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American republic. (Macon, Ga.) 1859-18??, December 10, 1859, Image 1

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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.)