Her mind, nursed in monkish superstition, had been taught to look for consolation only in the capricious dispensation of a confessor: a disclosure to whom of her real feelings, she foresaw, would blast that bitter remnant of life which yet remained; for, though thus dragged from every joy at so early an age, she had poignant feelings to combat with. She had never known the fond affection of maternal care, her mother having been snatched from life, leaving her younger daughter in a cold world, like a budding snow-drop, exposed to the nipping frosts. Her stern father bad ever treated her with parental authority, though apparently with but little of parental affection. Victoria was his favourite; and her bold assurance, and quick retort, could parry a rebuke, that would sink the milder spirit of Olivia. She felt, to its full extent, the duty she owed her father; but she felt, what she scarce dared acknowledge to herself, that she fostered in her bosom the warmest affection for another, whose form, in ideal vision, became the imaginary companion of her solitary moments. She had associated with him every joy, with which her fancy had spangled the future path of life; had dissipated approaching sorrows, by the impression that he would support her through them, and, by sharing her cares, render the burthen light. Too often she dwelt, with fond delight, on the hour, which faithful remembrance would paint to her, when his eyes, in stolen glances, first told her the emotions of his bosom, when chance gave him the only opportunity of clasping her hand. The feverish ardour of his pressure was still left; but must she bid adieu to these thoughts, for ever! must she now be torn from ever joy; must she never again think of Florian de Rosalba? Perish the horrid thought! it was worse than death,-it racked her whole frame !-it was past endurance! Yet she knew that preparations were making for her speedily taking that veil, which, once assumed, would for ever separate her from the object of her dearest hopes.

Florian de Rosalba was the descendant of a noble and ancient family. Though he possessed but a limited patrimony, yet he united, with a graceful pers

son, every disposition that could endear him to a tender heart. He had long silently admired Olivia, but had ever kept in mind the obstacle her immense fortune raised to his obtaining her hand. When Victoria attained twenty-one, Carantani threw open his halls, and assembled all the youth and nobility of the city to a sumptuous entertainment, in celebration of the event. Olivia was permitted to join the festive scene: it was then that fortune, in a momentary interchange of glances, blest Florian with the assurance that Olivia was not indifferent to his passion. From this instant he gave reins to his every hope, and allowed his ardent imagination to paint the varied scenes of future bliss. With eager attention he watched Carantani's movements: he greedily listened to every rumour, nor was it long ere he heard that the Duke of Milan was to be united to Victoria, and that Olivia was doomed to cloistered seclusion, a fate which he resolved to frustrate, or die in the attempt. The emergency of his situation compelled him to subdue his conflicting feelings; and, penning a few hasty lines, he flew to deposit them in an obscure niche, near the chapel of the convent. It was evening: the setting sun had gilded, with his retiring rays, the topmost spires of the city; the bustle of life had given way to softened quiet, when the perturbed footstep of Florian echoed through the vaulted cloisters of San Martino. The swelling organ, accompanied by the thrilling voices of the sisterhood, and deeper tones of the monks, now rose in solemn cadence, and floated through the noiseless aisles. Florian paused: he listened for a moment, vainly imagining that he might, perchance, distinguish the silvery notes of his Olivia; but, no! the hymn wafted heavenward died on the ear, and the concluding vespers roused him from his momentary reverie. Scarce had he retired ere the stately abbess, followed by her daughters, passed from the chapel. All had now entered the convent, save one': it was Olivia; she lingered, hoping unobserved to snatch from its marble tomb her expected prize. In the well-known crevice was Florian's letter, now doubly welcome, when there scarce appeared aught else in

the world to cheer her. She burst it open, and eagerly ran over its contents, yielding her at once joy and dismay. Florian loved her, loved her ardently; would brave any danger to render her happy! but how did her mind magnify the peril that would attend any plan devised for her rescue! Dangers arose on every side, in every shape; surrounded by misfortune, she felt, she lived, but to despair. A footstep now sounded near it was the Abbot Angelo. His approach redoubled her agitation. In her emotion she dropped Florian's letter, which Angelo picking up, was on the point of restoring to her, when the eager anxiety of her effort to regain it awoke his suspicions. Thrusting her from him, he quickly perused it, and vehemently called for the prioress, with a voice that rung around the desolate cloisters. In the intervals of his fury, the plaintive voice of Olivia beseeched his pity. His silence. Her supplications were vain : he heeded her not, but reiterated his calls on the lady prioress. The lights now flickered over the murky walls; the prioress, with her sisterhood pressing forward, were stopped by surprise. Whence was this intrusion? how! Angelo, with the novice prostrate at his feet! Had it been other than Angelo, what would have been her suspicions! He was the church's idol and the people's pride: twice twenty thousand tongues proclaimed his spotless purity! But the youth, the beauty of Olivia! He left her, however, brief time for supposition. Unfolding the sad tale, and presenting Florian's letter, he soon roused the prioress to fury. Olivia bade adieu to every hope: already fearful visions swam before her eyes, portentous of her horrid doom: she sunk under the thought, and the sisterhood, supporting her almost lifeless from the spot, left the unfeeling abbot to meditate on his cruelty. Had but one ray of pity touched his soul, be might have led a weary wanderer back, amidst the still waters and the pastures green, to bless his aid, and humbly walk with God. Angelo, what said thy conscience? He asked it not; but, flying from its dictates, plunged into deeper scenes of blood. Hate, rooted hate to Olivia's house, had deafened him to her heart-smiting entreaties, when her anguish would have softened the most

