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VOLUME 1.
LEAVE LOCK OF> yUUJI
* 1 The night is fresh and calm, love,
The birds are in their bowers,
And the holy light
Os the moon falls bright
On the beautiful sleeping flowers.
Sweet Nora, ar you waking ?
Ah ! don't you hear me sparing ?
My heart is well-nigh breaking
For the love of you, Nora dear.
Ah ! why don’t you speak, mavrone?
Sure I think that you’re made of stone,
J ust like Venus of old,
All so white and so cold,
But no morsel of flesh or bone.
ii.
“ ! There’s not a soul a stir, love—
No sound falls on the ear
But that rogue of a breeze,
That's whispering the trees,
Till they tremble all through with fear.
To your window where your sleeping-
Sure they’re not ciiid for peeping
At your beauties, my Nora dear.
You’ve the heart of a Turk, by my soivl,
To ieavc me perched here like an owl ;
’Tis treatment too bad
For a true-hearted lad,
To be served like a desolate fowl.
in.
“ 1 You know the vow you made, love—
You know we fixed the day ;
And here I’m now
To claim that vow,
And carry my bride away.
So Nora, don’t be staying,
For weeping or for praying—
There’s danger in delaying,
Sure maybe I’d change my mind.
For you know I'm a bit of a rake,
And a trifle might tempt me to break—
Faix but for your blue eye,
I’ve a notion to try
What sort of an old maid you’d make. ’
IV.
“ ‘ Ah ! Dermot, win me not, love,
To be your bride to-night.
How could I bear
A mother’s tear,
A father’s scorn and slight?
So, Dermot, cease your sueing,
Don’t work your Nora’s ruin,
’Twill be my sore undoing
If your found at mv window, dear ’—
‘ Ah I for aflame with your foolish alarms :
T ---t | T\ •-
mind looking at all ” f
Foi your cloak or your shawl,
They were made but to smother your charms.’
v.
“ And now a dark cloud rising
Across the moon is cast—
The lattice opes,
And anxious hopes
Make Dermot's heart beat fast.
And soon a form entrancing,
With arms and fair neck glancing,
Half shrinking, half advancing,
Steps light on the lattice sill;
When—a terrible arm in the air
Clutched the head of the lover all bare ;
And a voice, with a scoff.
Cried, as Dermot made off,
• Won’t too leave cs a lock op toub hair ?” ’
THE JUDGE’S SAW-LOGS.
In tlio village of W. lived a man who had
once been judge of the county, and was known
all over by the name of Judge L. He kept a
store and saw-mill, and was always sure to
have the best of a bargain on his side, by
which means he had gained an ample com
petency ; and some did not hesitate to call
him the “ biggest rascal in the wbrld.” IIe ;
was very conceited withal, and used to delight
in bragging of his business capacity when any
one was near to listen. One rainy day, as
quite a number were seated around the store,
he began as usual to tell of his great bargains,
and finally wound up with, “Nobody never
cheated me, nor they can’t, neither.”
“ Judge,” said an old man of the company,
“ I’ve cheated you more’n you ever did me.”
“ How so ?” said the judge.
“If you’ll promise you won't go to law
about it, nor do nothin’, I’ll tell, or else I won’t;
you are too much of a law character for me.”
“Let’s hear! let’s hear!” cried half a dozen
voices at once.
“ We’ll bear you on it—go on!”
“ I’ll promise,” said the judge, “ and treat in
the bargain, if you have.”
“Well, do you remember that wagon you
robbed me of?” \
I never?/ehed von out o.’ any wagon!”
e’ claimed tb’- judg: I only got my own!”
• Well, I made up my mind to h&'-’e it back,
and—” ‘
“ But you never did!” cried the judge.
“ Yes 1 did, and interest, too I”
“ How ?” thundered the now enraged judge.
“ Well, you see, judge, I sold you, one day,
a very nice pine log, and bargained with you
for a lot more. Well, that log I stole off your
pile, down by your mill, the night before, and
next day I sold it to you. That night, I drew
it back home, and sold it to you next day; and
so I kept on, until you bought your own log of
me twenty-seven times!”
