittering knife-blade through those fragile s. lacings-and I should have stood revealed to Or him. How strange I y "4No-no-no I! But he will no more call y me to account for my conduct. The blood of my father's house is far too warm, he should d long ago have known, to brook such insults as s that! No more will he taunt me with my ac- r tions. No more will he fling in my face the - feeling, mawkish, sentimental stuff he calls love, t which he says he bears this vagabond girl of his. I No-no! All this is over I "Yet, if he would have consented to love me, , I could have loved him. My heart was not too proud to acknowledge his superiority, when once he had allowed me mine. I had feeling as well as he. Ay heart was as rightly attuned as his. And if he had but consented to give me the praise that was mine, I should have been anything but backward in telling him all that my heart felt for him. "And there was something noble in him, too I something, that to my eye was so manly, gen- erous, impulsive!-a trait above small mean. nesses, and malicious wrong! All this I know is gone now; I have put the cloud of death upon the whole of his qualities, both good and bad. "But how steadfastly he loved! How truly, and how strong I What would not such a love as that have been worth to me? With what a strength should I have stood forth among all my friends, and they calling me a true, bold, brave, unflinching woman!-the more brave, the More true, because I should have had the assurande of my own husband's love And that ean page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] make any woman strong! Nay, it will crush the first risings of weakness, and supplant them with firmer, deeper grounded materials. "And now that my revenge is all complete- the silly girl forever buried, 'and Francizco just dead with the potion he has drunk, what is to be done next? Come, imagination-come to my heart at this moment,. and conjure up living forms of future happiness for me I Let loose all my thoughts. till they flow as unchecked and free as a swollen river; and- bring before me the scenes of gaiety in which I shall now play my part. "But he was good! O, could I but have earned his love. Yet that is forever past. His sleep is dreamless now, and he will awaken no more to scenes of life and love!" Thus soliloquized the fair, but cruelly re- vengeful Tortesa; now chiding her own heart, that she had dealt so wrongfully with the only one she had once ever hoped to love; and now raving insanely at the indignity which she thought had been offered her. Suddenly the door opened, while she was ex- citedly pacing the room to and fro, and Lucille 1 thrust in a part of her person. "I have told you to leave me undisturbed!" said Tortesa, angrily. "But, mistress," pleaded the maid. "No excuses. Alone! I would be alone!" o replied Tortesa. "I will leave you, my mistress," still ven- tured Lucille, "but I had news of great mo- ment to make your ladyship acquainted with." t "News! What news?" b "O, then you have not heard it! The son H of the duke- -" "I know it all. I know it all!" interrupted r Tortesa. "Why do you bring me such old as news?" "Yet I did not know that it had reached w1 your ears," replied the maid. "Lucille," called Tortesa, as the former was about retreating. br "What, sweet mistress?" - "'Are the streets still full?"' "Al alive, mistresa; and all are talking of W. this sudden and mysterious affair." sh a Will you go for me, then, to the kitchen of em the duke's palace, to-night?" "Most certainly, Lady Tortesa; whatever is - your pleasure, I will attend on't.?' st I' Then seek there your old friend, Nannette, to and inquire how goes it in the palace. to "With Francizoo?" g "Yes; ask whether he is yet dead, and at "what time he died." d "Sweet mistress, Iwill." ie "And come not back, Lucille, till you have y learned all you may. Glean every particular relating to this horrid affair that you can, and e bring all to me!" is "I will, mistress; I will!" replied ti 'o maid. pie Yet hasten what you are able, for my mind is full of fever now. It seems as if my very , head would burst, and my heart would break, to think of this sad tidings! Begone now, Lu- cille." The door of the apartment closed heavily, and the proud Tortesa was again left alone. She kept walking the room as before. None of its gay and costly furniture pleased her heart. The paintings that hung on the walls were all expressionless to her; because, for- sooth, they could not throw into their looks any of that fierce and heated feeling that tossed like hot lava about her heart. She regarded not the statuettes that stood gazing at her as she passed them. Occasion- ally she did lift her fiery eyes to the rich frescoes that were so skilfully designed upon the walls; but it was not to observe, or to admire them. Her eyeballs were seared with too high a heat within, to look thoughtfully upon even the rarest designs of painting or sculpture. The avenues to her heart were not then open to the admission of those soft and dreamy feelings, in which alone choice specimens of art may be en- joyed. "What can detain Lucille so long?" she broke out, ere yet the girl had been gone be- yond a quarter 'of an hour. "Yet he is dead!-yes, dead! No more will his stinging wordSankle like countless daggers, every one of them poisoned, in this heart of mine. No more shall I have the name and the character of that now nameless, because b tried, girl, thrust so insultingly in my face. No, let her sleep in the tomb that has been furnished for her! The friar knows his part too well, that she should ever escape again to breathe the fresh air of our upper day. Let her play with her charms-let her toy and dally with her golden hair-let her glare into the darkness with her beautiful eyes, that will no more reflect those of her deluded lover-let her see her own fading beauty in the damp walls of her living charnel- house-so long as her life holds her? It will not be long, at the most. And while she is wasting away, she may pass her time in count-' ing the beatings of her foolish heart. It will be good occupation for her in her silent dungeon. And she can tell for herself how much lighter she grows every succeeding day, and feel how pleasant it is to sit down and. chat with grim death, long before he makes his final demand! And then, when she is all wasted away, and her breath has become absorbed by the heavy sweatings of the thick walls, let her lie in her grave where she died, until some ruffian hand, years hence, may feel in the dark but the shadow of a skeleton! This is her fate. She should never have opposed me! She will die, in learn- ing that I am Lady Tortesa!" The door opened again, not long after this soliloquy was concluded, and Lucille entered. "Well, what news, girl?" instantly asked Tortesa. "Iie is not dead," replied she, in haste and out of breath. "Francizeo not dead!" repeated the aston- ished beauty after her. ;' No, sweet mistress, but-but--" "But what? Speak! Be quick!" "The physician has administered a potion to him-" "A curse on all physicians," muttered she between her teeth. But Lucille heard her not, and went on. "And he is doing better." "What think they was the matter?" inquir- ed Tortesa, coming before the girl, and eyeing her fiercely. "They do not say. They do not know," replied she. "Perhaps not; but do they not conjecture? Do they think it was paralysis?" "No, Mistress Tortesa." "Well, what then t" "That he had been poisoned." "Poisoned!" exclaimed Tortesa. "They fear that he had inadvertently drank of some drug that had been mixed for another." "Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Tortesa. "But you may leave me now." Lucille moved away. "Stay. Stay a moment!" she called again. "What, mistress?" "Is he yet so far recovered that he possesses all his senses?" "They do not know as yet. He has not come out of his swoon. Yet he breathes more freely, and appears to be in a deep sleep." "Enough. Leave me." She was alone. "Iie lives! He lives!" exclaimed the proud Tortesa. "Yet in his breath there is a taint that may be the very means of destroying him. The accursed poison is in his system, is in his stomach, is working its way through all his veins, and will soon lay siege to his heart's cita- del. There will be no hope of his living then I "Let them watch him, if they will; but the old duke's heart is a stricken one! My deed has been done, and the fruitage will not-nay, it. cannot, be long in ripening! Before morn- ing, he may lie stiff, stark, and cold. He can- not conquer the power of the potion I adminis- tered to him in that cup. How little there wa of it a bare breath would have blown it all away. Yet, it was a powder, that, once ming ling with his wine, would make every bloody drop three times a murderer I "But hold! That word does not beseem so soft a tongue as mine! It jars upon 'my ears, and I must not hear myself speak it. "Not dead? Yet he will die No more shall morning burn for him!" page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] CIAPTER XVII. "ADY- TYORTZHSA CO NFEItS- WITII THlE Z'RIBI O day O day! day I O hateful day! Nevet was seen so black a day as this! I have a faint, cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life. ROMEO AND JULIET. LADY TORTESA followed Father Paolo into the sacristy of the church, obedient to a sign he made her. It was some days after the resurrection of Esmerelda from the' grave that had yawned to receive her. The priest shut the door, and confronted the young lady with one of his most mysterious looks. "Does anything go wrong? Anything mis- carry. father?" presumed the girl, "Yes, child; everything," replied he. "But what of the girl?" "She has escaped." "What!" "Ye-gone." "Escaped! Gone! Lost!" "She is nowhere to be found," answered the priest. "Holy angels keep us!" "She has left the place," said the priest. "How know you that, father?" asked she. "Because her cell door was found open." "Yet she may not be free?" "Yes, she is free." "Tell me truly, father. How know you? Why should you be so sure?" "Because we have traced her," said he. "Whither?" "To the opening of the passage that conduct. ed from her vault." C "And that leads to the sunlight?" "It is the sunlight itself; she has escaped beyond our power." ' "Great heaven!' But how could she have done this? Not alone?" "No one could designedly have assisted her." "Should you have known it, if she had as- sistance?" asked Tortesa. "Long ago. The thing could not have been done without my knowledge." "Strange owugh! scape, is she? *-" escaped?" "Yes, and in this way! Some sacrilegious robbers have broken into one of the passage- ways that wind below ground, and carried away with them large quantities of the silver and golden service of the church!" "O, sacrilege most infamous!" "Not content with this damning business, they found some way to release the girl from her confinement, who must have escaped with them." "Fit companion for robbers!" "Yes, indeed: but if she protests against my power here," suggested the priest. "O, she dare not: she dare not!" "Nothing is too daring for an impetuous spirit; and we know not what may be hers." "I have never seen her as yet," said Tor- tesa. "Then would you not know her, should you chance to meet her, straying in the streets?" "No, father." / "But if she breathes a syllable against my name-" "O, she never will I She is too craven for that, Father Paolo." "Yet she might, if she but had poutr spirit, Tortesa." The young girl replied not, but dropped her eyes to the ground. "There is no telling what is to be done, child," continued the priest. "I have thought it best to apprise you of this untoward event, that you might be on the alert for her discovery. I must have her again, even if I never cared for her 'security before. She is bound to me now by a stronger tie than ever. Iter tongue is loose. It must be tied. Do you under- , stand?" "Perfectly, father," answered' Tortesa, moving slowly and thoughtfully out by a side - door. She entered the body of the vast church again, E and walked swiftly over its tesselated pavement of marble. She heeded not the many humble ones who were then on their knees, doing pen- ance. She heard not the low and mournful strain of the organ; nor did her eyes raise 5 s themselves to drink in the soft light that pour - ed through the old, stained windows in such y mellow floods. She kept her head down, and 1 her pearly teeth bit her reddened lips cruelly. The twinkling and earnest eyes of the priest were upon her, until she had passed through the , vaulted doorway into the street. a Reaching her apartment again, Tortesa order- h ed her maid into her presence, and bade her, on some frivolous pretence, hasten to the cot of old Marmaline, and there learn, by all kinds of in- ft genious inquiries, whether the girl Esmerelda had yet returned. She charged Lucille with no particular errand, yet she had faith enough in s her native sagacity to believe that she would in no manner compromit her own high name. Not very long after Lucille left the presence of her mistress, she was seated in the apartment I of Marmaline. "Are you alone yet?" asked she, of the woman. "Yes," replied she. "And your girl has never come back again, then?" pursued the indefatigable Lucille. "Never," replied the woman, in a low voice. "But you have heard the news of the sudden and mysterious sickness of Francizco, the only son of the duae?" "No! What is it, pray?" "That he was supposed to be poisoned, but. is yet in a very low and lingering state." "Heavens!" "It is even so." " Where did all this happen, pray?" "At the hall of the masquerade. No one saw him, until he was found to be in a dying condition." "You amaze me!" "Some thought he had purposely poisoned himself; and some, that he had aceientally drank off a potion that might have been, lft, standing for some' other person." "How alarming!" "But he is not yet dead." "And do they think he can recover?'