obdurate; but, in Olivia's misery, he saw only the first step to that revenge on Carantani, which he had long cherished with ardent desire.

In early life, Count Lernia had loved, with the tenderest passion, one who warmly returned his attachment; nor did there appear an obstacle to his union with all he desired, when, on the eve of his nuptials, he found himself plunged in sudden ruin. Heated with wine, urged onward by a frantic appetite of gain, he staked his fortune to a fellow noble; he cast the dice, and all was lost. His treacherous rival, with specious offers of relief, persuaded him to take on bond a thousand ducats, and seek another clime, leaving his patrimony to liquidate his debt; but scarce had he reached the foreign shore ere payment of the bond was demanded, and he, a friendless, unknown bankrupt, hurried to a distant prison. Meanwhile, rumour spread a report of his being murdered, and that his mangled carcase had been cast into the deep; a tale which gained credit from his mysterious disappearance. His plighted bride, distracted, unconscious what she did, was by a sordid parent wrought upon, ere one short year had elapsed, with faltering lips, to confirm the vows that bound her to another for ever. Years rolled over Lernia's head, unmarked to him by the light of day, when a public festival gave freedom to his emaciated form. He hastened to Chivazzo; there heard the almost-forgotten tale of his death; and, unrecognized in his altered person, beheld his rival possessing all that he had once longed for. It was too much!The bright orb of day beamed on him free indeed, but ruined. By a dreadful oath he bound himself to be avenged; then sought San Martino's gloomy walls, and there, by bitter penance and austere guise, deemed little less than saint, he rose to the highest offices. His fame was not confined to the precincts of his convent, nor to the boundaries of the city; the piety of Angelo was a theme of far more universal admiration. Long had the saintly hypocrite beheld, with savage joy, the ambition of Carantani, and anticipated all the delight of revenge in blighting his hopes. Now he perceived the long-looked-for moment fast appproaching, when he should hurl his unsuspecting oppressor headlong

from the summit of his wishes, and involve him in the blackest despair.

The emissaries of the abbot, on the Duke of Milan's arrival, conveyed to him assurances of Olivia's determination to resist taking the veil, and information that she was passionately attached to a young nobleman, who would doubtless use every endeavour to prevent her impending doom;-thus awakening the duke's mind to the precarious chance of his obtaining this half of the golden dower,-while, on the other hand, he learned that Victoria secretly countenanced the buzzing flatteries of a cowardly fop. To accept her hand with only half the fortune, would not answer his greedy views; but she was too rich a prize to lose, and he resolved to urge Carantani to consummate the vows of b. th his daughters on one evening, hoping that the same hour which witnessed the forlorn Olivia torn from the world, would behold Victoria plunging into its vortex; and would place within his grasp all her wealth. Victoria treated him with disdainful coldness and ironical contempt, which, though it might occasionally cause him a momentary smart, he did not regret, hoping to reserve it as a plausible excuse for declining her hand, should more weighty reasons eventually decide his doing so.

Night hushed all in sleep, but Angelo slept not; he pillowed himself on the near approach of his revenge, and the dawn of morning shewed his victims deeply entangled in the net he had spread for them. The prioress, determining to visit Olivia's fault with the heaviest punishment her despotic spirit could devise, had condemned her to a dreary dungeon, cutting her off from the smallest comfort; hoping that the misery of her fate would induce her, more willingly, to listen to the proposals for her taking the veil. Dreading to lose so rich a prize from her house, she was anxious to see her speedily within the pale of the church, and her wishes were gratified by the arrival of a messenger from Carantani, announcing his wish that the ensuing evening might be the period that should fix his daughter's fate. The prioress readily gave directions to hurry onward every preparation for the event, and then hastened to visit Olivia.

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