moon were to be passed. Very happy indeed | any mitigation of the severe penances alwas this time spent: the weather cleared up, lotted to her "If she could," they gravely warm delicious days succeeded one another; said, "so far repent of her sins that she would beautiful spring flowers seemed hourly to willingly offer up the remainder of her life bloom in all the walks around their pretty as a sacrifice, it might perhaps atone for them, habitation. These moments spent together and before her death she might possibly be forwere, as may be imagined, the happiest period given." As it was, the constant fastings, broken of their life. But this deceitful calm was soon rest, severe mortifications and weeping that destined to be ruffled by severe storms. Alas! poor Beatrice underwent in this sacred buildone morning the youthful couple found out that, ing, told not a little even upon her fine healthy however delightful love is, still love must be fed, constitution. and they ascertained the mournful, yet uncontrovertible fact, that their purses were nearly empty; they were, therefore, much against their will, obliged to return to Sienna. Beatrice to endeavour to make her peace with the no doubt highly incensed Signora Ginbeletti, and, should he be there, perhaps kneel for her father's forgiveness-probably in vain. Antonio, the young soldier, had also to seek his pardon at the hands of his commanding officer at Florence, having overstayed his leave; therefore no sooner did he enter the barracks at Sienna than he was placed under arrest.

CHAP. VI.

Poor Beatrice had also her punishment awarded her: her hasty marriage having been solemnized with the omission of many religious rites and legal forms, it was considered both an open insult to the holy mother church and to the government. Her sentence was also a severe one. For two long weary months she was consigned to the gloomy seclusion of La Santa Maria, a convent noted for its severe discipline. Here indeed the poor girl was really miserable. She had to rise at midnight-mass, and was obliged to kneel two hours after the departure of the nuns, to pray for forgiveness of her sins; then at the Angelique at five she had to stand another hour after prayers were concluded. Many strict fastings and various other severe penances were likewise enjoined her; she was often lectured by the stern Lady Abbess, by the rigid priests, and teased, and taunted more than can well be described, by some cross old nuns, till poor Beatrice was half mad with vexation and sorrow. Not for one moment was she leftat peace: her bitter tears, her earnest entreaties, proved of no avail to soften their hearts. She never remembered having experienced such continued harsh treatment. She had, it is true, received many severe corrections at her father's hands, but then it was not long before he made it up with her again; and when his duties called him away, provided her musical studies were attended to, particularly after her aunt's death, she was pretty much her own mistress, having more liberty than usually falls to the lot of an unmarried girl. This life at the convent was one of continued wretchedness; no commiseration did she ever obtain for any sorrow she evinced or

At length came the much-desired period of her release, so long, so anxiously looked for. After many pious exhortations, and much good advice, mingled with regrets that they had failed in their earnest endeavours to persuade her into taking the veil, by the lady abbess, and also from the father confessor to the nuns, Beatrice was informed she was at liberty to leave the sacred walls. She looked this morning very pallid; her fine colour had deserted her cheeks: she looked thin, and almost haggard: her usually bright, lively eyes were dimmed with the constant shedding of tears. She could hardly have been recognized as the handsome captivating Beatrice of two months ago; still, when the permission was given to her to leave the convent, where she had suffered so much, when she had reached her cell a bright twinkle of pleasure could just be perceived sparkling in her eyes, lighting up with joy, a joy indeed that shone over her whole countenance, before so sad, dimpling her pretty mouth with a thousand charms. She never once gave a thought to her slender finances, so buoyant are youthful spirits-as ready to rise as they are to fall; though, when about to depart, Beatrice counted over the few coins still remaining in her little purse (the outside of which was now the most valuable part), hardly could she count a Frances coin; still this did not trouble her much. As she left the convent walls she thought over her best plan of proceeding. Of course she most desired to obtain tidings of her husband, for during the two long, weary months of her imprisonment, she had heard nothing either from, or of him. Beatrice therefore at once bent her steps to the humble abode of a serjeant's wife, who happened to live out of barracks, and whose address Antonio had hastily given her when they were separated, telling her to apply there for newe of him when she obtained her liberty. During her walk Beatrice hoped it might be possible that Antonio's arrest was likewise ended, that perhaps-joy supreme-she might again in a short time look on the beloved face of her husband: so, with buoyant spirits, she approached the dwelling to which she had been directed.