^ "' It is a narrow chance. He is very -fur gone." page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] , "Merciful heavens Does he know any one?" "He knows his father, and his physician." "And no others?" "No others are admitted to his bedside. He is kept free from all excitement." The woman became tremulous with excitement. "My mistress Tortesa thought of coming here to-night, to have you read her future to her; but the news of this young man's sudden and fearful sickness has stricken her. I have only come to tell you how it was." Marmaline grew pale, and her lips refused utterance. She paced rapidly up and down the floor, and Lucille slipped out at the door, before her absence was even noticed. "O, he is dying! he is dying!" shrieked a feminine voice from another apartment. "I must go to him. I must tell him that my love still burns for him alone! Mother Marmaline, go, with me now. His lids may shut in death, before he can, look me his blessing!" A light-a very slight-form glided like a vapory dream from an adjacent room, and burst into the presence of Marmaline. It was Esmerelda! . She was clad in a thin and faded costume, t and her shoes were browned and- much worn. a Her face was uncommonly thin and shadowy, s and her hair looked more brown than golden. 1 Yet it was very dark, and it fell in its wonted t luxuriance over her shoulders and' back. In 14 contrast with her very, very pale face, and her b forehead, which was clearer than the purest v Parian marble, her hair looked uncommonly I dark. It even imparted a deathly hue to her beautiful face. She looked far more spiritual now than ever o before. She seemed more an angel, purified u from her earthly dross. Her faded habiliments g hung about her thin and wasted person, like the cerements of the grave about an inmate. w There was'an unwonted lustre in those eyes, w as the news of Francizeo's disease fell on her g astonished ear. And when she appeared in the A presence of Marmaline, the lustre turned sud- u denly into a burning glow, that seemed to re- d yfleet its fires into all parts of the room. And the moment she spake those passionate words of hers, the lustre seemed to make her almost ethereal. Her hands were mere skeletons of their for- mer selves, too dainty even to grasp at shadows. Her cheeks were much sunken, too, and. the rose that once bloomed there, was now faded out of sight. Her ruby lips were no longer ruby; they were livid as the lips of a corse. I,- "Guide me to him to-night, good Marina- line!" cried the excited girl. " O, if he should die, and I could not see him! But it must not be so. I must see him, before he is a corpse of cold clay! Guide me, good Marma- line." "But the duke?" protested the woman. "You have never seen him? And what if they should refuse to admit you to his apart- ment?" "Nay, but they will not refuse me!" earn- estly pleaded the innocent girl. "How know you, child?" "Because I will tell them who I am-" "Nay, that would not do." "Then I will steal into the hall, and fly through all the other apartments unobserved by any one.' I will find his couch, and throw my- self at its foot, and call upon him until he shall know me. I will weep piteous tears, to prove to him that I have never been faithless to his love. I will ,kneel at his head, and take his hand in mine, as I used to do when he was wounded by\ the robbers, and he will know it is Esmerelda. He will think it can be no other. And he will open his eyes on me then, and he will smile; yes, I know that he will give me one of his sweetest smiles, as he used to do. O, he will know me I Come, Marmaline. Let me go. Show me the way, good Marmaline!" By dint of entreaty and rough reasoning, the woman persuaded her it would be best to remain where she was until nightfall, when she would gladly go with her to the duke's palace. But she feared for her that her errand would be a useless one, and might even lead to unhappy discoveries. Still Esmerelda had faith. There is no faith like that of a lover. Seas cannot drown it; tempestuous winds cannot blow it away; fires cannot obstruct its progress; distance holds no obstacles in its way. It centres itself only on one endeared object, one great and abiding pur- pose, and everything else is as shadows between itself and that. As soon, therefore, after even had set as was perfectly safe, Marmaline set out with her pre- cious charge for the palace of the duke. It was a tedious walk there, during the most of which the duenna found great difficulty in restraining the impatient lover fromn breaking into a precipitate flight in the direction they were going. They at length reached the entrance to the stately avenue that conducted to the door of the 1 palace, and both paused for a moment. "What if you do not find him, child?" ask- i ed Marmaline. "There can be no doubt," replied she. "I ; will search every apartment to find him." "Then I need not wait here for you?" "No-no-no, good Marmaline. Return i home without delay, and when Francizco has re- covered again, we will both come over to seo you. Farewell, my kind mother." With these words, she ran, rather than walk- ed, the length of the entire avenue. Marmaline watched her until she disappeared within the lofty doorway, and even afterwards waited some time in the expectancy of her re- turn. But in vain. Esmerelda did not make her appearance again, and Marmaling walked thoughtfully and sadly away. Lucille reported to Lady Tortesa that the girl was not at the cot of Marmaline, and left her with herself. "There is a mystery here! I cannot fathom it!" she said, in a low tone, to herself, as her maid retired from her presence. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] - CHAPTER XVII1. THE STRENGTH OF LOVE. Poor child! she was a child in years,- So timid and- so young,; With what a fond and earnest faith To desperate hope she clunig! L. L. EL. ASSING first into the grand hall, Esme- relda halted, impressed with an overpower- ing sense ,of the grandeur of the place. But the thought of the one purpose for which she had gone there, inspired her again, and she instantly ran through the entire space, she knew nothing whither. Espying a flight of winding stairs, down which was strewn a carpet of the finest fabric, she pressed her foot till it sunk deeply into the cov- ering of the lowest stair, and fled like a light- some bird to the top. - Then she hurried through several magnifi- cently appointed rooms, whose ceiling looked lofty and grand, and whose walls were orna- mented with frescoes of the most ingenious and tasteful designs. She looked wildly into one ap artment after another, and, finding no couch of a sick man, hurried on. She thrust her head, at length, into one room, and discovered the object of which she was in search. A couch stood in the middle of a large, lofty room, about which was hung dra- pery of the, most gorgeous description. A cur- - tain was festooned at one of the sides of the bed, - and the girl saw through the moderately wide aperture the form of a man. He' was partially lying down, bolstered up in his place with the softest and whitest pillows. Rushing without ceremony or forethought up to the bedside, she looked within the drapery, and saw the person of Francizsco. Raising both of her clasped hands above her head, she was on the point of uttering a wild exclamation, when she chanced to discover that he slept. Then she bent over him, and her eyes drip- ped big tears upon the couch. He was pale and emaciated beyond what she had dared to expect. His lips were colorless, and only an unhealthy hue kept fluttering to and fro, over his pallid cheeks. His nose was as a line, above either side of which dark eyebrows curved with an awful contrast over the edge of the sunken eyes. One hand lay uncovered, which seemed almost to fade into the very white- ness of the snow-white sheets. Could this be Francizco? O, how much had disease, and danger, and distress changed him! Yet to her he was the same Francizco. All he had lost of the hues of rosy health, was abun- dantly compensated by her burning sympathies for him. She loved him as she ever did, from the eventful night when he first presented him self to- her cottage by the sounding sea. While she stood oyver him, watching so nar- rowly every change that had wrought itself into his features and their expression, her quick and rambling eyes detected the many luxurious comforts with which he was surrounded on all sides. The pillows were soft and yielding. The huge couch, or bed, was softer than eider-down. A canopy of silk, of every variety of tints and c hues, was spread above him, whose broad plaits r were gathered into a large button-shaped knot in the-centre overhead, while their corners were b tied gracefully and flowingly at each post of the h bedstead. The drapery was all of silk, purple a and scarlet. These were the colors that would c soften most soothingly the garish light of outer day, streamin through, the distant windows. t The feet of the irl were deeply imbedded in a n carpet of the most costly manufacture, which seemed to her, in comparison with the hard floor in on which she had been compelled to stand in her distant dungeon, like a bank of downy snow. f While she was rapidly regarding everythinged about her, and yet nothihg so closely as her nc dear Francizco, and while her brow was knit g with an expression of the deepest solicitude and fear, the sick man opened his eyes and rested Y them directly upon her. Ci2 "Francizco! Dear Francizco!" shrieked she, throwing her as affectionately around do him. Is it--no!-yes, it is-it is Esmerelda!-.. my own Esmerelda!" said 'he, in a' voice much me sunken and softer than was its wont. loo The first passionate embrace over, the young patient gently pushed Esmerelda a little way d, from him, holding her still by her hand, and be- said: "But you are worn, my love; you look id jaded! Have you walked far?" I "'God preserve him from the loss of his rea- le son!" was the prayer inwardly uttered by the na- frail maiden at that trying moment. s "You are pale, Esmerelda," continued he, m seeing that she looked at him so silently, and a- that crystal tears were swimming in her eyes; "where have you been, this long, long time?"' - "At another time, Francizco," answered she, o "I will tell you. Only be calm just now--praay I be calm! You may be assured that I hav6 s come back to you, that I have found my way 1 here alone." . "Alone?" "Yes. Love guided me in the 'way, and I I could not go amiss. O, Fliancizco, what have I 3 not suffered for your sake!" 'Gracious God!" exclaimed he, his bosom heaving with irrepressible emotion. "And you have all dwindled away-wasted all to this!" and he felt tenderly of the thin hand that he could hardly feel to be a pressure upon his own. "But we will not talk of this now," replied the fair and thoughtful girl. "Only be calm now, Francizco--" "Did you say you came here unattended?" interrupted Francizeco. "Only Marmaline showed me to the gate." "Good Marmaline! How did she not grieve for you, when we feared you were forever snatch- ed from us! A mother's heart could have been no tenderer than her own. Did she return again, then?" "Yes; but let us talk no more of that now. You must have rest. Are you better, Fran- cizeo?" "Yes, much better, darling. But my father does not yet know that you are here?" "O, no; no one kaows of it." "What would he say to see at this very mo- ment the vision of my dreams? How would he look surprise?" "O, Francizoo,-that is what I most fear!". "What, dearest?" page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] "That his heart may regard me only to des- pise me, as a poor, homeless, friendless girl." "Foolish fear, sweet Esmerelda! Give thy- self no more to such thoughts. Should my father dare to despise her whom his only son loves!" "But I am only a poor girl?" "And I love you, then, the more. Why should wealth so crib and, confine my heart, that I could not love just whom I would? Is there nothing, then, in beauty?-nothing in devotion? in worth?-in affection?