Parozzi.—And I should doubt it too, if women had as little sense as you have, and looked only at the shell without minding the kernel -

Memmo.—Which unluckily is exactly the thing which women always do -

Falieri.—The old Lomellino seems to be extremely intimate with this Flodoardo. They say he was well acquainted with his father.

Memmo.—It was he who presented him to the Doge.

Parozzi.—Hark!—Surely some one knocked at the palace door?

Memmo.—It can be none but Contarino. Now, then, we shall hear whether he has discovered the banditti.

Falieri (starting from his chair).—I'll swear to that footstep, it's Contarino.

The doors were thrown open. Contarino entered hastily, enveloped in his cloak.

"Good evening, sweet gentlemen," said he, and threw his mantle aside. And Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri started back in horror.

"Good God!" they exclaimed, "what has happened? You are covered with blood?"

"A trifle!" cried Contarino; "is that wine? quick, give me a goblet of it, I expire with thirst."

Falieri (while he gives him a cup).—But, Contarino, you bleed?

Contarino.—You need not tell me that. I did not do it myself, I promise you.

Parozzi.—First let us bind up your wounds, and then tell us what has happened to you. It is as well that the servants should remain ignorant of your adventure; I will be your surgeon myself.

Contarino.—What has happened to me, say you? Oh! a joke, gentlemen, a mere joke. Here, Falieri, fill the bowl again.

Memmo.—I can scarcely breathe for terror.

Contarino.—Very possibly; neither should I, were I Memmo instead of being Contarino. The wound bleeds plenteously it's true, but it's by no means dangerous (he tore open his doublet, and uncovered his bosom). There, look, comrades; you see it's only a cut of not more than two inches deep.

Memmo (shuddering).—Mercy on me! the very sight of it makes my blood run cold.

Parozzi brought ointments and linen, and bound up the wound of his associate.

Contarino.—Old Horace is in the right. A philosopher can be anything he pleases, a cobbler, a king, or a physician. Only observe with what dignified address the philosopher Parozzi spreads that plaster for me. I thank you, friend; that's enough: and now, comrades, place yourselves in a circle round me, and listen to the wonders which I am going to relate.

Falieri.—Proceed.

Contarino.—As soon as it was twilight, I stole out, wrapped in my cloak, determined if possible to discover some of the banditti. I knew not their persons, neither were they acquainted with mine. An extravagant undertaking, perhaps, you will tell me; but I was resolved to convince you that everything which a man DETERMINES to do, may be done. I had some information respecting the rascals, though it was but slight, and on these grounds I proceeded. I happened by mere accident to stumble upon a gondolier, whose appearance excited my curiosity. I fell into discourse with him. I was soon convinced that he was not ignorant of the lurking-place of the bravoes, and by means of some gold and many fair speeches, I at length brought him to confess that though not regularly belonging to the band, he had occasionally been employed by them. I immediately made a bargain with him; he conducted me in his gondola through the greatest part of Venice, sometimes right, sometimes left, till I lost every idea as to the quarter of the town in which I found myself. At length he insisted on binding my eyes with his handkerchief, and I was compelled to submit. Half an hour elapsed before the gondola stopped. He told me to descend, conducted me through a couple of streets, and at length knocked at a door, where he left me still blindfolded. The door was opened; my business was inquired with great caution, and after some demur I was at length admitted. The handkerchief was now withdrawn from my eyes, and I found myself in a small chamber, surrounded by four men of not the most creditable appearance, and a young woman, who (it seems) had opened the door for me.

Falieri.—You are a daring fellow, Contarino.

Contarino.—Here was no time to be lost. I instantly threw my purse on the table, promised them mountains of gold, and fixed on particular days, hours, and signals which were necessary to facilitate our future intercourse. For the present I only required that Manfrone, Conari, and Lomellino should be removed with all possible expedition.

All.—Bravo.

Contarino.—So far everything went exactly as we could have wished, and one of my new associates was just setting out to guide me home, when we were surprised by an unexpected visit.

Parozzi.—Well?

Memmo (anxiously).—Go on, for God's sake!

Contarino.—A knocking was heard at the door; the girl went to inquire the cause. In an instant she returned pale as a corpse, and "Fly! fly!" cried she.

Falieri.—What followed?

Contarino.—Why then followed a whole legion of sbirri and police- officers, and who should be at their head but the Florentine stranger.

