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 prompted the proposal; and bitter tears fell from the eyes of that gentle girl as she patiently watched by the couch of the unconcious Viola.

Maria’s fears were but too well founded; no sooner was Viola able to quiet her chamber than Nadasti became her shadow; his every thought, look, and word was too evidently hers; and the young maiden received his attentions with trembling and blushes, now smiling sweetly as in joyful bliss, now stealing a glance at her deserted sister which filled her eyes with tears.

The conversation, one day, was unusually lively; and Maria, conquering her timidity, inquired of her sometime-lover what he had done with her miniature.

A cloud passed over the lofty brow of the Count, as he replied, “It is broken.”

“Broken!” exclaimed Maria and her father.

“Yes,” replied he. “Listen, and I will tell you how it was. I drew it, one afternoon, from my bosom, to contemplate those fair and gentle features; when, suddenly, my breathing became heavy and difficult, my heart ceased to beat, I felt as if suffocated, and became unconscious; thus my servants found me, and under their care I gradually revived. In my struggles, or in the fall, the miniature was broken; and some portions of it had severely wounded my hand. But what ails the Lady Viola? You are fainting, sweet girl! lean on me. It is strange, but I always feel as if we had met before. Perchance it was in some previous existence. Smile at my wild imaginings if you will, but it is delightful to think that we have long known and loved each other—that some mystic bond unites our souls. Can you sympathize with this feeling, Viola—my sweet Viola?”

Viola was almost sinking with anguish and fear; but she rallied her spirits, and endeavoured to turn the conversation by proposing a walk. Nadasti was instantly ready to attend her, and Maria threw a veil over her sister’s head, saying—“It will blow off unless we fasten it; so take this bodkin, my lord, and play tire-woman for once.”

Nadasti turned pale, and pushed back her hand almost roughly, exclaiming—“Take it away, take it away! I cannot touch it.” The bystanders regarded his emotion with wonder; but collecting himself, he raised the offended hand to his lips respectfully, saying—“Forgive me, fair Maria. That trinket seemed to recall to mind something disagreeable, painful; the thought flashed like lightning across my brain, and is already gone, nor can I trace it out. Have you never felt a shadowy, dreamy association of ideas raised by some chance word or tone, awakening indefinite emotions which the mind in vain endeavours to grasp? Such a feeling did that bodkin raise in me; nay, so far did imagination carry me, that I seemed to feel its point in this wound in my hand.”

“This was your own, your first gift to me,” said Maria, sadly; “take it and fasten the veil.” But he still refused, and she almost impatiently exclaimed—“Then I must do it myself.”

“No, no!” murmured the shuddering Viola. “Never again will I wear such a thing.”

“Sweet, sympathizing girl!” whispered Nadasti, gazing fondly on her. “Look up, dear Viola. I am to blame for thus exciting your gentle feelings by my vague fancies. Let me see you smile again.”

But Viola could not smile, Gertrude’s words—“If ever a man discovers that he has been spiritually summoned by a female, he hates her with the deadliest hatred,” were ringing in her ears; she hastily quitted the room, and, flying to her own chamber, burst into tears. Presently she opened her casket, and drew forth the fatal diamond bodkin; it was stained in different parts with deep patches of dull red, and Viola trembled as she regarded it. “He will hate me,” she murmured. “Oh, Gertrude! would that I had followed your advice. And yet it were better he should hate me; for is he not my sister’s plighted husband? Poor Maria! Nadasti loves you not; no, no, he loves Viola! He, the brave, the noble, the beautiful, loves me now; and I love him. Oh yes! I only feel as if I lived while in his presence. How different is this love from the feeling with which I once regarded Serini; that was cold, vain, childish—this is fervent, absorbing, blissful; and yet that fatal stain! how shall I obliterate it?” For hours did she patiently wash and rub the jewel, and at length retired to rest, with the hope that the traces of blood were nearly gone; but the morning’s light showed her how vain that hope had been: and distracted by a thousand fears, she enveloped herself in a hood and mantle, and seizing the tell-tale witness of her folly, hastened to a rocky mountain, into one of the deepest fissures of which she dropped the bodkin, and then hurrying back, gained her chamber unperceived.

The love of Nadasti and Viola was soon suspected by Maria, and as her suspicions became certainties, she resolved to release her faithless lover from his vows, nor wait until he forsook her. Accordingly she stated to her father her wish to take the veil. The Count Harras was naturally surprised by so sudden, and to him so unaccountable a fancy, and vainly strove to argue her out of it; but finding this impossible, he broke the matter as cautiously as possible to Nadasti, and was again fated to be astonished by the coolness with which he received the information of the loss of his plighted bride. The good Count Harras had forgotten all the love passages of his youth, or had never had any, otherwise he would have been more quick-sighted. But there was one whose jealous eyes marked each event, and who was neither indifferent or deceived; this was Serini. His rank in life excluded him from the courtly circle, but