Page:Francesca Carrara 2.pdf/151

148 distinct as if the time were come;—I shall be left desolate!'

"I know not what were the words in which I spoke; but beside that hearth my passionate love for Beatrice first found words. I told Carrara how long, how dearly, I had cherished her image—how I had accustomed my lips to silence, and loved her the more deeply for such restraint. I spoke of the future hopefully—cheerfully. I dwelt on the results our united studies were calculated to effect. I painted Beatrice roused from her dejection, and the past half forgotten, or recalled but as a painful dream! Carrara entered into my plans with even more earnestness than I had expected. The poor old man shed tears of joy and thankfulness! Will not those tears rise up in judgment against me?—they have darkened earth,—will they not shut me out from heaven? I left him almost before he had finished accepting my offer. His gratitude was terrible!

"I took that night the path through the garden which led by Beatrice's window. I had never retraced it since that fatal evening. Then, the air was warm and languid, freighted with the odours of many flowers; there were gay colours spread over the ground, and the full rich foliage bounded the view with its depth of soft shadow;—now,