“ That’s a d—d lie!” cried the mad judge,
running to his book, and examining his log
accounts ; “ you never sold me twenty-seven
logs of the same measurement.”
“ I know it,” said the vender in logs. “By
drawing it back and forth the end wore off;
and as it wore, I kept cutting the end off, until
it was only ten feet long, just fourteen feet
shorter than it was the first time you bought
it; and when it got so short, I drew it home
and worked it up into shingles, and the next
week you bought the shingles; and then I
concluded I had got my wagon back—and in
my pocket-book.”
The exclamation of the judge was drowned
in the shouts of the bystanders, and the log
drawer found the door, without waiting for the
promised treat. And to see a mad man, you
have only to ask the judge if he was ever
shaved.
fRUSSELL, BERNEY & C0.,1
1 PUBLISHERS. JU
* %vv
„ ap-M.
[COPY-RIGHT SECURtD ACCORDING TO LAW.]
CHAPTER X—{Continued.)
She walked up the aisle alone. Her mother
was not with her.
At length she reached the rad, at which she
knelt, and bowed her head low before her.
Father Pedroni was soon at her side.
Stooping low before her, until he could
safely cast the words he would into her ear, be
whispered something to her. She immediately
arose from her kneeling posture, moved noisf!-
lessly about the rail, and her head still cart
down, passed almost unobserved into the
sacristy at the left hand door.
Lady Monimia observed this movement,
both of the faithful priest and of her daughter
Gabriella, with a steadfast look, and her eyp
grew remarkably lustrous in regarding it.
The melancholy wails of the organ burftt
forth at this moment. The proud and amb -
tious Lady Monimia crossed herself, counte l
the beads in her rosary, and soon after movtA
down the aisle, and emerged into the gay oulU
world again. \
This was the dei^a
Gabriella had remained imthe pent-up sacrist
ty but a brief time, ere the priest Pedroni bin*
self entered, and saluted her in a very
and affectionate manner.
“ Daughter,” spoke he, “ I would see you in
private a short half hour, to talk with you on
what must, of all things else, concern you the
most.”
The girl returned no reply, and scarce raised
her eyes from the marble floor on which they
rested.
“ Are you in all respects happy, my child ?’’
asked the priest, laying his hand protectingly
upon her head.
“ I cannot tell, my good father,” answered
she, with great meekness.
“ But could you think of any one thing that
is yet wanting, to make you perfectly a creature
of happiness ?’’
“ I know not, indeed, Father,” said she.
“You have a parent left, who loves you
with devotion, and whom you must love in
return.”
“ I do ! oh, I do, good Father !”
“ And you would do nothing, of course, that
would diminish by so much as a moment, her
happiness.”
Gabriella signified that she would not.
“That is well,” replied he. Obedience to
parents is our first duty. But it is not alto
gether upon this theme I would speak. It is
one of far greater importance. Its purport is
wider and deeper, and longer. Have you yet
placed your youthful affections upon any defi
nite object for life ?”
The innocent girl, perhaps half suspecting
that he might know somewhat of her former
affections for Signor Colonna, looked inquiringly
into his face and answered to him, —
“ No, Father Pedroni.”
“ And have you thought of it as yet ?” con
tinued he.
“Not as yet, that I am aware of, Father.”
“ Would it better satisfy your devout spirit*’
said he, “ to give up your time to the pursuit
of the follies and foibles of society, than to
devote it all to a higher purpose ?”**”
“ I'would do as you can direct me,” was her
humble reply.
“ And if I should direct you to renounce all
these worthy vanities, now at your time of
life, where the sacrifice is much greater and
of course is accounted of more worth, —if, I
say, I should direct you to renounce all these
vanities, and give up the remainder of your
days to religious service, to doing good under
the auspices of a sacred sisterhood, —think
you could assure me that you would ?”
“ I would wish to think of it, my Father,”
was her perplexed reply.