-nothing in a pure heart, that I may love, because it is stripped of the gilded tinselry that outshines every affection that is most natural? Forbid it, heaven! O, Esmerelda, did you but know my heart, you would read me differently!" "I am not questioning your affection," re- plied she, subduedly. "True, true! but yet, differently situated as we are, you can never know me as I am, until all these distinctions between us shall have been swept away! Is it not so, love?" Before she could make any answer to him, the door opened--a side door which was inge. niously concealed in the wall-and a man en- tered the apartment. His eyes would have sought the form of I Francizeo, but they rested in full surprise upon n the slender person of Esmerelda. He was the duke himself. "Father I Father!" exclaimed Francizco. i Esmorelda turned paler than usual, and, v trembled like an aspen leaf. " This is Esmerelda, father of whom I have told you," said the sick Francizco. "Try to o love her for my sake, father! She watched by o me, when there was no other human help near. e She soothed and comforted me by her presence, h when there was imminent danger near. Love her for my sake, father I She is well worthy of it!" The duke advanced slowly from the position o he had taken near the secret door, and exchange w ed a few commonplace words of civility with the an frightened girl. She regarded him with looks st that bespoke both humility and fear. s- "She has been long gone, father," said Francisco. y- The duke bowed slightly, looked at his son, ay and asked: on "Are you as,well, Francizco?" - "O, better-much better, father, now that Esmerelda has come! I think I shall soon get iy well now; she will keep such tender watch and at ward over me! I know I shall get better very re fast now!" ? The eyes of the duke and the girl at this mo- re ment met, The former was regarding inquisi- of tively the person of this fair stranger-girl, to see n what rare specific her presence could possibly ), possess to drive away such suffering as Fran- u cizco had endured; while the latter looked timidly up to the proud duke, to note what were - his feelings toward one avowedly so meek and humble as herself. "s "She came here alone," continued the sick 1 man, unwilling to lose a moment in the work of n conciliating his father to the girl of his affec- tions. "Alone!" repeated the duke, feigning as- - tonishment. "- Yes, her love found a way for her. She came to this apartment while I was yet asleep. f 1 awoke, and found her standing weeping over i me. I had thought her lost. I had feared I might never look on her sweet face again. But heaven has sent her to me just at this most crit- ical time. She has saved my life once-she will do it again." Again the duke fixed his eyes upon her. She still stood by the bedside, suffering one of her hands to be held by Francizco, while the other played with the silken fringe that depend- ed from the curtains. She hardly dared to raise her eyes to those of the duke. Without doubt this modest deportment of hers greatly heightened the duke's admiration. He could not avoid associating her in his mind not only with all that was good and kind, but also with all that was pure, and gentle, and loving, and true. He saw in this impetuous, innocent step of hers-the coming uninvited into the apartment of his sick son-the highest Droof of a devotion that would outlive all jealousies, bick- erings, perplexities, and trials And before he once thought of it, he found that he had actual- ly come to invest the person of the charming girl with much of the same feeling of affection that had taken such entire possession of the heart of his son. Francizeo instinctively saw the rapid change that had inwrought itself into his father's feel- ings, and the discovery cast a flush over his pallid face, that soon attracted the attention of his father. - . "Father," said he, when he again saw that his eyes were resting upon him, "I want to ask one favor-a special favor. There is no im- propriety in it, either; else would I not ask it." "What is it, Francizco?" "That Esmerelda be allowed to remain here as my nurse, until I either recover, or-" "O, you will recover I Say not otherwise!" broke in the girl, before he could name the other dread alternative. "If such is your pleasure," replied his father, "it certainly will be mine." "And more than this-" The duke listened. "That she be here alone, no one in the pal- ace knowing aught of her presence. I desire that it be kept a secret, and I have good rea- sons. I wish that no one of the servants know of her being here. It would goon leak out. This matter may be most intimately connected with her future welfare." The duke gave his unqualified consent. Esmerelda instantly fell upon her knees, and thanked him in terms of overflowing gratitude. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] CHAPTER XIX. THE STORY OF HER WRONG. Ts a wild talc-and sad, too, as the sigh That young lips breathe when Love's fir dreamings When blights, and cankerworms, and chilling show- ers, Come withering o'er the warm heart's passion-flow- ers. L. E. L. FOR days, and even long weeks, Esmerelda watched and kept faithful ward by the bedside of nor lover. The apartment was entered by no one, save the duke himself, the surgeon, and a single at- tendant. All these kept it a secret, that they knew of the presence of this stranger-girl in his apartment. The countenance of Esmerelda looked pale, and was constantly fraught with anxiety and care; yet she felt that hers were no sufferings, when compared with the more bitter pangs that Francizco had been called to endure. While he 1 lay there in suffering, she suffered, it seemed, equally with him.. She bathed his fevered head E in coolest waters, and moistened his dry and i feverish hands with the same crystal flood. She a sat by him to catch the slightest whisperings of a his livid lips, and to cheer his heart when his s physical energies flagged and threatened exhaus- tion. He never opened his eyes from a refreshing slumber to look for her in vain. 'He never had to call even her name, to be assured that she , was waiting to know his wants. She was lis- tening to his breathing-watching the motions of his lips-studying closely every changing ex- pression of his features, as changes would often chase each other over his face while he slept- and guarding, as it would. seem, the brooding spirit of sleep, that it might not be disturbed and frightened from his couch. Such solicitude of hers was not altogether un- looked for by Francizco, although his surprise at discovering its whole depth and strength was very great. But the duke was perfectly as- tounded at such an exhibition of affection. He had thought that such love as that, could be shown his son by no other one than himself; ignorant, wholly ignorant, that the tendrils of other hearts might weave and wind themselves about the same object he himself regarded with such enduring affection. Instantly upon Esmerelda's devotion betray- ing itself thus openly to the duke, it seemed as if he had taken her into his heart on equal terms with his son. She might have stood for days before him, and pleaded never so eloquent- ly and passionately both with words and burning tears; but she would have utterly failed to make that impression upon the mind of the duke which she had now made. A way to his feelings, to the very heart of all his feelings-she had at length found; and having found it in the man- ner she had, there was but little danger of her losing an inch of the ground she had made. Before long, both the duke and Esmerelda would sit by one of the high and embayed win- dows of the" apartment, while Francizco slept, and there talk for long hours concerning him. Esmerelda studiously avoided referring partiou- larly to any portion of her own history, in these confidential conversations, but made Francizeo the burden of all her speeches. All this but endeared her still the more to the father, and assured her of the steadfastness of his affection- ate esteem. She looked pale beneath the shadow of those scarlet and purple curtains, their bright colors throwing a sadder hue by contrast over her ivory forehead and arms. Her smiles, when she did 1 smile, were not hearty, healthy ones; they seem- o ed but the inspiration of a sick chamber, and i spake more than words could have done of the damps of disease, and the waste of health. Still X she smiled; and she would have continued to n do so, had she been upon the last day of her a life. b The duke, by such constant and intimate n companionship with Esmnerelda, now began to p feel towards her as if she were his own daugh- n ter already. She shared his thoughts, equally si with Francizeo. He was thinking of her comn- forts always, whenever he planned any for his own child. F Slowly did Francizco regain his strength, yet w surely. -All this nursing, and watching, and hi tender anxiety of Esmerelda was far from lost fo upon him. It exhibited its effects in a 'now bi rapidly increasing vigor, and a freshening of his th y- long drooping spirits. He could sit bolstered is up on his couech now much longer than before, al and it tired him not so much to talk, even if by Dr the hour. t- Each day the two lovers loved each other, if g possible, more than the day before. They bet- :e ter understood each the other's disposition, and h so better appreciated each the other's excel- o lencies. Their affection, though it grew no it warmer, nor fuller, yet became much deeper, t- and stronger, and shot out its roots broader, and r threw out its tendrils more widely. They be- came each day much maturer, and much firmer, a in their love. It seemed to them more an abid- - ing thing, that could console them in every trial , they might meet. Esmerelda took an' especial delight, when Francizco was able to do so, to assist his totter- e ing weight across the carpeted floor'; and fre- * quently led him over to the cushioned seat with- t in one of the deep recesses in the windows, and l there sat down by his side, and talked in her soft, low tones to him, while the soothing breezes from the distant sea lightly fanned his pale forehead and sunken cheeks, and brought on its life-laden wings fresh vigor to his weary spirits. O, how he pined to cleave the deep blue vault that stretched away before his eyes, and with Esmerelda alone to fly to some far-off isle, and there ever be happy! Well knew he that wealth alone never made man happy. His wants, let them have been many or few, were never in danger of not being abundantly supplied; yet even if he could have been at times pinched in his desires, he would not have felt that he was thereby necessarily de- prived of his happiness. That, he thought, lay nearer his heart, than did his mere bodily de- sires. They were in the habit of talking, while they sat together there, of their untried future; and Francizeo used to ask Esmerelda affectionately . whether she Would prefer to stay in the city of his own birth, though full of such painful trials for her, or flutter away with him to some villa by the strand, where vines and trees threw their clustering shades, and music rolled in the page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] air to them from bird-throat and the rippling of the returning sea. He delighted to watch the pla r her features, while he talked so lowly to her, and often amused himself with wondering what thoughts could at that moment be sailing over the un- ruffled surface of her soul. Thus became these two lovers more and more closely knit together. Every day was a silver clasp, that held inore firmly their hearts in one bond. And all the hours were winged to them. They came and ;went like troops of shining fays and fairies; bringing each its burden of enjoyment, and car- rying away each its most fragrant and precious memory. One day, after Francizeo's strength had begun to increase very much, and when the rose-tints were again dawning, like new morning, on the hitherto whitened cheeks of Esmerelda, they were sitting together, conversing much as had long been their wont, when the former turned his eyes full upon those of Esmerelda, and said: "Now you shall tell me the whole story of e your wrongs. I have 'got more strength now, i and it will not injure me to hear it all." "But I fear for the effect of the excitement t upon your much weakened system," protested she. "Then I will promisenot to get excited," t said he. * " Ah! if you were only sure you could faith- fully keep such a promise as that!" t "But I Ipromise that I will at least try; I r can do no more. Come, dearest, let me know a it all now! I must hear it from your own lips!" "Then you must know, Francizco," began she, "that I went' one evening, many weeks ago, to the church of our blessed virgin, to make y my confession to the priest, and to receive his blessing. I knelt before him, and told him p what was heavy on my heart." " And your pure heart must have been great- ly burdened with wickedness to confess!" in-al terrupted Francizco. "Yes, but I had given way at times to evil lo of thoughts, and such a sin often greatly troubled me." ", "Evil thoughts!" repeated he, surprisedly. n "Where could they find lodgment in thy ts breast?" "Still, they have, I fear me; and.1 went to ,e be absolved of the priest. I knelt before him r. and told him all. And when I had long wait- oe ,d to re;eive his blessing on my head in return, e he stooped down and whispered in my car that I must follow him into the sacristy." Francizco's face flushed with excitement. "He bade me go at