All.—Flodoardo? What, Flodoardo?

Contarino.—Flodoardo.

Falieri.—What demon could have guided him thither?

Parozzi.—Hell and furies! Oh, that I had been there.

Memmo.—There, now, Parozzi, you see at least that Flodoardo is no coward.

Falieri.—Hush, let us hear the rest.

Contarino.—We stood as if we had been petrified; not a soul could stir a finger. "In the name of the Doge and the Republic," cried Flodoardo, "yield yourselves and deliver your arms." "The devil shall yield himself sooner than we," exclaimed one of the banditti, and forced a sword from one of the officers. The others snatched their muskets from the walls; and as for me, my first care was to extinguish the lamp so that we could not tell friends from foes. But still the confounded moonshine gleamed through the window- shutters, and shed a partial light through the room. "Look to yourself, Contarino," thought I; "if you are found here, you will be hanged for company," and I drew my sword and made a plunge at Flodoardo; but, however well intended, my thrust was foiled by his sabre, which he whirled around with the rapidity of lightning. I fought like a madman, but all my skill was without effect on this occasion, and before I was aware of it, Flodoardo ripped open my bosom. I felt myself wounded, and sprang back. At that moment two pistols were fired, and the flash discovered to me a small side door, which they had neglected to beset. Through this I stole unperceived into the adjoining chamber, burst open the grated window, sprang below unhurt, crossed a courtyard, climbed two or three garden walls, gained the canal, where a gondola fortunately was waiting, persuaded the boatman to convey me with all speed to the Place of St. Mark, and thence hastened hither, astonished to find myself still alive. There's an infernal adventure for you.

Parozzi.—I shall go mad.

Falieri.—Everything we design is counteracted; the more trouble we give ourselves, the further we are from the goal.

Memmo.—I confess it seems to me as if Heaven gave us warning to desist. How say you?

Contarino.—Pshaw, these are trifles! Such accidents should only serve to sharpen our wits. The more obstacles I encounter, the firmer is my resolution to surmount them.

Falieri.—Do the banditti know who you are?

Contarino.—No; they are not only ignorant of my name, but suppose me to be a mere instrument of some powerful man, who has been injured by the ducal confederates.

Memmo.—Well, Contarino, in my mind you should thank Heaven that you have escaped so well.

Falieri.—But since he is an absolute stranger in Venice, how could Flodoardo discover the lurking place of the banditti?

Contarino.—I know not; probably by mere accident like myself, but by the Power that made me, he shall pay dearly for this wound.

Falieri.—Flodoardo is rather too hasty in making himself remarked.

Parozzi.—Flodoardo must die.

Contarino (filling a goblet).—May his next cup contain poison.

Falieri.—I shall do myself the honour of becoming better acquainted with the gentleman.

Contarino.—Memmo, we must needs have full purses, or our business will hang on hand wofully.

When does your uncle take his departure to a better world?

Memmo.—To-morrow evening, and yet—ugh, I tremble.



CHAPTER III: MORE CONFUSION.



Since Rosabella's birthday, no woman in Venice who had the slightest pretensions to beauty, or the most remote expectations of making conquests, had any subject of conversation except the handsome Florentine. He found employment for every female tongue, and she who dared not to employ her tongue, made amends for the privation with her thoughts. Many a maiden now enjoyed less tranquil slumbers; many an experienced coquette sighed as she laid on her colour at the looking glass; many a prude forgot the rules which she had imposed upon herself, and daily frequented the gardens and walks in which report gave her the hope of meeting Flodoardo.

But from the time that, placing himself at the head of the sbirri, he had dared to enter boldly the den of the banditti, and seize them at the hazard of his life, he was scarcely more an object of attention among the women than among the men. Greatly did they admire his courage and unshaken presence of mind while engaged in so perilous an adventure; but still more were they astonished at his penetration in discovering where the bravoes concealed themselves, an attempt which foiled even the keen wits of the so much celebrated police of Venice.

The Doge Andreas cultivated the acquaintance of this singular young man with increasing assiduity; and the more he conversed with him, the more deserving of consideration did Flodoardo appear. The action by which he had rendered the Republic a service so essential was rewarded by a present that would not have disgraced Imperial gratitude, and one of the most important offices of the State was confided to his superintendence.