“ You do not hesitate ?” questioned he.
“ I dare not promise; I fear I might be un
faithful to a hasty promise.”
“ Do you think at all favorably of my ques
tion, then ?”
“ I would not presume to slight it,” said
Gabriella.
“And will you, to-morrow, at this hour,
come hither and assure me that your heart is
fixed ?”
“ I will, Father, I will!”
“ Either on the follies of the world, or on
the real life of your religion ?”’
“ Yes, Father.”
“ Enough. Rettim now to your home. Re
turn to your mansion and your mother. Think
well of this thing before your determination is
fully made. It will prove a great influence on
your future happiness.”
MACON, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 10, 1859*
“ Your blessing, Father ?’’ plead she, as she
rose from her seat to go.
He laid his hand upon her head, and blessed
her fervently. His last syllables were but
expressions of hope that she would decide
favorably in this matter to his wishes.
Arriving home again, she found her mother
eagerly awaiting her coming. She received
her with an embrace of gladness, and a burn
ing kiss.
Gabriella knew not that she ever felt so
happy before.
“ Have you but just come from your ves
pers, child ?” inquired she.
“ Yes, mother.”
“ And come you straght back to me again ?”
“ Yes, I lingered not by the way ?”
“ And fell into no one’s company ?”
“ No, mother.”
“ Did you nowhere see Signor Colonna by
the way you came ?”
“Nowhere.”
“It is well, then.- Have you seen no onp
with whom you conversed ?” , t
■■ •• m L -> 1
“ And what 6aid he to you, child ?”
“ He called me into the sacristy, mother,”
said the girl, “ and talked with me long upon
the purpose for which I was living. He wished
me to promise to give up all my love for the
world, and yield my heart only to the duties of
religion.”
“ And what answer made you to this ?”
“ What should I have made, mother ?”
“ Just what your heart dictated and approved,
child.”
“ Yet I would not have made rash promises,
mother ?”
“ Oh, no ; but what answered you ?”
“ I assured him that I would take the matter
into my thoughts home with me, and decide
upon it there.”
“Did he ask you to give him any reply
soon ?” inquired the wily woman.
“ To-morrow eve, he said.”
“ And shall you have made up your mind
wholly, by that time ?”
“ With your help and advice, I shall, mother.
I told him that I must talk long with you over
it. I assured him that I would do nothing
wrong or rashly. I would promise nothing
except after long reflection, and with your
advice and approval. Was I right in that,
mother ?”
“ Did he commend it ?”
“ Surely. He said I could nowise do better.
He told me to bring tlie whole matter to you,
mother, and you would set my mind in a proper
train.”
“ And now would you have me advise you,
my daughter, in this matter ?”
“ Yes, I shall act only after you have directed
me,” replied Gabriella.
“ But do you not yourself think, you
would be far happier in the daily conscientious
exercise of religious duties, especially if they
be self-imposed, than in mingling in the heart
lessness of the circles of social life ?”
“ I doubt not I should be, mother.”
“ Is there any object, Gabriella, —any affec
tion, —any purpose, in allr the? wide world, that’
you would hesitate to give up for that perma
nent, and enduring, and increasing happiness
which would be yours day by day, and year
by year, in your new mode of life ?”
“ I think of but one object,mother,” answered
the girl.
“ What is that ?”
“ It is you.”
“ Ah, child! you love me too well, I fear!
And now I would have you make this sacrifice
on my account! If lam willing to lose the
wealth of your love, for the sake of having you
made more constantly happy, ought you to
have any hesitation ?”
“ I hardly know, mother.”
“ You see that by your shutting yourself out
from the world, I become quite as great a loser
as do you; do you not ?”
“ Yes,” assented she.
“ And are you willing to give up all ?”
“ Yes.”
“ Even to me ?”
“It is a great undertaking, mother,” re
marked Gabriella, thoughtfully.