once, without a word, s and with no delay. I instantly rose to my feet and followed him. When we arrived within the r secret room, he closed the door, and, bending s his dark eyes upon me with a frowning look, until I thought I dared not look at him in re- turn, he told me that my soul was btained with a lie!" "Infamous villain!" exclaimed Francizco. "Yet be calm, and hear further. I looked earnestly into his eyes, and silently awaited an ' explanation. The charge quite overpowered me." "No wonder, poor child! But what was the wretch's explanation? What did he say he meant?" !"He told me that I had kept back from him the confession of my love." "Fool!" exclaimed Francizco. "He told me, also, that I had dared to love the son of the duke, a person far above me in rank and worth; and O, how bitterly true did all his words seem to me!" "The knave! How should he know that you were even so much as acquainted with me!" "It was all mystery to me, I confess." "But did you answer him when he spoke of your affection for me?" asked Francizeo. "No, I dared not; I feared his awful p)wer." The youth clenched his hands tightly together, and another flush of deepest crimson overspread all his face., " He said it was a crime for one like me-so low, so humble, so poor, so ignorant-to ensnare one like yourself, dear Francizco, with the net of my affections; and that, as his spiritual chill, I must undergo punishment for it-for what I was certainly not to blame, and for'what I certainly could not help." "Did he undertake to compel you to deny your affection?" "No, no; he did not that. And I should never have denied it, even if the last words from my lips had only been the certain seal to my doom." Francizco leant forward from his seat, and imprinted a kiss upon her forehead. "Did he order yot to undergo any punish- ment then?" asked he, in a troubled voice. "Yes, he bade me go behind him where he should conduct me. I was led through many narrow and darkened passages, and made to turn down several flights of winding stairs, all of stone-hard, damp, and cold. He conducted me at length down into what appeared to be a dismal subterranean passage, whose walls and roof sweated out the most fearful damps, at the sight of which the big drops stood likewise on my own forehead and temples. He held only a dim lantern in his hand, and that made the pas- sage look only the more dismal. Allmanner of malaria were brooding ,there. The air was choked up with unhealthy mists, and smokes, and vapors. There was not a pure breath of air that entered my lungs." "Poor-poor child! What is the rest of this horrid story, Esmerelda?" interrupted Francizeco. "Suddenly he reached the door of a cell, which was imbedded deeply in the solid wall. Seizing the bolt that protruded, he pointed me the way in, silently ordering me to obey him by his look. I went in ; but not without tears, such as I never shed before, and earnest pro- testations. Nay, I begged that he would but i shut me any where else, and I would be just as gentle.. "But he never so much as opened his lips N in reply to me. The silence he observed op- pressed and disheartened me more than all else. To hear only my own self talking, and begging, i 3 t and imploring-and to know that I was speak- I ing to but atone I for he could have been ap- ' parently no deater!" "t O, the wretch I the villanous wretch 1" ex- claimed Francizco, growing still more excited ' than ever. "I went into the cell, and he passed in a taper to me. Then the, heavy door closed, and I heard the iron bolt slide roughly into its sock- et. Then I knew that I was a prisoner I I had not felt it with such force before-I still had hope, because I had freedom; but now, now, I felt that I was indeed alone Friend- less-without one single soul to listen to my voice-buried alive'!" "Horrible I O, the dastardly wretch I The villain! the cold villain! But he shall pay richly for it all!" exclaimed Francizoo, again. "But it was indeed horrible!" replied Es- merelda. "I wept, till my eyes could rain tears no longer. I felt at first that my heart must break, under the weight of such a crush. ing calamity. But when my senses became a little more used to the horrid situation into which I found myself so unaccountably thrust, I thought I felt more calm, and was better able to govern my own feelings. I began then to try to reflect. I could think, however, only of you. You haunted all my thoughts. You were ever before me. I knew, too, what you would say to find me so suddenly disappeared, and only prayed you would not think me false. This troubled me most of all." "I never thought it!" said he, fervently. "But I knew you would not, when you came to see me again, and to hear all from my lips. Yet I knew not when I might see you again. Perhaps I might never Ah, that was what distracted me I "I sat and waited patiently through the long days, and wasted daily away with my watohings. My food and water were passed in to my cell but once during the whole twenty-four, hours, and I was not even permitted to see the face of him who was so kind to wait upon me. Whenever the food was thrust in, I prayed the bearer of it to but speak to me, and I should be happier. But no voice in answer to mine I page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] "I sat up late one night, off my coarse bed of straw, thinking that my end could not be far off. Indeed, I prayed that it might be close at hand; only I had a lingering wish to speak but once with you, and with Jaconet." "Poor darling!" "I was moaning and praying by turns, and counting the slow passage of time, one night- far into the night-when I thought on a sudden that I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage. I listened breathlessly. It was what I had supposed. There seemed to be two men, instead of one. I had thought that it was im- possible to hear steps through my door, for -I never heard the walking of him who daily offer- ed me my coarse food, until the door was itself opened. "Listening a moment, the gleam of a light c fell through an aperture in my door into my room. 1 It glanced in my own eyes. Then I knew that the keeper had either intentionally or acciden- tally left the bolt out of the socket, and I in- ] stantly sprang for the door. e " I screamed as loud as I could, pressing well all my feeble weight against the massive door. u It yielded I How I thanked God at that mo- ment, I can never tell! "I rushed into the passage, where a draft of a fresher air fell upon my nostrils. It revived me. s I saw two men before me, and I called out to c them to wait and succor me. Instead of doing I what I had prayed for, they started to run away d at the top of their speed. They were evidently frightened by what they considered a fearful ap p parition. The louder I called upon them, the h more rapidly they ran away. I could only e follow them, and, by an opening I discovered at b the farther end of this vault, I made my escape. w I sat down on the fresh, green grass in the silver hi moonlight, and, weak and shrunken as I was, I I felt happy. O, how I blessed God; in that r hour! "I was soon on my feet again, when I had t sufficiently recovered my strength, and hurried into the streets. It was the selfame night with the masquerade. I was not far from the hall I where they were holding their revels, when a - man, much intoxicated, approached me and took hold of my arm. It was the priest." "The priest " rrepeated Francizco. "Yes. He said that I verily looked like Esmerelda, and then let me pass. I said noth- ing, but I felt that my heart did not beat at all, at that fearful moment. I came along unharm- ed, and hurried away to the villa of good moth- er Marmaline.-" "But what is the name of this priest?" ex- citedly inquired Francizco, his whole person trembling with rage. "Father Paolo!" answered Esmerelda. "Father Paolo!" repeated he. "I know him well! He is a brute-a villain! And I will have my revenge for his treatment of you!" "But he is a man in high spiritual authority," urged the timid girl. "And what is that to me, sweet innocent! I am a person of rank, and you are the endeared one of my heart I Can I permit such a wretch, such a vagabond, such a profaner of his sacred calling, to crush the very life out of you? Nay, Esmerelda; he is but a murderer, and a mur- derer's fate awaits him!" As he spoke, he rose from his seat, and ap., peared in' a greater state of excitement than he had been at any time before. Esmerelda look- ed at him with a strange combination of feelings, but she felt above all assured that the priest was now at the mercy of her really outraged, high-born lover. CHAPTER XX. THE MORNING OF THE EXEOUTION. Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between, With gyves upon his wrist. THOMAS HOOD. tHERE was a great gathering in Ravenna on a bright morning some weeks after the occurrence of the'scene recorded in our last chapter. We said it was one morning; it was yet early morning. The bell of the great church was tolling forth its mournful summons, for all the people to witness the event that was about to transpire. The 'sun was just beginning to gild the house- tops, and the turrets and high balconies were floating in the upper air. Below, the streets kept disgorging multitudes of human beings, all thronging to one particular spot upon an open plain just without the city's limits. The windows were filled with rows of heads of ladies, eagerly sueying the exciting scene. Still the heavy bell kept on its dismal tolling ---tolling, and the human feet kept on their steady tramping. , , There was a scaffold erected above the heads of the multitude, upon which were placed the terrible instruments of death. The faces of the crowd that pressed around it, scarcely reached its edge. Silence brooded over the entire multitude,-- silence awful and profound. The impression created by it was far more deep than if the same stillness had reigned over the place as over a deserted barren. The thousand hearts that beat so closely together there, only made the feelings of the beholder more subdued and solemn. The duke sat there, too, in his chair, atten- tively inspecting the propriety of every formality connected with the occasion. Franeizoo, like- wise, was in the crowd, eager to see what the person most resembled, whose crime was at this time to be expiated. Presently the dense multitude began to sway to and fro, like the heavily rolling waves of the sea. All eyes were straining in one single direc- tion, and that-the one in which the prisoner was coming towards the scaffold. He moved forward to his doom slowly and page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] sorrowfully. He was clad in a white robe, and his head was bared to the morning sun. It was shining upon his thin locks for the last time,- was the thought of everybody there. A priest walked with him, holding a crucifix within his hand. Ever and anon, he spoke words of solemn import to him, and perhaps words of consolation. By the stairs they mounted to the scaffold, where they stood for a few moments -by the murderous instrument that was designed to de- prive the victim of his life. The priest was engaged in prayer, and the condemned man was eyeing the instrument with one of his most stolid gazes. The supplication finished, the victim was ordered to lie down and meet his doom at the hands of the headsman. Ere he obeyed this final summons, he turned himself about to the 1 whole throng, and seemed for a moment to be t lost in the depth of his own gloomy thoughts. Of a sudden, there arose over this unbroken 1 silence that brooded over the multitude, one single scream, sd loud, so shrill, and so piercing, that every head was instantly bent in the direc- tion whence the sound proceeded, and all eyes t for the moment lost sight of the condemned prisoner. Even the priest forgot his solemn part in this f awful drama, and strained his gaze to see what p could be the cause of this sudden cry. The people were swaying hither and thither, t at one particular point, and a passage was in- stantly, and without difficulty, made for the o coming of the one who had created such an h unheard of panic. J Onward pressed a single fair form through ei the yielding crowd, clad in simple white. It to was a solitary female! a A loud huzza went up on all sides. The excitement at such an appearance grew rapidly al very intense. The female mounted the scaffold stairs, and m flew to the side of the prisoner. Looking ear- al neatly is his face, she threw out her delicate m arms, and clasped him to her bosom, His or haids were bound, and he could not return the st: embrace. a At this juncture, it seemed as if the feelings s of the people were wrought to a pitch of peculiar -intensity. They could scarcely refrain from giving utterance to their wildest cries. x "O, my father! my father!" the girl c screamed, while she embraced the condemned. The old priest stood astounded.' lie bad no power left to raise his hand. 