"Of sister Mary, it is so, but what know you of her?' "Oh! she was the benefactress of my benefactress, the poor nun of Jesus, who would have saved my soul, if gold, accursed gold, had not stifled all her good precepts, and my right feelings.' ... Paolo kissed the paper with reverence, and once more dashed away a tear. "What then! captain, am I your brother? can it be possible?—yes, it must be so, but dare I hope you will ever acknowledge me as such, steeped as I am in blood and vice.' "St. Croix rushed into his arms. "At this moment an officer of the police entered, giving each a letter sealed with the royal arms. "We are free!' they both exclaimed in the same breath. "I, said Paolo, shall instantly depart for London, and seek my friend and patron.' What, Paolo, so soon, have we only met to part again? perhaps for ever! Am I again to be left alone in the world?' "Oh! we shall meet again, my brother, never fear, I have much depending upon my instant departure, but we shall meet again most certainly.' "God grant it may be so,' exclaimed St. Croix, opening a letter which had been forwarded with his release from the minister. "The marchioness informed him, that her father, though fallen into disgrace, was still determined to pursue him criminally for their guilty intercourse, and if possible to obtain a divorce for the Marquis de Brinvilliers.' "St. Croix folded up his letters, placed them, with the phial, carefully in his pocket, and taking Paolo's arm, prepared to quit the Bastille. "Now M. d'Aubray, beware! care,' whispered he to his brother." You shall be our joint (To be continued in our next.) ΤΟ Yes, thou art happy! Love and all But fearfully thy smiles recal The hour when they were wholly mine; And now to me they bring despair, Unto some wretch who knows that ne'er Yes! with their breast-born tenderness, There is a memory of wrong, Which is not hate, yet never dies; It bears of peace and placid guise. In dust to share the common lot: Wilt yearn to breathe when I am not. THE COUNTESS AND THE SIBYL. 66 66 "THE stars shine not on our love, Julian," said the maiden, gazing upward, as a light fleecy cloud sailed slowly along the sky. "Oh that thy reluctance, Marcella, might pass like that mist," exclaimed the lover, pointing to the already fleeting shadow; but, alas! you love me not!" "Because I counsel prudence," returned the damsel, pettishly. Oh, Marcella!" cried Julian, with enthusiasm," when did love ever counsel prudence? Were our hearts, our hopes the same!-it is not so; that averted face, thy hand-unmoved and passionless in mine, all, all forbid the thought?" "It grows late," said the maiden, evading other reply; " my father will observe my absence: good night, Julian!" The lover spoke not: he did not even impress a silent kiss on her passive hand, but relinquished it with a sigh of despondency, almost of despair. Yet seldom has a lover like Julian Zuccaro wooed in vain. In the prime of youth and manly beauty, of ancient family and unblemished fame, what more could maiden desire? The desires of maidens are, however, proverbially capricious. It was not that Marcella was unsusceptible of love; none that ever looked on her expressive, and even impassioned countenance, could believe that it was the index of a frigid heart: nor was it that she was insensible to the merit of her lover; for his merits had been his first, his only recommendation to her favour. The praises of the learned and illustrious of Padua had penetrated even the halls of the Count Gerbini, closed as they were to all save the rich and noble; exciting in his fair daughter a desire to know the young student who had won such golden opinions. By the venial indulgence of a mercenary and unprincipled governante, to whose charge the count had committed his only child, this wish was accomplished; and, however equivocal its effect on Marcella, the heart of Julian yielded at once to the power of her charms. It were vain to inquire into the motives that induced the maiden to grant stolen assignations in the palace gardens to the enamoured youth, which served only to rivet his chains, without advancing him one step in her affections. Certain it is that each succeeding interview seemed but to weaken the impression which a noble exterior and an eloquent address had originally created; and Julian could no longer conceal from himself that the love of Marcella was not to be won by a student. Disdaining, even in her own person, an adherence to the established usages of society, she looked with scorn or derision on those soft and social virtues which were so dear to her lover, lamenting, with a sigh, the dispersion of that dream of chivalrous valour and romantic feeling with which her strong and highly-excited imagination had in vested her. Love, however, lies deepest in a breast where silent devotion to one endearing object blends itself as it were with the very springs of life; and where love is, hope will be also. In the presence of the maiden his fears predominated; but when that glance no longer flashed on him, from which as from excess of light, he shrank involuntary, he seemed to find, in the very admission of his secret and stolen visits, an indication of favour which time and perseverance might ripen into passion. To some doubtful feeling of this nature must indeed be ascribed the reluctance of Marcella either to encourage or reject her lover. She esteemeed, she valued Julian-but she loved him not! "Urge me not," she exclaimed on a subsequent interview, "to rebel against destiny. My fate has been read, Julian, by an ancient sibyl, and her prediction points not to you!" "And can you believe in such fallacies !" cried the lover, whose own bosom was probably not entirely free from the superstition of the age. "Your eye, Julian, tells me that your heart is not incredulous," replied the maiden, smiling at his alarm, "trust me, the prophecy flowed not from the lips of ignorance or imposture. If ever woman were inspired, it was that awful being who, in the gloom of night, wrought by mystical incantations a spell so fearful." FEBRUARY, 1843. M |