“ Nothing is too great for them to undertake,
who have faith,” said the Lady Monimia. “ But
retire, now, to your chamber, child, and add
deep and silent reflection to my words. You
can never thoroughly enter upon any good
purpose, unless you have first prepared your
mind for it by continued reflection.”
With these words in her ears, the child
bestowed another kiss upon her mother, which
was returned, and left the apartment.
The crafty Lady Monijna was alone.
Who could think, on seeing her there with
her daughter, and on liedring her drop such
words of advice into her heart, that she was
so full of ambition ? so intoxicated with high
hopes ? so wrought upon in her inmost nature
by selfishness ? so subtle ? so crafty ? so full
of duplicity ?
She was absorbed for a long time thereafter
as the contemplation of her future. It now
looked more gilded with sunshine to her eyes,
than ever before.
How long these bright colors, however,
would last, was more than she could tell.
j ■
CHAPTER XI.
RESOLUTION TAKEN —AN IMPRESSIVE INTERVIEW.
The next evening came.
Gabriella went again to her vespers. This
time, however, she the company of her
mother. £ i _
The latter knelt withner t tlie rail, received
the blessing of the priest, redroni, and at his
suggestion stepped quietly round into the
sacristy. *
Not long after, therfy.'iesl was in her pres
ence. H
“ Has my daughter yet drawn her heart to a
resolution in the matter of which I yesterday
spake ?” asked he. *
“ I think she has,” replied tlie Lady Mo
nimia.
“ Was it a willing determination ?”
“ Entirely so,” continued the mother. “ She
had the assistance of my counsel; but I made
her reflect deeply upon this matter for herself.
She thought of it, good father Pedroni, all
through the night; and this morning she
awoke with anew light in her eyes and anew
joy in her heart, and assured me that her
heart was fully made up.”
“ It is well,” calmly answered the priest, in a
low tone ;“it is very well! I know that it is
a resolution of whichj you will never repent,
my daughter.” ,
He then bestow on her muck
stieiigihtql
her nTmu in the ‘resolution she had taken. I
Before they left the peristy, it was arranged
between the Lady Monimia and priest Pedroni
that the Prioress of the nunnery of St. Clement
should attend upon the girl at the earliest
possible time. This being definitely under
stood, the mother rose with her daughter, and
returned home.
Her emotions, as she passed down the dusky
aisle again, -were wholly of jcy; joy for herself.
She thought nothing of the poor victim whom
she was about to bury from her sight and from
the world forever, within tie frowning walls
of a convent!
They had been in their mansion again but a
little time, and the Lady Monimia had scarcely
done impressing the devout and innocent heart
of the girl with her ideas of duty, when the
maid, Juliette, announced a gentleman below.
Immediately the mother lastened down to
receive him.
“ Ah, Signor Colonna she, when
the light of the apartn” , evealed to her the
features of that persor jam rejoiced to see
you here to-night I”
She proffered him hL* hand with much
more than her wonted cordiality.
He rose to receive hei, as a gallant gentle
man should ; and she thm seated herseif not
far from him.
“ How does the Lady juoflimia to-night ?”
questioned he, with an lof interest which
she did not fail to observe/
“Well, very well, thank you, Signor!” was
her reply.
“ And how fares, liketise, the charming
Gabriella ?” he continued.
A shade flitted across tie Lady Monimia’s
features.
Recovering herself, however, as soon as she
could, she replied.
“ She has lost her chains, Signor! She
does well, however.”
“ Lost them 1” exclaimed .bf- - ;
“ Yes, Signor; her spirii^^^^^]en.”
“ Then she has charged ?”
“ Ah, yes ! an altogiPnv different one,
Signor, from that in wilier you saw her last!”
“ But what is the troubte now, my lady ?
Why is her present sadness *’
“ It would be quite as difficult to tell, Signor,
as to tell why she was so chaaged toward you,
only the other day. Indeed,she is extremely
wayward!”
“Is this permanent, think yiu ? Lasting ?”
“ I have good reason to beleve it will be.”
“ “Why is it so ?”