'The executioner, , began to lose his presence of mind, and was as much lost to his senses, in the unexpected scene, as were any of the swaying multitude. !" O, Jaconet! Poor-poor Jaconet! O, my dear father! that it should ever come to this!" cried the girl. The crowd could plainly see that the prisoner was weeping scalding tears upon the bosom of the delicate girl, and their sympathies caught as madly as fire kindles among tow. They raised their hands high in air; they tossed their arms to and fro; they shouted now with the overflow of their excitement, and called loudly on the name of the duke. The name of the prisoner was Jaconet. He was the father of Esmerelda. And the girl who had thus fearlessly and impulsively rushed up to him, in the face of that vast multitude, was Esmerelda herself-the daughter of Jacont!l For some time she continued to embrace her father, during which the multitude, officers, priest, and all, seemed to be held in a species of enchantment. No one seemed able, or willing, to break the spell that hung over them. Esmerelda had found her way from the palace of the duke, unknown to every one. How she happened to hear of the oncoming execution of Jaconet, was an unexplained mystery. At all events, she had found out what event was so soon to take place, and hurried to the scene. She arrived there just as we have described. "Stay!- stay the execution!" cried out all. The duke, seeing who were the personages most intimately connected with the event, and also heeding the voice of the multitude in a matter of such high importance, gave instant orders that the execution of the criminal be stayed. At once a shout went up from the multitude, that rent the very heavens. The form of Francizco might, at this time, have been seen, hurrying to the foot of tle scaffold-stairs, where he awaited, in a tremor of excitement, the coming down of Esmerelda. He could have been no more astounded at the occurrence of any event, than he was at the sight of Esmerelda on 'the scaffold with the criminal. Fearfully well as lie ought to have known the condemned man, he nevertheless did not recognize him until the exclamations, " my father! my father!"-had escaped from the lips of the devoted girl. He stayed at the foot of the stairs, and awaited their coming down. The priest only glanced at Esmarelda, and trembled from head to foot. His face turned perfectly livid with combined rage and fear. When, too, he heard the duke give the order that the proceedings be stopped, and the con- demned man be taken back to his cell, he knew too well that the girl was deeply grounded in the affection and esteem of the powerful ruler. Yet why should he, a holy priest, consecrated t only to sacred service. be in awe,--why should c he tremble at the discovery of such an event? He was no other than the infamous Father Paolo I That was the reason of his excessive fear; i he knew now that his influence had come to an E abrupt termination. Nay more,-he knew that his own punishment could not now be long w delayed. None fear their punishment so much as they who are deeply covered with guilt. The eyes of the priest and of Esmerelda mo- mentarily met, as soon as the latter had released , her hold from Jaconet. The expression in those e of the former, was unbounded rage and madden- f ed mortification; in those of the latter, a proud scornfulness for the man who had acted so basely ethe part of a servile tool to infamy. These looks were but for a moment. Instantly they were gone. The eyes of the Jesuit seemed to retreat within his head, and take an intro pee- I tion of the brain that was seething with such thoughts of infamous corruption. Jaconet was instantly conducted back to his cell, Esmeralda accompanying him. Francizoo 'followed at a respectful distance behind. the duke himself likewise joined the party soon after. It appeared that Jaconot had been discovered in possession of some of the articles that were stolen from the church'at the time of Esmerelda's escape; and suspicion was at once fastened on him, as being the robber, or the chief of the robbers, himself. The crime was proved upon him more plainly than that he could rid himself of it, and he was condemned to die by the headsman for a sacri- lege so bold. And it was just at this imminent crisis, this turning point of his life, that Esmerelda stepped in, and momentarily averted the fate that had settled down upon him. The multitude separated, each busily talking with the other concerning the unaccountably strange event of the morning. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] CHAPTER XXI. JACONET EXPLAINS ESMERELDA'S RELEASE. But he was now A prisoner; yet there he stood, so firm As though his feet were not upon the tomb; His cheek was pale as marble. and as cold; But his lip trembled not, and his dark eyes Glanced proudly round.-L. E. L. NOE in the cell of the prisoner, a strange scene offered itself. None but the prisoner and his keeper, the duke and his son Francizco, and Esmerelda were there. The latter divided herself between weeping over her almost sacrificed father, and falling on her knees before the duke, to thank him for his most generous intercession to save her parent's ' Te duke was very much surprised, as he well knight be, to find that such a rough criminal, who ad now come to his last hour, should be th6father of so sweet and gentle a child as Es- merelda. Francizco, as soon as he fastened his eyes on the prisoner, saw that the man who stood before him, was no other than one of the three who had long thought the young man dead-mur- dered by their own hands. Yet his word was not forfeited. The soul of honor himself, he was not willing that any prom- ise of his own, however, remotely made, should ever suffer the most trifling taint from falseness. He therefore kept to his own heart the informa- tion, which, if given at that time, would without doubt have instantly consigned the criminal to death. As yet, the duke was entirely in the dark respecting the authorship of *the robbery committed long ago, and least of all suspected that the prisoner who stood before him, could be the same who was guilty of the daring out- rage alluded to. Francizeo remembered all, however; and as the recollection flashed over him, he instinctive- ly turned his eyes towaxds those of Esmerelda; she was anxiously watching every changing ex- pression of his countenance. Her glance pained him, and he averted his eyes. He did not-he could not, mistake the sorrow that pressed upon her heart. The condemned man, at the earnest solicita- tion of his child, and with the consent of the duke, made his confession and explanation of the occurrences that had brought him here. He began by stating, that what first drove him from his hut by the seaside to Ravenna, was the loss of his child, Esmerelda. Some tinie -previously, she had suddenly disappeared, he knew not whither. So unexpected, and so great a loss to him-for he fondly doted on the child-was more than he could bear. His feel- ing were wonderfully wrought at her absence; and he imagined himself almost a heart-broken man. Actuated by these most sacred of impulses, ' he set out for Ravenna. Immediately lie wan- diered Otealthily about the city, by day and by night, eagerly listening to hear any intelligence that might fall from any one's lips respeeting her. He subsisted by what means 'he was best able, although he cared but little for life, if he were to be deprived of his child. He confessed that he had stolen into the mansion of Gongalo, one of the nobles, where he overheard a soliloquy from the lips of Ili proud daughter. He-stated that the substance of her words was-that Esberelda had, thrlough her instrumentality, been ensnared into ti i power of a priest, named Paolo; and thlt by I him she was confined in a close dungeon. o The face of Francizco flushed with his ex. il citemient. Jaconet further stated, that lie learned fom ni the young lady's conversation with herself, th c, it was all owing to he4 jealousy of Emuerelda w. that she had teen thus secreted ; for he hearn sI her make distinct statements of the fact in a 1" great variety of ways. When he had thus unexpectedly made him. ,. self the master of this information, lie hastene I p away to some place where he might find thi,: priest. He knew him only by his name, anl to felt himself hedged in with peculiar diliculties in al getting at the heart of the matter that so iiu, t . i exercised his feelings. Happening to be strolling inthe vicinityof the ho church one evening, just at twilight. he (as - S coated by a stranger, who asked him if he toaugh, i he was mistaken in his character. V "And'what do you take me for " inquired did Jaconet, of the stranger. 6 - "For a man capable of any deed!" coolly was answered the stranger. Jaconet said, that lie looked for a moment he steadily in his eye, when lie suddenly added: "Come! I will keep your secrets! I want a job done for myself!" "What?" asked Jaconet. "Come and see!" said the stranger. "But what do you pay? What is the risk?" inquired Jaconet. "No risk whatever, and here is gold," an- swered the stranger, holding out five pieces of money. Jaconet said that he instantly followed the stranger by a side and secrct door into the church, t where the former unveiled himself to him as his spiritual father-Paolo! The work he required of him was only this: to be the ward and keep- er of the subterranean passage, along which was ranged a row of vaults, wherein were occa- sionally confined the most criminal, hardened, nd abominable sinners. "Above all," added the priest, now rushing blindly on his own dlestruction, ' I wish you to be the keeper of a frail young sinner I have just ordlered into confinllenent. Sihe i in my keep- ing and custody for a peculiar fault, of which . the most rigid punishment will cure her. Once each day you will receive food at my hands to carry to her, which you will hand in at her cell, without uttering a single syllable, or so much as showing your countenance to her. Though she may plead never so tearfully, yet you are on no account to exchange a word with her, under pain of my spiritual displeasure, and the most severe punishment." Jaconret confessed that he instantly acceded to the proposal of the priest, delighted, above all, to find that he had so exactly fallen upon his desires. Now he thought that he had but a single step more to take-to take very cautiously, however-and his child was solely in his hands. So truly did he feel that this imprisoned girl was none other than Esmerelda. He said that he at once fell to his work, and did nothing but guard the subterranean passage. The very first time he carried food to the girl in page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] her cell, he heard her passionate tones, in sup- plication for sympathy. He listened to her words, and heard her praying him to release her; to speak to her; to but show her his face, that she might know that she was not altogether alone and friendless. He told of his being restrained by several powerful motives from at once making himself know to her, the least of which was the fear of the displeasure of the priest. He knew now that the prisoner was Esmerelda, and he plotted only to establish her safety. Still continuing his guard and keepership as ' faithfully as before, he examined the damp, dark passage, for the purpose of finding where its outlet might be. He traced it to the stone steps, and himself raised the stone that covered the aperture. One night, unbeknown to a single soul, he escaped through this apprture, and acquainted two of his old companions with the amount and locality of the treasures within one of the church vaults. He arranged it with them, that they should enter, on the very next night, the pas- sage-way, and through this proceed to the vault he had pointed out to them. The key he placed in their hands, that nothing should fail to be in ,perfect readiness for the event. - When the niglht came, he purposely slid back ] the bolt from the lock of Esmerelda's -dungeon ] door, while his two confederates were gone above in quest of their plinder, and then him- self escaped into the open air. He knew that ( -the child must see their lantern through the aperture he had left in her door, and would then I make her escape. Nor was his calculation at ,all out of the way of the truth. t He did not wait to meet Esmerelda on her , return to the open air again, but chose to min- o gle with the crowds in the streets, not) doubting a at all that he should now be easily' able to find a her. He finally acknowledged that he was in pos- 1 session of certain portions of the plunder when f- he was seized, but stoutly denied that he had any f further part than that he had confessed, in the rdeed itself; and even what he was guilty of, was abetted only by the best of hopes and the most affectionate of impulses. The duke listened to the recital of the un- happy prisoner with the deepest interest. Es- merelda gave way to the most violent weeping, on finding that her own father was the one who had dared so much to save her delicate life from death in that dismal dungeon. Francizeo could not but regard the man with a strange admixture of wonder, awe, and esteem. Yet there was, an under-current-deep and strong-in his breast, that brought-o his mind most forcibly the scene of the conflict he once passed through with this very man. After this conference was at length over, the prisoner was ordered by the duke still to re- main in his cell, while father, son, and Esme- relda returned to the palace, there to consult more at length, and more impartially, upon the punishment to which Jaconet had already been- condemned. Esmerelda was excited beyond what she had ever been before. The duke, too, regarded her situation with pity. CHAPTER XXII. THE LAST INTERVIEW BETWEEN TORTESA AND THE PRIEST. ------Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: * * God, God, forgive us all! Look after her! Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her! MACBETH. HE priest Paolo and Tortesa were alone by themselves. Paolo was very greatly excited with the un- expected termination of the event of the morn- ing, and continued to pace his room for some time, in great agitation. Both were temporarily silent, abstracted with their own reflections. "I am lost, Lady ST2,tesa!" exclaimed the priest at length, throwing back his head in an attitude of agony. "Why think you so, Father Paolo?" asked she, regarding him with looks of anxiety. "Just see, then, how all this plot has even- tuated! The girl has made her escape, by some most miraculous means, from my power!" "Yet not miraculous, either," said Tortesa. "Of course this robber, her father, whom you X hired to be her keeper, was the one who released her." ".What a strange accident befel me, then, ] when I stumbled upon this man to do such a deed; to become copartner with me in this business!" "It really seems very strange!" added Tor- tesa. "And ere this moment," said the priest, " he has told all to the duke 1" "Think you so?" "I do. Nay, I know more, Tortesa." "What, father?" "That he has implicated you " "Jfe!" exclaimed she. "Yes; he has proved that you were in the affair." "But how know you, father? How know you?" "From the lips of the jailer," answered he. "Do you tell me truth, then?" "I do, every syllable." "Great Heaven! What is to be done!" "He said he overheard you plotting in your own apartment against Esmerelda." "But where was he?" asked the deeply affrighted girl. . "He had stealthily stolen into your mansion." "O, the fiend! The villain I The sacri- legious monster!" page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] , "All that you then said, he has reported, word for word, to the duke." "The monster I the monster!" "And this girl is the betrothed of Francizeo. "What! What!" "It is even as I tell you." "Did you hear it yourself?" "From the lips of the jailer." "Then she will tell the whole story of you! "And this prisoner has already told the whole Concerning you!" "But what will be done with him?" "IHe will be pardoned." "Think you so?" "Indeed, I know it "' "Then what 'is left me?" "God only can tell you, Lady Tortesa." "What shall you do?" "Escape." "Escape? But whither? whither?" "Wheresoever the winds may carry me. Perhaps far from these shores. The climate, they say, is more salubrious in southern Italy." "'Escape? Leave your holy calling?" ' Tortesa," replied he, in a low and husky voice, "I have disgraced my calling! There is no more hope for me here! If this girl now marries Francizco, my life will not be safe an t hour! I know that my doom will be sealed by the hand of an assassin, if I remain longer here!' t "When, then, will you go?" ' "This, very day; nay, this very hour!" I 'F O, woful, woful, woful day! "It is indeed; we are both detected, and s disgraced!" "And Francizeo is still living, to taunt me with my crimes! O, no, no, no! I cannot- t cannot stay! [ must conquer him in one way, t if H do not in another! I cannot bear such r disgrace!" An hour afterwards, she was closely locked in her own apartment. " And this," exclaimed she, talking as was tl her wont to herself alone, while she kept rapidly li pacing the floor-" this is the end of my revenge! Glaclous God! How has it not recoiled upon r myself! How could I have foreseen this gloomy is day! d, * "The priest was true to me-true as steel. It was not lie who has betrayed me; that I knw! it was that monstrous villain, Jaconet! lie has ' stolen into my apartments, to plunder me, and carried away with him the secret which was worth more to me than all the other plunder he could have laid his hands upon. "O, if I but had him here! If I could but drive this glittering steel, at this moment, to his le heart! He should go to his death, unprepared to meet the bloody account that will hereafter be unrolled and spread out before him! "But there is no hope for me. in my present disgrace! What shall I do! What! "My father as yet knows nothing of my con- nexion with this affair. He must certainly fidi it out, and then-O, God! it were better-- fi r better that I be dead! What can I do! Which way can I turn!" A knock at this instant was heard upon her * door, and-she hastened to unfasten it. R The intruder was Lucille. Sho bore a note in her hand, which had been brought just at that moment fom the duke's. Shlntting the door hastily, and not fol gettilr to lock it again, she sat down to the peir al (' rso strange and unwelcome a missive. It ran thus: The Lady Tortesa will very greatly obllge the duke, by calling at the palace at onCe. Matters of very urgent imp rtance demand ler presence imnme;l:a'ely. ' "And I am all nsnared-betrnyed,s,a/' shrieked she, stamping her fDot lp:.sionately upon the floor, and casting thelote far from hle,. Betrayed! Yes, loit! O, Tortesa! Tor- tesa! Can thy pride brook all this? Will this scornful. butning, leaping heart, consetnt to receive the brand of such infaimy upon it, and not resent-rebel--nay, ca-ea to beat.! "Bless heaven, that even a moment is left to me! The summons is imt)perative, but never- theless [ may take a brief time for my own de. liberation. " I am asked to meet Franeiz,-o, who is al- ready well aware of my disposition, even if lie is not also of my crimes 1I am to meet this condemned villain, without doubt, and there be confronted with one of his base lies I I am to face the haughty duke, more powerful than my- self, it is true, but not a whit more revengeful and proud! And then this wretched girl, this estray of the world, a creature with no charac- ter, and with scarce a name to which she is entitled-I am ordered to meet her there, and be confronted, taunted, insulted, and disgraced, in the eyes of them all! "No, no, no! It will never-never do I must not go-I will not go! The priest has probably ere now fled, and I am alone, to bear up against this disgrace! But I have an anti- dote here! If I can mix poison subtle enough; to destroy others, I at least am not 'unskilful when my own dark day comes! "But I drink no poison! I do not die such a death as that! Here is my last hopoe-this bright stiletto! Such a death as that brings, is a brave death, indeed I I am not one to fear the prick of a blade. I do not fear to die by my own hand I Come, death I Duke, proud duke-you will never see the still prouder Tor. tesa! She has no words to exchange with you l" As she spoke, she drew her glittering stiletto from her belt, and, throwing herEelf upon her couch, plunged the blade deep into her heart. She rolled up her fierce eyes, and the wild heart ceased that moment to boat I page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] CHAPTER XXIII. CONCLUSION. When you shall these unlucky deeds-relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor se t down aught in malice. OTHELLO. "were together in the palace. The AR prisoner had been brought there from his confinement, and now stood in the presence of the duke, Francizco, and Esmerelda. Franciz- co supported the form of the latter, while Jac- onet was continuing his disclosures. "You shall be freely pardoned, on one con- dition, Jaconet," said the duke. The man reverently listened for him to name it. "And that," continued the duke, "is this,- that you first disclose the names of your two confederates in this sacrilegious plunder, and then promise to leave Ravenna, no more to return." Jaconet bowed his head in assent to the duke's proposition. He then proceeded to name the other robbers, and solemnly promised to leave Ravenna forever, if his life and liberty were granted him. "And now," added he, addressing the duke, while he eyed the form of Esmerelda, "I have another disclosure to make." They were eager to learn it. "I am not the father of this dear girl. I owe it to her at this day to own it, and to take off from her shoulders the disgrace of having such a father!" s "What do you say! Father!" screamed Esmerelda, rushing toward him, as if, even in that dismal hour, she was more married to his fortunes than ever. "Call me father no longer, child! I am not your father! You are of better blood than. any like mine." S"I knew it! I knew it! I always knew it!" exclaimed Francizco, throwing his arms passionately about her form. "No-no, dear sir! you are well worthy-of her, and I doubt not she is worthy of you. She is at least descended from no stock that should disgrace thy proud name." "Explain yourself!" said the duke, impa- tiently. "I will. Many years ago, I had a wife. She lived in Ravenna. Where she is at this time I know not. By her I had a single child -a girl. For some cause which I will not re- hearse, but which was trivial, at the best, I sep- arated from her. At that time she was like- wise nursing the daughter of the nobleman, 9on- galo, whose mother had just died in childbed. The two children looked almost precisely alike then, although they have altered so much since. When my wife was one day gone fromin the house for a short time, I stole into the cottage, and there saw the two babes sleeping together side by side. I stopped a moment to look at their sweet faces, and then my resolution was suddenly taken. "I instantly seized the ehild of Gongalo, and left my own! I thought there was no rea- eon in this world 'why the mere accident of birth should create such lasting differences all the way through life, and I resolved to try my own offspring's luck in the hands of thee nobly born. Well assured was I, that when my wife came home again and found her own babe mis- sing, she would be actuated only by the com- monest feeling of selfishness, and would palm off her own child upon Gongalo as his own. And inasmuch as I had separated from her, I knew that she would be the more concerned, fearing that she and her offspring might, at some future day, come to want. I was sure that she would resort to this artifice, and that thereby my own child would become the adopt- ed daughter of a proud noble I "Fleeing with the child of Gongalo, I was very soon without the limits and influence of o Ravenna. I at once made a most solemn cov- c enant with amy soul, that no hurt nor harm should ever come to the little creature I had so h cruelly taken from her nest. I swore to pro- tect and defend her against all wrongs, and al- t ways to stand between her and the world. " But I forgot my oath on one occasion, and when I returned from my expedition, I found la that my neglect hai Leen most fearfully visited upon me by her cruel loss. I was frantic con- a' cerning it, and resolved to make what amends I could for my wrong, by renewed exertions for her recovery. "As I have already related, I found her again. I was only too glad to make the sacrifice ir I did, even if it had been of my life, to atone r( for the great wrong I felt I had now done her., hi 1-' This girl, then, is the real daughter of Gongalo. The lady Tortesa is not his daughter; she is e mine!" There was an indescribable tumult of excite- ment stirred in the breasts of those who listened , with such breathless interest to each syllable he r uttered. The duke was astounded beyond the t power of words to express. The youthful Fran- s cizeo was delighted, even while he was so greatly amazed. Yet did he love his darling Esmerelda no more, because she was really of nobler birth - than he had imagined. Esmerelda herself was f distracted with every feeling that could sway the I human breast. She could not utter a word. S he was speechless. Francizco supported her with rhis arm. "Who was your wife?" finally asked the duke. "Have you seen her of late?" "I have not. Her name was Marmaline,' and I think she may by this time be dead," answered he. "Marmaline!" exclaimed both Francizco and Esmerelda at the same moment. "Yes. I know not if she lives," said he. "She does! she does!" cried Esmerelda. "She has been as a mother to me, since I first came back to Ravenna, little knowing, probably, that she was once my nurse I " Then Francizeo narrated to Jaconet the story of the friendly care Marmaline had exercised over Esmerelda. "How strange! ' exclaimed Jaconet, after hearing all. "How like the finger of God!" exclaimed the duke. The man bowed his head silently. Francizco tenderly embraced Esmerelda, and lavished upon her burning kisses. The duke looked on with a feeling of joy and astonishment united. Just, then the door opened. A servant stepped up to the duke, and deliv- ered a verbal message. The duke stepped back-a pace or two, hold- ing up both hands; while the servant left the room. All turned their eyes instantly .upon him. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "The lady Tortesa has just taken her own life!" said the duke, in a loud tone. '"My daughter!" shrieked Jaconet. The two lovers were mute with fearful sur- prise. "Her connexion with the priest in this affair," said the duke, "is too, well confirmed now! She has confessed her guilt, by her suicide!" "Ah! this is the punishment of an angry Heaven!" cried the agonized Jaconet, bowing his head to his bosom, and dropping tears of bitter repentance upon the floor. '* * * * * * NA long after, the two houses of Gongalo and the dkAe were united by the celebration of the marriage of Esmerelda and Francizco. Gon- galo received the strange account of Jaconet's conduct in relation to his child, with implicit credence; for Marmaline, on being at once I appealed to, corroborated the story in every particular that lay within her knowledge. Es. merelda, at length, after much trial and sore - suffering, was the blessed bride of the duke's only son. No lovers were ever more happy than they. Marmaline and Jaconet again re- conciled their trifling differences, and together left Eavenna for a foreign shore. It was but a few months after this strange event in Ravenna, that the friar, Father Paolo, was found dead in a defile. He had been mur- dered. A dagger still stuck in his breast. It was the deed of Jaconet. He had not forgotten his child,-she who had been called the Lady Tortesa! Even her memory had thus been most fsarfully avenged. Cesare returned to Florence, not long after his affair with Fran- cizeo, and diligently applied himself to the study of the abstruse sciences. THE END. A SKETCH. BY CAROLINE TA. HYDEN. No tear of pity ever dims her eye, When want and sufFering meekly pass her by, No throb for others' woes disturbs her breast, She has cnoughl-what cares' she for the rest! She was an only child, in luxury reared, Her parents' love no other ever shared ; Their world's wealth of affection all her own, Their golden treasure heaped for her alone. What. boots it how the poison was instilled, How childhood's genial streams so soon were chilled? Or how in early youth, the current fr ze, Till friends, if such she had, were turned to foes I Her soul contracted, till her narrow mind Room but for one absorbing thought could find, Her own dear self the idol there enshrined.' Another era opens to her view, And time has added grace and beauty too And intellectual wealth has spread a store, So rich that even she can ask no more. The reigning toast, the flattered, gay coquette, As some, perhaps remember with regret; What wonder if when suitors came to woo, She met them with distrust and caution too? She knew where habit led each sordid thought, And by herself she judged 'twas gold they sought. She knew that selfishness could ne'er impart a One shade of sympathy from heart to heart; And well she knew that man must be a fool. Whom even her strong, despotic will could rule. Another cra -Time has worn apace, And robbed her of her beauty and her grace; Her cheek has long since lost its youthful bloom, Her parents long since sheltered in the tomb. She stands alone, disconsoldate and old, By all deserted but her paltry gold. Scorning atfection for the human race, If love for aught beside her wealth hathl place Within her breast, it must be for her cat, And I for one can scarcely credit that. Why does she live? why cumbers s8e the earth? What hath she done to prove herself of worth? When did she ever opo to want her door, Or with a ready hand relieve the poor'? O, where was pity when her mind was formed, Or why was not her soul with love e'er warmnd? Why did her guardian angel step aside, And leave her to her evil genius, prido? God knoweth best, and he can make it plain, That even she was never formed in vain; 1Her life a lesson plain to every one, That what they so despise, they well may shun; And if they cannot teach her how to live, They can her follies and her faults forgive. S page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] [FROM THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.] THE CHLD'S TEAR: BY HARRIET N. HATHAWAY. CHAPTER I t A golden haired boy was playing before a neat cottage on one of Nature's own bright, gala days. Now he would chase the butterfly that sailed through the air on gilded wings, and anon he would pause to toss the tiny pebble into the brook that meandered with monotonous mur- mur down the gentle declivity, and onward and away until its windings were lost in the green meadows below. Then with his dimpled hand he tore some wild roses from their parent stem, and as he gazed upon them a deep thoughtful- ness settled in his large, gray eyes, and at length he gave vent to the workings of his little heart, as he exclaimed: "I wonder who made these beautiful roses I It must have been some one very kind and good. I will go and ask mother; perhaps she can tell me," and away he ran with bounding step to gain the coveted information, .and hastily thaow- ing open the cottage door, with a face all radiant with smiles, he shouted: "Mother, dear mother; just look at these , beautiful flowers! I have my apron full of them, * and I want you to tell me who made them, so I that I can love-" "You naughty, careless boy! just look and see what you have done," exclaimed the mother,' in a shrill tone; " you have scattered the dirty good-for-nothing things all overmy clean carpet ;" and as she said this, she caught the roses and tossed them from the door, saying, "there, see if I wont teach you better things! you'll go to bed, sir, to-night without your supper, and that you may depend on; and now take your seat in that chair in the corner, and don't you dare stir from it for three whole hours." The child's grief was too big for tears; and as he complied with his mother's imperative com- mand a deep sadness settled upon his young face; gone was the joyous gush of gladness that had a moment before filled his whole being, and crushed in the very bud were his intuitive aspi- rations after knowledge. Poor, poor Willie who will guide thine unpracticed feet in the paths of wisdom? who will teach thee to look through the works of Nature, up to Nature's God? Must the vast treasures that lie hidden in the storehouse of the mind remain there un- noticed, and uncared for? If a mother's love for her first born and her only, will not lead her to cherish the first faint dawnings of the godlike gift of reason, can it be that a. stranger, with nothing to recommend thee to his or her notice but the common promptings of humanity, will assume this high and holy trust? alas, I fear not. God only knows, poor child, what will be- comeof thee. ('Willie, Willie," said a little softly voice, as the outer door was pushed gently open, and a timid face peered into the cottage, "1 will you not come out and play with me a little while only a& very little while? for O, it is so pleasant, and I have gathered whole lots of mosses, just X as green and soft as velvet, and we will build a t little house down by .the brook where it is nice and shady, and we'll have the beautifullest times; E for mother says I may have my dolly to play t with, and Mrs. Morse has given me a nice par- cel of bits of china with gold roses, and stripes I on them." t n " Gilt, you mean, Addie," said Willie, cas it ing a half frightened glance towards the door of tc the next room where his mother was at work. "Yes, gilt, Willie; that's what mother told s me; but I like gold better, somehow. But say, m wont you go and ask your mother?" " O, I dare not, Addie, I dare not, for she ca will scold me, annd -and-perhaps whip me. to Wait a little and she will come out, and then gl you ask her." w "I will, Willie, but-." d "But what; Addie?" th "I'm afraid you'll not love me any more if I W tell you; but I don't love your mother, Willie, for I saw her come and throw away your, roses fev the other day, and then-but you must not tell, no Willie. I put my ear close to the key-hole, and w heard her s6ld you, and I cried very much, but bef pi- you didn't cry none, for I could peek through e! the crack in the door and see. Did you sit in the that dismal corner all that dreadful long time, ok and then go to bed without your supper? I nev- e's er ate a speck of supper that night, and I wish- en ed you had known it, for you would not have in- been so lonesome. O, I wish your mother was ve like mine, Willie, for she is so good and gentle, er and tells me about God, and heaven; mnd she ke will tell you if ypu will come into my liouse th some day, Willie. But there comes your ce mother." ll "Please, ma'am," said Addie, as Mrs. In- ar galls entered the room, "can Willie go out a e- little while, only a very little while, and play with me down by the brook? it is so pleasant." , "Willie!" said Mrs. Ingalls, "haven't I d told you miss, times enough, not to call my boy u Willie? If your mother wants to make babies ;, of her children, that's no business of mine; but b, you must know I wont have any such works in t my house," and she gazed coldly into the up- a turned face of the little pleader. e "Please may he go?" said Addie, in a more ; hesitating tone than at first, as she shrank nearer r the door. - "Go? no indeed! he will not," said Mrs. 3 Ingalls, casting her eye round her scrupulously , neat apartment. "I haven't an hour to spend in clearing away the dust and dirt he brings in- F to the house whenever he goes out, so you may as well march along with yourself, for I want to shut the door; come, budge quick, and don't let me see you again for a month." Addie did not need the second bidding, but casting her blue eyes brimming over with tears toward Willie, with a commiserating glance she glided from the door, and stole noiselessly along, wondering in her heart at her. own temerity in daring to make so unreasonable a request; all the time whispering to herself, "poor, dear Willie! poor, dear Willie!" "Please give alms to a poor blind boy? a few coppers, or acrust of bread, for I have tasted nothing since yesterday morning," said a child, who was led by a little brown dog, as he paused before Mr. Ingalls's dwelling, at a time when it page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] so chanced that there was no one at home bit Willie. While the boy was making known his request Willie stood gazing intently into the sightless orbs turned towards him, his fingers all the while nervously clasping a shining quarter which he had wrapped in a bit of cloth in his pocket since morning; a quarter which Addie Grant's mother had presented him for spending money the next day', for she, through dint of persuasive en- treaty, had prevailed upon Mrs. Ingalls to allow Willie to accompany herself and Addie to the nearest town on the ensuing day. There seem- ed to be a strong struggle going on in his mind for he had never been the possessor of so large a sum of money, and how could he part with his little all! Poor Willie! older and wiser heads than yours have allowed inclination to triumph over duty. But Willie could not stifle the pleadings of his own heart; arid after gazing for a moment upon the tempting coin, he reso-. lutely dropped it into the open palm of the V trembling bahnd extended towards him. "God bless you! God bless you 1" said the v blind boy, while tears followed each other in quick succession down his pale, sunken cheeks; "you have saved me from starving." During the above conversation, Mr. and Mrs. Ingalls had entered the gate unobserved, and Mr. Ingalls now stepping forward; seized the 1e boy by the shoulder, saying in a rough voice: "What does all this mean, you young vaga.