Both favours were conferred unsolicited, but no sooner was the Florentine apprised of the Doge's benevolent care of him, than with modesty and respect he requested to decline the proposed advantages. The only favour which he requested was, to be permitted to live free and independent in Venice during a year, at the end of which he promised to name that employment which he esteemed the best adapted to his abilities and inclination.

Flodoardo was lodged in the magnificent palace of his good old patron, Lomellino, here he lived in the closest retirement, studied the most valuable parts of ancient and modern literature, remained for whole days together in his own apartment, and was seldom to be seen in public except upon some great solemnity.

But the Doge, Lomellino, Manfrone, and Conari, men who had established the fame of Venice on so firm a basis that it would require centuries to undermine it; men in whose society one seemed to be withdrawn from the circle of ordinary mortals, and honoured by the intercourse of superior beings, men who now graciously received the Florentine stranger into their intimacy, and resolved to spare no pains in forming him to support the character of a great man; it could not long escape the observation of men like these, that Flodoardo's gaiety was assumed, and that a secret sorrow preyed upon his heart.

In vain did Lomellino, who loved him like a father, endeavour to discover the source of his melancholy; in vain did the venerable Doge exert himself to dispel the gloom which oppressed his young favourite. Flodoardo remained silent and sad.

And Rosabella? Rosabella would have belied her sex had she remained gay while Flodoardo sorrowed. Her spirits were flown, her eyes were frequently obscured with tears. She grew daily paler and paler, till the Doge, who doted on her, was seriously alarmed for her health. At length Rosabella grew really ill; a fever fixed itself upon her; she became weak, and was confined to her chamber, and her complaint baffled the skill of the most experienced physicians in Venice.

In the midst of these unpleasant circumstances in which Andreas and his friends now found themselves, an incident occurred one morning, which raised their uneasiness to the very highest pitch. Never had so bold and audacious an action been heard of in Venice, as that which I am going to relate.

The four banditti, whom Flodoardo had seized, Pietrino, Struzza, Baluzza, and Thomaso, had been safely committed to the Doge's dungeons, where they underwent a daily examination, and looked upon every sun that rose as the last that would ever rise for THEM. Andreas and his confidential counsellors now flattered themselves that the public tranquillity had nothing more to apprehend, and that Venice was now completely purified of the miscreants, whom gold could bribe to be the instruments of revenge and cruelty; when all at once the following address was discovered, affixed to most of the remarkable statues, and pasted against the corners of the principal streets, and pillars of the public buildings:-

"VENETIANS!

"Struzza, Thomaso, Pietrino, Baluzza, and Matteo, five as brave men as the world ever produced, who, had they stood at the head of armies, would have been called HEROES, and now being called BANDITTI, are fallen victims to the injustice of State policy. These men, it is true, exist for you no longer; but their place is supplied by him, whose name is affixed to this paper, and who will stand by his employers with body and with soul. I laugh at the vigilance of the Venetian police; I laugh at the crafty and insolent Florentine, whose hand has dragged his brethren to the rack. Let those who need me, seek me; they will find me everywhere! Let those who seek me with the design of delivering me up to the law, despair and tremble; they will find me nowhere, but I shall find THEM, and that when they least expect me! Venetians, you understand me! Woe to the man who shall attempt to discover me; his life and death depend upon my pleasure. This comes from the Venetian Bravo, ABELLINO."

"A hundred sequins," exclaimed the incensed Doge, on reading the paper, "a hundred sequins to him who discovers this monster Abellino, and a thousand to him who delivers him up to justice."

But in vain did spies ransack every lurking place in Venice; no Abellino was to be found. In vain did the luxurious, the avaricious, and the hungry stretch their wits to the utmost, incited by the tempting promise of a thousand sequins. Abellino's prudence set all their ingenuity at defiance.

But not the less did every one assert that he had recognised Abellino, sometimes in one disguise, and sometimes in another, as an old man, a gondolier, a woman, or a monk. Everybody had seen him somewhere; but, unluckily, nobody could tell where he was to be seen again.



CHAPTER IV: THE VIOLET.



I informed my readers, in the beginning of the last chapter, that Flodoardo was become melancholy, and that Rosabella was indisposed, but I did not tell them what had occasioned this sudden change.