“ Because she has latter!’ given up her
mind to religious subjects, aid has even been
thinking seriously of entering the convent.”
“ Impossible!” exclaimed ithe thoroughly
excited Colonna.
The Lady Monimia preser ed all her own
calmness, which had the efff ct to quiet her
companion more readily, and l roceeded—
“She has been in conversation with the
priest respecting it.”
“ You surprise me !”
“ I hardly know what to think of her idea
at first,” continued the artful mother, “but
after a long conference with her, Signor, in
which she freely gave up all the secrets of her
heart to me, I found she was resolutely bent
on making the undertaking.”
“ I could not have dreamed it.”
“ Yet it is no dream ; it is all a reality. I
know how my mother’s heart •will be torn by
the separation, Signor ; but I have no obstacles
to place in what she may think her path of
duty. Not one. I could not burden my con-
Grand Entrance to the Cathedral.—See Chapter XII.
science with a wrong influence, in a matter of
such great import.”
“ No, you could not,” assented Colonna.
“ She has fully determined upon the subject,
too, by this time, I think, Signor!”
“ So that there is no retreat from her resolu
tion?”
“ None, I believe.”
“ Has she yet acquainted any one save your
self with her resolution ?”
“ Yes, the priest Pedroni.”
“ And he commends her ?”
“Os a certainty he does. He assures her
that the sacrifice, made by one in her position
is of far greater worth than, if it had been made
by one in humble walks,iand by one having
fewer friends.” \
ft o it Tsx'int! e-- Ct , ft naar ”
“ And I shall let her take'her own course.”
“ She has had the benefit of good counsel,
and has been closeted alone for hours, during
which she gave up her mind to the contem
plation of this subject. The plan has not, I
think, been hastily entered upon, and must,
therefore, become a permanent one in her
mind. She speaks very reasonably upon it,
and it will bo no effort or wish of mine to
attempt to break it up.”
“No—no,” sadly assented Colonna.
His face had grown uncommonly saddened
in its look. lie had become deeply impressed
with the sad reality that was laid before him.
“ In a convent, Signor,” continued the proud
Lady Monimia, “ my daughter will be quite as
happy as she was. This waywardness of her’s
will be broken. And even if she stay there
only during the brief time allotted for proba
tion, yet she may receive many useful lessons
only from reflection.”
“ Would she have a conversation with me
to-night ?” ventured Colonna.
“ No; with no one!” answered the mother,
in a tone of unmistakable determination.
“ I cannot help thinking of her.”
“No more can I. But I would not impress
you with an idea that the mansion of the Lady
Monimia is a place only of gloom. I would
entertain my friends as best befit my place in
society. Come, Signor, cheer your spirits up
again! What may be the last whisper of news
upon the lip of the town ?”
“In truth, my Lady, I am ignorant alto
gether,” replied ho.
“ Then where have you passed your after,
noon? Have you walked Or ridden? Have
you eonfined yourself altogether within the
city ?”
“ I have not so much as crossed the Arno.”
“ You keep yourself quite closely, Signor (
for one who has liberty to roam so much at
large. What have you seen about you to-day
pray ? Any new faces ? Ah! you gay gen
tlemen are eternally hunting up the new
faces!—” ,
“ Os ladies, we are.”
“ Exactly! That is just what I meant,
Signor, I say you are very industrious where
there are pretty mouths, and sparkling eyes to
be fonnd!”
“ You would not surely, my Lady, hint that
I perform more than that share of this duty
which belongs to me ?”
“ Oh, no, Signor! not for the world, would I,
Signor! But now that you have more than
half confessed to the occupation you have
been following, pray tell me whom, of all the
fair ladies of Florence, you think the most
lovely ?”
“ You cannot wish me to make such a con.
session to you, my Lady ?”
“ But indeed, I do wish it.”
“ Whom of all Florence do I esteem the most
lovely!” repeated he. “ What a hard question
to answer 1”
“ Not too hard for you, is it, Signor ?”
“ I might answer it, my Lady.”