- bond? let me see what's that you have in your hand? Eh, a quarter? and where, pray, did e: you get it? come, explain yourself'at once, or an I'll send for a sheriff to take you into custody; do ye hear, do ye, you young scapegrace?" a tit The boy alarmed lest he should carry his threat into execution, explained the affair; and S when he had concluded Mr. Ingallswrenched SS the money from his hand, and thrusting him "e rudely out at the gate, closed it upon him, and be entered the house in a towering passion, exclaim- ce ing, as his eye fell upon Willie, who stood cow- er ering before him: Xt s"So, you young rascal, this is the way you squander my hard earnings, is it? there, take w that," said lie, as he gave hinm a violent blow I that sent him reeling backwards. "I'll see if a' I can't teach you better things, you young , spendthrift?" le "But-but--father, it was my own money, s that Mrs. Grant gsave me this morning. O, fath- e or, indeed I did not steal it! indeed, I did not! h I never stole a cent in my life, father." e "Well, stop your whining and come to me and mark my word, if ever you give a farthing to anybody, I don't care who it may be, I'll whip you within an inch of your life. I've liv- ed forty years, and I never gave a cent to man, woman, nor child, without receiving a suitable equivalent. in return, and what's more I never will, nor will you as long as you are under my care. You need not look so wistfully at this quarter. I'll look out for this, and turn it to *some good account. Now off to bed, and don't let me hear another word about going to B- with the Grants to-morrow, for not one step will you go)' 'Willie sought his bed, and ere he closed his eyes in sleep his pillow was moistened with tears, and ever and anon a sob would convulse his bosom, wrung from the depths of his young, aching heart. Poor, forlorn Willie I CIIAPTER If. "So the Grants are going this morning,' said Mrs. Ingalls to her husband, as they were seated at the .breakfast table, " and for my own part I'nm ad of it." "So am I," said Mr. Ingalls, " for I want our Bill to commence work, for I've supported him in idleness quite long enough; but I knew he would do jus nothing at all while them pesky Grant boys were round. Mark my word, young nwin," he continued, turning to William, "in one week from to-day you commence working, so you may make much of your time." "But, father," said William, in a beseech- ing tone, "am I to leave school? I cannot, father, indeed [ eanncq." D on't talk in that way, boy," said Mr. In- galls, sternly; leave school you must, and don't let me hear any moie complaining." "Can f go in'to Mr. Grant's a moment?"I said William, as he rose from his untasted break fast. "Nonsense, boy! perfect nonsense! I told Mr. Grant this morning that you couldn't come a hr conveniently, and he might bid the children c good-by for you, as we didn't care about theit coming in here, for 'twouldn't help matters to whimper and cry an hour." "I'm glad you did, very glad," said Mrs. Ingalls, " for who wants the mud trampled all over their clean carpets?" Willie knew it would be useless to urge them to allow him to go, and with a heavy heart he stationed himself at the window to catch a parting glimpse at them as they passed; and it was not long before they made their appearance, The boys raised their caps as they spied Willie, and their faces looked sad, very sad for them, for they had lived in the sweet sunshine of do- mestic happiness; and Addie waved her white handkerchief in token of adieu, anid then buried her face in it and wept-for to use her own words, it seemed as though her heart would break to think she must leave her " poor, dear Willie," as she still persisted ,in calling him, without so much as bidding him good-by. Poor Willie; as he watched the carriage die- appear in the distance, it seemed as though the only ray of' happiness that had ever gleamed page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] upon his pathway had vanished forever, and he inwardly murmured, "Now there is nothing that makes me wish to do right, for there is no- body to care for me," and it was indeed true in a measute. "What a bad boy William Ingalls is getting to be of late," the neighbors remarked. "( He used to be one of the most loveable little fel- lows in the world; but he was always a sad, forlorn looking child. He's strangely altered!" This was true; one would scarcely recognize, in the now hardened face of the youth, the least resemblance to that of the child. O, it was in- deed soul-sickening to look upon him, possessed of naturally acute sensibilities, refined tastes, and more than a commonly inquiring mind, and think of what he might have become, under proper training. But alas! the hardening pro- cess was commenced early, and slowly, but surely, every promising trait had been eradica- ted, or, more properly, overgrown with the rank weeds planted by the hand of cruelty and coldness. Sad thought! upon whom rested this responsibility? to whose instrumentality was this demoralizing change owing? I leave my reader to answer these questions. Years sped on. The youth became a man, and there was something. so strangely' forbid- ding in his appearance, that even children would shrink from him as he passed them, with his dull, leaden eyes bent to the ground, and his lips compressed so tightly over his teeth, that it seemed as though the blood was ready to ooze from them. And "miser Bill," as he was called, knew all this; he knew that there was not one in all the wide world to love him, or care for him. He had stood beside the bed of his dying father and mother, he had watched the last feeble flickerings of the "candle of life," ere it went out in darkness, he had heard their I hea/vy, dying groan, and had, with his own a hands, closed their eyes in death, had followed them to their 'last, long resting place, and had heard the damp clod heaped upon their coffins, while the sentence was being pronounced, 1 "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt re- t turn ;" but through all this, not a tear had e moistened his eye, not a pang had reached his heart, it had become so entirely callous. He lived alone for money, and money he would have. The widow's cry, and the or- phan's prayer, fell all unheeded upon his ear, for he could unhesitatingly wring from them their last farthing, for conscience had ceased to utter her warning monitions; alas, for poor, fall- en, human nature I In a mean, miserable hovel, on the outskirts of a large city, we next find him; having left his native place, for fear that some one knowing to his great wealth should rob him of his life, that they might obtain his money. Poor, mis- erable man! Who would envy thee thy com- fort? During one of his excursions from home, hav- ing become weary, he approached a bank and was on the point of seating himself, when he discovered a little girl, of apparently six or sev- en years, lying upon the ground asleep. Her little hands were clasped above her head, and her dark curls fell in wild confusion around her thin, pale face. He was about to pass on, to seek a place where he might rest without fear of intrusion; but the longer he gazed into the up- turned face of the little sleeper, the less he felt inclined to do so, and with cautious step he ap- proached the child, and noiselessly seated him- self by her side; and as he sat gazing upon her, a tear stole from beneath her long lashes and rested upon her warm cheek. What magic was there, in that simple tear! behold that hardened miser, whose eye had not been moistened for twenty long years, by one drop from the" cup of sensibility ;" see' that leaden eye become humid, and see him, as now he bows his head upon his fands, and gives full vent to the. blinding tears that have so long been chilled at their fountain; and read with me the thoughts that are passing through his soul, thoughts that have long lain hidden in the silent cells of the chamber of memory. In fancy, he is again 'a boy, sporting before his native cot, chasing the gilded butterfly, and tossing pebbles into the limpid stream; or gath- ering the sweet wild flowers that are scattered in , such wild profusion, that his tiny feet scarce move without crushing some delicate little bud beneath their tread. Anon, he sees the mill the old school house, the play-ground; but sweeter than all, in fancy the loved voices of his playmates ring out upon the air, as they used to of yore, and by his side sweet little Addie Grant is nestling, looking lovingly into his face. O, 'tis a sweet dream, but too bright to last, for it cannot long usurp the place of stern reality. William Ingalls wept long and bitterly, and when he raised his head ftom its recumbent position, he was an altered man; and one would readily, methinks, have recognized the child sporting in the summer sunshine, and the man with dark locks, and time-worn visage, to be one r and the same. He was about to leave the spot, when the little stranger opened wide her blue t eyes, and looking lovingly into his face, said: "It was very good in you to sit here and . wa'ch me while I was sleeping. I dreamed b ksome one was here, and I loved them much." How strangely, did the words of love and b kindness fall upon the heart that had so long been unused to them; and What overpowering ta sensations shook'the frame of the strong man, L as the little girl crept to his side and putting her tu arms around his neck, said: hi " Please, sir, will you not love poor little th Addie Wells, and take her for your own little d girl? for she has no mother to love her." in It was a beautiful sight, to see that young, frail child clinging so closely to the side of the di dark visaged man, who had for years been a ric terror to all who knew him, and following him with the, most implicit confidence into his dark ace and cheerless abode; and as day glided on ne it would have done one good to have looked the into that hovel and seen the ky form of Addie ear arranging the tea-table with her own hands, and assisting William in his light household duties. pe Then at night, to have seen her climb to her co accustomed place, upon his knee, and while she sur rested her warm, soft cheek upon his bosom, re- her peat to him some sweet passages from the Scrip- h tures which had been taught her by her own drav rce dear mother; and ere she retired, bowing on bud her knees by his side, and with clasped hands ill, and upraised eyes, asking the protection of that but "Parent who never slumbers nor sleeps." M, of it was indeed a scene over which angels might iey pause to rejoice, and I doubt not but they did. tle 'Blessed, thrice blessed instructions, imparted to by a mother, fiever to be forgotten by her child; and who would dare say that they had not of already " proved a savor of life unto life " unto the young suppliant, when remembering that nd "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." at Hour after hour would William Ingalls sit ld gazing into the face of his little protege, with Id the expression of one who is vainly striving to an recall the events of some forgotten dream; te and, as if instinctively, his mind would at once t, revert to the one bright object in his existence, Le the sweet reminiscences that came with the mem- ory of Addie Grant. Could it be that the child d resembled her? or was it simply owing to her d bearing, the name of his early playmate? We will not stay to answer these questions here, I but hasten to the finale of our chapter. g About one year from the time of William's gtaking Addie to his home, the inhabitants of , L--, is former place of residence, which by r'the way had become a flourishing town during his long years of absence, were surprised to see the house which had belonged to his father, torn down, and a large and commodious one erected in its stead; but notwithstanding the strict in- quiries that were made, nothing more could be discovered than that it was to be built for a rich gentleman with an adopted daughter. It was late at night when William Ingalls, accompanied by his little Addie, entered his new abode. The house formerly occupied by the Grants was in sight of their dwelling, and early in the morning, as William stood gazing from the window, wrapped in thought, the door opened, and a thin, pale woman came out and commenced weeding a border of pinks that surrounded a little flower plat. After watching her for some moments, he took his hat and bent his steps in the direction of the house, and drawing near the woman, he said: page: 100[View Page 100] "Good morning, madam,",and was about to proceed ; but as she raised her pale face, it be- came paler still on beholding him, and she cx- claimed "William Ingalls! and have we met at last? God he praised for this!" Without doubt my reader rightly premises the wonmali to be Addie Grant, llis fioner friend and J)plymate. "Now, Addie," said Mr. Inga lls, when they were seated in her- poorly furnilhed room, "[ f shall inhist upon hearing the history, of your life shice I labtF saw you." We will not stay to give it in her own words, but will simply repeat the Circutnstan- ce's lhatt are connected wi'h our story. She informed him that, at the age of twenty fhle ntn-ried a Mr. Wells, tind thnlt in two 3years after her marriage she was lhet, a widow, with one lit the gir to support, hy her own exer- 1 tios; all that when thie child was o)lt, four il y!:l^ , Id, she went to the le;i'K..t. villip, al t it.;t, hts-r ii( lih care of a neighllJr, :anl t t, on e l r rentuli lie child was niisni ntz. nl th1 ough f-ettlC'h \am 'mntdtor her in all tih acl()tiinin cilitny, no traces could bo. o'btinled/, except h ' tat a strange woman had been seen at the door of Mrs. Wells's dwelling during the absence of the one who had taken upon her the care of the child; but who had carelessly left her alote, in the house while she went in search of berries. Here was a mysterious providence; that William Tngalls should have been the means of uniting the long separated mother and child. We will not attem)pt to describe their meeting, for pen would fail to perform it office should it attempt it. But now what was to be done? for neither could resign the claim to the child. The affair was at length decided, by Mrs. Wells consenting to resign her home for one in Wil- liam Ingalls's family, and here we will leave thehi;-but stay-a word more in regard to him. Sudden and unmistakeable had been the: change in William Ingalls. It seemned as though his entire natare had been renovated ; but yet it was not thus, for these elements, through all , the long, dark years of his life had been simul- ering within hint, and the faint spark that re- mained, now sent forth a clear and steady blaIe. To that tear he averred, he owed all his bright hopes of happiness and heaven. THE END.