Flodoardo, who on his first arrival at Venice was all gaiety, and the life of every society in which he mingled, lost his spirits on one particular day; and it so happened that it was on the very same day that Rosabella betrayed the first symptoms of indisposition.

For on this unlucky day did the caprice of accident, or perhaps the Goddess of Love (who has her caprices too every now and then), conduct Rosabella into her uncle's garden, which none but the Doge's intimate friends were permitted to enter; and where the Doge himself frequently reposed in solitude and silence during the evening hours of a sultry day.

Rosabella, lost in thought, wandered listless and unconscious along the broad and shady alleys of the garden. Sometimes, in a moment of vexation, she plucked the unoffending leaves from the hedges and strewed them upon the ground; sometimes she stopped suddenly, then rushed forward with impetuosity, then again stood still, and gazed upon the clear blue heaven. Sometimes her beautiful bosom was heaved with quick and irregular motion, and sometimes a half- suppressed sigh escaped from her lips of coral.

"He is very handsome!" she murmured, and gazed with such eagerness on vacancy, as though she had there seen something which was hidden from the sight of common observers.

"Yet Camilla is in the right," she resumed, after a pause, and she frowned as had she said that Camilla was in the wrong.

This Camilla was her governess, her friend, her confidante, I may almost say her mother. Rosabella had lost her parents early. Her mother died when her child could scarcely lisp her name; and her father, Guiscardo of Corfu, the commander of a Venetian vessel, eight years before had perished in an engagement with the Turks, while he was still in the prime of life. Camilla, one of the worthiest creatures that ever dignified the name of woman, supplied to Rosabella the place of mother, had brought her up from infancy, and was now her best friend, and the person to whose ear she confided all her little secrets.

While Rosabella was still buried in her own reflections, the excellent Camilla advanced from a side path, and hastened to join her pupil. Rosabella started.

Rosabella.—Ah! dear Camilla, is it you? What brings you hither?

Camilla.—You often call me your guardian angel, and guardian angels should always be near the object of their care.

Rosabella.—Camilla, I have been thinking over your arguments; I cannot deny that all you have said to me is very true, and very wise, but still -

Camilla.—But still, though your prudence agrees with me, your heart is of a contrary opinion.

Rosabella.—It is, indeed.

Camilla.—Nor do I blame your heart for differing from me, my poor girl. I have acknowledged to you without disguise that were I at your time of life, and were such a man as Flodoardo to throw himself in my way, I could not receive his attentions with indifference. It cannot be denied that this young stranger is uncommonly pleasing, and, indeed, for any woman whose heart is disengaged, an uncommonly DANGEROUS companion. There is something very prepossessing in his appearance, his manners are elegant, and short as has been his abode in Venice, it is already past doubting that there are many noble and striking features in his character. But alas, after all, he is but a poor nobleman, and it is not very probable that the rich and powerful Doge of Venice will ever bestow his niece on one who, to speak plainly, arrived here little better than a beggar. No, no, child, believe me, a romantic adventurer is no fit husband for Rosabella of Corfu.

Rosabella.—Dear Camilla, who was talking about husbands? What I feel for Flodoardo is merely affection, friendship.

Camilla.—Indeed! Then you would be perfectly satisfied, should some one of our wealthy ladies bestow her hand on Flodoardo?

Rosabella (hastily).—Oh! Flodoardo would not ACCEPT her hand, Camilla; of that I am sure.

Camilla.—Child, child, you would willingly deceive yourself. But be assured that a girl who loves ever connects, perhaps unconsciously, the wish for an eternal UNION with the idea of eternal AFFECTION. Now this is a wish which you cannot indulge in regard to Flodoardo without seriously offending your uncle, who, good man as he is, must still submit to the severe control of politics and etiquette.

Rosabella.—I know all that, Camilla, but can I not make you comprehend that I am not in love with Flodoardo, and do not mean to be in love with him, and that love has nothing at all to do in the business? I repeat to you, what I feel for him is nothing but sincere and fervent friendship; and surely Flodoardo deserves that I should feel that sentiment for him. Deserves it, said I? Oh, what does Flodoardo NOT deserve?