“ I wish you would /”
“ That I should mention the name of ,
but no I”
“ I beg you to go on! What name? Did you
speak it aloud ?”
“ No, but I will. I could once have answered
the name of Gabriella!”
The Lady Monimia blushed deeply. 4
“ Once ?” questioned she.
“ Yes, my Lady.”
“ But not now ?”
“ No.”
{T°
“Then who shall take her place now,”
Signor ?”
.“ I dislike to flatter a person,” gallantly
answered he.
“Ah, Signor!” gaily, and somewhat con
fusedly answered she; “if you were only
serious J”
“ Indeed, I do not know that I was ever
more so.”
“ And you mean to say—”
She blushed, and stammered, and broke
down. Her heart beat altogether too wildly
to permit her to finish the sentence. Her ex
pressive eyes, now looking only love, dropped
confusedly to the floor.
“ That I think yourself, at/this moment, the
most likely woman of all Flm'ence!” said he.
retfeving
“Thank you, Signor! you!” said
she, in a soft and sweet voice, lifting her lan
guidly rolling eyes until they met his own, and
returned her heart’s thanks better than her
lips had done.
The look fairly penetrated Signor Colonna. A
thrill, as of a secret and indescribable joy shot
throughout all his frame, and drove the blood
from his heart up—up —up into his cheeks
and temples.
For a moment the embarrassment on both
sides was much too great to permit the inter
ruption of the silence by so much as a word.
The thoughts that vibrated to and fro between
them for that brief moment, was unquestion
ably too pleasing to be broken by syllables.
The proud and wary Lady Monimia saw
beyond all doubt that she had succeeded in
making a deep impression upon the heart of
Colonna. An.l as the consciousness of it re
turned gradually upon her, stealing over her
heart, and even asserting itself within her
very eyes, she experienced feelings such as
she had, she thought, ever been a stranger to
before.
It would have been an useless work for her
to have denied to herself, that she was that
moment most deeply in love with Signor
Colonna. Proud and imperious as she was in
the face of other men, she felt herself quite a
different being in his. She felt that her nature
was changed in a great degree. She had a
consciousness of seeing from different eyes,
and speaking from another tongue. She ex
perienced an assurance that there was some
mystic attraction to his character and qualities
which drew her silently towards him, even in
spite of herself.
They sat together for a considerable time
after this. Their conversation was protracted
in the same vein into which it had lapsed, and
with a narration of which we will not burden
the reader.
Suffice it to add, that when the gay and
gallant Signor Colonna rose to take his leave
it was already somewhrai late, and* he pressed
the hand of the beautiful Lady Monimia with
more than his wonted warmth and fervor.
Suffice it, that when he left the Lady
Monimia to herself and her reflections, he felt
himself happy in the consciousness that he
was beloved by her most tenderly and truly.
Suffice it, that when the Lady Monimia was
at last left alone, her ambitious heart beat
deeply and quickly, and strongly, at the
thought of the now almost complete state of
her plans.
It really seemed, too, as if her intellect, in
this mater, had swayed and carried before it
everything. It seemed as if there was no law
. for her but what she might see proper to pro
pound to herself, as if she put her hand to no
task, except it were thoroughly performed.
With all her elation at this time, however,
she never forgot herself. Her’s was a nature
sturdily persevering, and thoughtless of no
detail in her allotted work.
She entered Gabriella’s room again, and
talked long and seriously with her on the sub
ject uppermost in the girl’s heart.
CHAPTER XII.
SEPARATION OF MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
On the following day, the priest Pedroni
entered the mansion of Lady Monimia accom
panied by a female, —the Prioress of the Con
vent of St. Clement.
They were shown into the reception room
by Juliette, the maid, whose eyes were busy,
Dumber at
and whose ears were widely open, to under
stand what was the occasion of all the new
excitement which had been going on for several
days.
The Prioresss was, after a brief interview
with the Lady Monimia, ushered into another
apartment, where she took Gabriella entirely
under her charge for the time, and began im
pressing more deeply upon her heart the truths
she would have her receivo as part of her very
existence.