Catterina Montoni was a spare, active woman of about thirty, with the dark eyes and complexion so general in her country. At the time of Beatrice's visit she was busily engaged over the midday meal of her children and herself of maccaroni. Many little hungry, dirty, upturned faces were regarding with anxious eyes and

eager looks her movements, not, however, daring to speak, as well they knew what would be their instant doom had they clamoured in any more decided way: as it was, they received at times a few shakes and occasional slaps as they approached a little too near the scene of cooking operations.

food for another month. The slight meal being ended, with many thanks to Catterina, she thought her wisest plan would be to see what could be obtained by calling upon la Signora Ginbeletti, there was a chance, a slender one certainly, that her father might be there, and, notwithstanding her great act of disobedience, it was possible he might have left or sent her a little money. To la Signora's she therefore now proceeded, after making Catterina's little children very happy by dividing among them the trifling present of a few bon-bons, given to her by a young novice who felt much compassion for her. Upon arriving at the Casa Ginbeletti, Beatrice was shown into a large half-empty saloon; tired with her long walk, she was glad of the repose of an arm chair. Here she found she was kept waiting a tolerably long time; at length la Signora entered. For a few minutes the interview was most embarrassing, for the lady of the house was cold, distant, and very formal in her manner. As she entered the room with a curtsey she vouchsafed no warmer welcome than she would have accorded to a total stranger; asked what had procured her the honour of the present visit, after the very abrupt

termination of la Signorina Beatrice Brown's abode in her house. At this appellation Beatrice turned very_red, and explained that she was now Signora Fiengo; her present visit was, in the first place, owing to her anxiety to make the necessary apologies for her forced flight, which circumstances had rendered necessary; also, she must say, she wished to know if her father had been in Sienna, and if so had he gone home, and had he left any note for her?

Beatrice's knock at the half-open door soon obtained admission. Never having seen the said Catterina before, her visit required a few explanations before the good woman thoroughly understood her to be La Sposa of Il Signor Antonio Fiengo; but a few words sufficed to make it all clear. Catterina was the eldest daughter of the old nurse in the Fiengo family. Ever since Antonio's arrival in Sienna she had washed for him, and attended to many of his personal comforts, she felt towards him with all the warmth of her fervid, hot southern blood, as if he were a real relation of her own-a grand one, certainly, yet one to whom no labour in his service could ever be too severe or too menial. With rapture unbounded she therefore received Il Signor Antonio's wife. Kneeling at her feet, she begged to kiss her hand. Though English, she was still Il Padrone's wife, therefore commanding her utmost honour and deepest atten--she might almost say rude-uncourteous tion. As this was the case, the unfortunate maccaroni was left at the most interesting moment of its cooking, neglecting it even perhaps to be spoilt. The best chair was quickly dusted for Beatrice's reception, a most valuable piece of ancient carpet (according to her ideas) was pulled out of a dark closet, where it was seldom allowed to see daylight, the work of a respected defunct grandmother, then it was duly shaken and spread before the chair, which was placed in a comfortable sunny nook near the window, far distant from the fire, or rather stove, looking out upon a pretty small garden, rich in all its beautiful spring flowers, forming a border like the setting of a picture to the mass of more useful vegetables. What would the illustrious lady please to take? Would she condescend to eat something in her humble cottage? Poor Beatrice readily consented, and expressed much pleasure in making a repast of some excellent freshly prepared maccaroni, some good bread and a small dish of strawberries that had been intended for the serjeant's supper; also a small glass of Italian wine, tasting much like Devonshire cider, kept by Catterina for high days and festivals. In spite of this hospitable welcome, Beatrice was able to obtain but very little information respecting her husband; he had, she found, another month to remain under arrest. This news was conveyed to her in a short but affectionate note, given to her by Catterina. Antonio exhorted her to bear their trial patiently, and to hope a speedy termination to their troubles and a quick renewal of their happiness, assuring her that no sooner should he be at liberty than he would fly on the wings of love to the rescue of his Carissima Sposa.

Beatrice mused awhile as to what she had better now do. There was the grave question : where could she go to solicit even a bed and

66

"To your apologies I can only say they are tardy in the offering, Signorina, and I beg leave to tell you that, till I receive more convincing statements respecting_your_marriage, I shall not believe in it. Your father, Captain Brown, returned to Sienna after the illadvised step you chose to take in quitting the protection of my house, and was, I can assure you, extremely exasperated at your undutiful conduct; he left you his lasting malediction, and said he would never forgive you, was glad to hear you had been taken to a convent, hoped they would teach you a proper sense of your duty, trusted you were duly and legally married, but considered, from the haste and secresy with which the affair must have been celebrated, if celebrated at all, that it was a most doubtful question. Now I look at you I can see you are not a little altered; your former good-looks much impaired; your well-wishers must rejoice that you have had, no doubt, a pretty considerable share of fasting, prayers, and penance for the good of your soul. In conclusion, I must express my wish, Signorina Brown, never to see you in my house again!"

CHAP. VII.

Poor Beatrice, much pained at the cold formality, not to say downright rudeness, with which she had been received during this interview, was now most deeply mortified. As the last sentence met her ear, she could with difficulty restrain her tears of wounded pride at this treatment, grievous disappointment at no mention having as yet been made of her father having left a note, or even ever so small a sum of money for her use. A trifle such as she had a few months ago, often thoughtlessly spent in a couple of hour's shopping, would have been now a perfect treasure. She, however, did her best to check her tears by summoning all her energies to the rescue, and succeeded tolerably well, asking, with a firm voice but quivering lip, "Had her father left no letter or note for her?" "None!" Then she had to falter out the more disagreeable question to a baughty, proud spirit, yet still the very necessary one, Had he left no money for her? The answer was again the short but decided negative, "None." La Signora Ginbeletti here looked at her ormolu clock on the mantelpiece and an ominous pause ensued. As Beatrice rose to take her leave, la Signora said, "If la Signorina Brown will take my advice she will return to the excellent convent she has

mured this weary period within a convent's walls? If such has been the case, they have no doubt, turned you out very good, we shall hardly know you again as our merry young English friend; but where are you going to? for I will not keep you standing in the street, but will walk with you."

