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Rh "Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Guido, "He has annihilated the present and the future. How will he ever endure the perpetual presence of the past?"

"Think," replied Francesca, "How much he needs repose."

"He can have it," answered he, "in no shape but torpor—at least on this side the grave. But do read the letter."

Francesca seated herself beside the pillow, and began the following epistle:—

", "I had deemed that my words of farewell, when I left my brother's house, were the last I should ever address to the only objects of earth to which my heart yet clings. But it is very hard to break at once all the bonds whereby our vain affections fetter us. I still think of you, still wish to be remembered by you, still believe that you take an interest in my fate; that you will wish to know where my weary steps have found rest, and my wretchedness sought a place of refuge at last.

"It was very sad to leave you; but deep in my inmost soul was written, that the happiness of loving and being loved was not for me. I lived in one perpetual fear of the evil that I might bring upon those for whose welfare I would have laid