Gabriella sat and listened patiently, offering
but a few replies to any of the remarks made
her. Her spirits were even then very nearly
broken, for all the buoyant life they dis
covered ; and this was thought to be only her
religion !
What a misnomer!
Long and ardently, therefore, was the good
Prioress active in her work. She sounded the
girl’s mind, and she found that she had rooted
up therefrom every weed of worldly pride that
had ever grown there. She tried the depths
of her feelings and affections ; and she found
that there existed no love, that she would con
fess to, for a single human being.
No question that the lady superior put her,
which was not immediately responded to, ap
parently from a full, ready and gushing heart.
There was not a principle propounded, which
she was not ready to receive, and understand
ingly, too, into her full belief.
The Prioress was pleased almost beyond
expression with what she found. Here was a
field all watered and fertilized, and planted to
her hand. She had but to employ the care
and training of the patient husbandman, and
the full crop would at last be gathered into her
garner.
Ia the other apartment were seated the
priest Pedroni and the step-mother.
The former was quite sanguine in the matter
that, at Lady Monimia’s ins tig® n, he had
undertaken, and a Hush of triumpnThad already
mounted to his cheek. Jk
wf Yares> the* child to-Ocgf my
“■Lady ?” asked ho, in his priestly tones.
“ It is well, Father Pedroni,” answered she.
“ It is all as well as you could have desired.”
“ Nothing miscarries, then ?”
“ Nothing.”
“ It is well, then, of a surety, madam.”
“ Ever since she first set her mind on the
subject, she has steadily kept it upon the same,
refusing even for the briefest time to take off
her thoughts to anything that is passing about
her.”
“ She is sincere, certainly ?”
“ Never was any one more so.”
“ And you think she has fully weighed all
the important changes which her new mode
of life will offer her ?”
“ Thoroughly, I think, good Father.”
“ And comprehends all ?”
“ Everything.”
“ Have you heard her confess her feelings to
you very recently ?’’
“ Only this morning, father.”
“ And she is still constant to her purpose ?”
“ Wholly, devoted to it.”
“No enticements that still struggle with
her ?”
“ Only one, she says.”
“ And what is that ?”
“ Her love for me.”
“ For you!” exclaimed the priest.
“ That’s all, slio assures me.”
“ But how, then, do you manage to break off
this very strong tie ? Is is stronger than bars
of gold ?”
“ I reason with her thus, good Father
Pedroni: —l say, if I am perfectly willing to
give up the wealth of your affection for me,
why should not you be, my child ?”
“ Truly—truly.”
“Now such a course of reasoning as that
good Father, seems to have been successful in
removing the last obstacle from her mind.”
“As it well might do. But now that the
matter seems to have been so definitely
settled upon, I think that we had best remove
her without delay. The good lady Superior
of the convent will Bee to it that she is cared
for in her journey as tenderly as may be, and
we would made the pangs of separation be
tween mother and child as brief as possible.
Shall we not hasten her going, my Lady ?”
“ It shall be as you say, Father Predoni,”
answered the Lady Monimia, feigning a sorrow
ful tone.
“ Then I think we had better complete all
the arrangements at once,” said he.
“ Is there a conveyance ready ?” asked the
Lady Monimia.
“ There is—the same in which the good
Prioress and myself came.”
“ At the door ?”
“ Yes, my Lady.”
“ Then I will have Gabriella brought in at
once. Her articles of apparel are all at her
hand.”
“Os which she will need but very few,”
suggested the priest.
“ She shall come in now.”
Lady Monimia forthwith entered the adjoin
ing apartment, and spoke in a low tone to both
the Prioress and the child.
Both immediately followed her back into
the presence of Father Pedroni.
As soon as they were all assembled together,
the priest advanced and took Gabriella’s hand
within his own.
“ Daughter,” said he, “ do you understand
fully the responsibility you now propose to
take upon yourself?”
- {Continued on next page.)