So saying, Signora Martelli placed Beatrice's hand within her own, and again requested to know in what direction they were to turn their steps. This was the most puzzling of all questions; though seemingly so simple, it was most difficult to answer. At length, seeing her companion look astonished at her silence, she replied: "My dearest Signora, I regret to say I have just been received by your Aunt la Signora Ginbeletti, in the coldest, most frigid, of all possible ways. I must confess, as she will not allow me to return to her house, I know not where to go, or what to do, for at least a month, till my husband is released, and is able to come to my assistance."

"But I know what you are to do, and where you are to go," quickly answered la Signora. "You are, carissima, to come with me to la Casa Martelli; you will be most joyfully received. I am quite sure my good old sposa will be delighted to see you, and again hear some of your pretty songs. How could my aunt treat you so cruelly? I shall give her some of my mind very soon I can assure you. Come with me, cara, I shall hope that when il Signor Fiengo leaves his barracks, he will highly approve of the care I have taken of you, and find no fault with the pretty looks of his carassima Beatrice."

This kind cordial invitation was quickly and joyfully accepted. Happy was the month spent with La Signora Martelli, and her excellent husband; frequent of course was the intercourse by note between the separated pair. La Signora Martelli had married, when very young, a rich elderly man, old enough to be her father, one of Tuscany's wealthy merchant princes. This husband was chosen for her by her family: no choice was allowed her. Never had she regretted this marriage: she had been the petted spoilt darling of this good old man, the joy and light of his house. Beatrice received from him every kindness it was in his power to bestow. He had long retired from the active pursuit of wealth, and had for some years resided with his wife at Sienna. It was not long before the lively niece of La Signora Ginbeletti effected an entire reconciliation between that lady and her guest, bringing an ample apology to the aggrieved Beatrice.

just left and remain under the pious care of the reverend Lady Abbess, offering prayers for her sins. till Captain Brown's forgiveness is obtained, or at least his advice and pleasure as to her future conduct ascertained." Beatrice curtseyed and retired, feeling as she left the house most truly miserable. What was to become of her? the little money she had would hardly suffice for one day's wants. She was almost a beggar. Now she deeply felt, and with bitter shame, the sinful step she had taken in her imprudent stolen marriage. She knew that though her punishment was severe, it was just and well-merited; yet still came the wretched feeling, how was she to earn her bread? Had her dear Antonio possessed any money, she was quite sure he would have enclosed her some in his note; she was therefore in a most forlorn frame of mind, her heart sunk within her breast, as the servant closed the door upon her. Then the long suppressed tears chased each other down her cheeks, but she endeavoured speedily to wipe them away, as she saw quickly approaching the house she had just quitted La Signora Martelli, a pretty, lively, good-natured and young married neice of La Signora Ginbeletti's, with whom Beatrice had formed a rather warm friendship, during her residence in her aunt's house. "I can assure you," said the kind It was impossible to avoid a meeting, though, in hostess to her a few days after her her present state of distress, Beatrice hardly arrival at La Casa Martelli, "I have had a ratber wished to be recognised by any former friend stormy interview with my dear aunt; I have of happier days; this, however, as I have said however convinced her she was quite in the before, was now inevitable, as the lady greatly wrong, and have now much pleasure in presentquickened her pace as soon as she caught sighting you with this note, which, I believe, will of Beatrice. She seized her hand, embracing her with much affection. "Bella Beatrice, where have you been all this long time-not surely im

express her deep sorrow for her cruel treatment of you on the morning you called upon er. It seems, my dear, she had to experience

A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA.

"DEAR Q.,--The steamboat Valamo is advertised to leave on Tuesday, the 26th (July Sth, New Style), for Serdopol, at the very head of Lake Ladoga, stopping on the way at Slhüsselburg, Konewitz Island, Kexholm, and the island and monastery of Valaam. The anniversary of Saints Sergius and Herrmann, miracle-workers, will be celebrated at the lastnamed place on Thursday, and the festival of the Apostles Peter and Paul on Friday. If the weather is fine, the boat will take passengers to the Holy Island. The fair is nine rubles for the trip. You can be back again in St. Petersburg by six o'clock on Saturday evening. Provisions can be had on board, but (probably) not beds; so, if you are luxurious in this particular, take along your own sheets, pillow-cases, and blankets. I intend going, and depend upon your company. Make up your mind by ten o'clock, when I will call for your decision.