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14, and no sacrifice would it have seemed—the most entire devotion would have appeared a simple act of their ordinary affection. Guido knew that the image of another was graven on the inmost heart of each. With that knowledge came no coldness—no distrust—but firmer reliance and deeper confidence.

Again music rose on the air; this time they really heard the convent chimes. Francesca rose from her seat, and took her veil.

"Shall I go with you, dearest?"

"Not now; I will tell you all, to-morrow," was the almost inaudible reply. Both turned from the door, though each took a different path.

At first Guide's step was slow, and he walked as one absorbed in mournful thought; but at a turn in his path, which commanded the country below, his face brightened, and he sprung on his way, as if every moment of his time were precious. He soon arrived at the villa of the Mancini, where his evenings were usually spent; how much more cheerful was it than his own home!

The Marchese was, as usual, closeted in his own chamber, where, since his wife's death at least, he enjoyed that indolent quiet in which he delighted. His daughters were assembled in a large hall, opening on the garden; the two