Camilla.—Ay, ay, friendship, indeed, and love. Oh, Rosabella, you know not how often these deceivers borrow each other's mask to ensnare the hearts of unsuspecting maidens. You know not how often love finds admission, when wrapped in friendship's cloak, into that bosom, which, had he approached under his own appearance, would have been closed against him for ever. In short, my child, reflect how much you owe to your uncle; reflect how much uneasiness this inclination would cost him; and sacrifice to duty what at present is a mere caprice, but which, if encouraged, might make too deep an impression on your heart to be afterwards removed by your best efforts.

Rosabella.—You say right, Camilla. I really believe myself that my prepossession in Flodoardo's favour is merely an accidental fancy, of which I shall easily get the better. No, no; I am not in love with Flodoardo—of that you may rest assured. I even think that I rather feel an antipathy towards him, since you have shown me the possibility of his making me prove a cause of uneasiness to my kind, my excellent uncle.

Camilla (smiling).—Are your sentiments of duty and gratitude so very strong?

Rosabella.—Oh, that they are, Camilla; and so you will say yourself hereafter. This disagreeable Flodoardo—to give me so much vexation! I wish he had never come to Venice. I declare I do not like him at all.

Camilla.—No—what! Not like Flodoardo?

Rosabella (casting down her eyes).—No, not at all. Not that I wish him ill, either, for you know, Camilla, there's no reason why I should hate this poor Flodoardo!

Camilla.—Well, we will resume this subject when I return. I have business, and the gondola waits for me. Farewell, my child; and do not lay aside your resolution as hastily as you took it up.

Camilla departed, and Rosabella remained melancholy and uncertain. She built castles in the air, and destroyed them as soon as built. She formed wishes, and condemned herself for having formed them. She looked round her frequently in search of something, but dared not confess to herself what it was of which she was in search.

The evening was sultry, and Rosabella was compelled to shelter herself from the sun's overpowering heat. In the garden was a small fountain, bordered by a bank of moss, over which the magic hands of art and nature had formed a canopy of ivy and jessamine. Thither she bent her steps. She arrived at the fountain, and instantly drew back, covered with blushes, for on the bank of moss, shaded by the protecting canopy, whose waving blossoms were reflected on the fountain, Flodoardo was seated, and fixed his eyes on a roll of parchment.

Rosabella hesitated whether she should retire or stay. Flodoardo started from his place, apparently in no less confusion than herself, and relieved her from her indecision by taking her hand with respect, and conducting her to the seat which he had just quitted.

Now, then, she could not possibly retire immediately, unless she meant to violate every common principle of good breeding.

Her hand was still clasped in Flodoardo's; but it was so natural for him to take it, that she could not blame him for having done so. But what was she next to do? Draw her hand away? Why should she, since he did her hand no harm by keeping it, and the keeping it seemed to make him so happy? And how could the gentle Rosabella resolve to commit an act of such unheard-of cruelty as wilfully to deprive any one of a pleasure which made him so happy, and which did herself no harm?

"Signora," said Flodoardo, merely for the sake of saying something, "you do well to enjoy the open air. The evening is beautiful."

"But I interrupt your studies, my lord," said Rosabella.

"By no means," answered Flodoardo; and there this interesting conversation came to a full stop. Both looked down; both examined the heaven and the earth, the trees and the flowers, in the hopes of finding some hints for renewing the conversation; but the more anxiously they sought them, the more difficult did it seem to find what they sought; and in this painful embarrassment did two whole precious minutes elapse.

"Ah, what a beautiful flower!" suddenly cried Rosabella, in order to break the silence, then stooped and plucked a violet with an appearance of the greatest eagerness, though, in fact, nothing at that moment could have been more a matter of indifference.

"It is a very beautiful flower, indeed," gravely observed Flodoardo, and was out of all patience with himself for having made so flat a speech.

"Nothing can surpass this purple," continued Rosabella; "red and blue so happily blended, that no painter can produce so perfect a union."

"Red and blue—the one the symbol of happiness, the other of affection. Ah, Rosabella! how enviable will be that man's lot on whom your hand shall bestow such a flower. Happiness and affection are not more inseparably united than the red and blue which purple that violet."

"You seem to attach a value to the flower of which it is but little deserving."

"Might I but know on whom Rosabella will one day bestow what that flower expresses. Yet, this is a subject which I have no right to discuss. I know not what has happened to me to-day. I make nothing but blunders and mistakes. Forgive my presumption, lady. I will hazard such forward inquiries no more."

He was silent. Rosabella was silent also.

But though they could forbid their lips to betray their hidden affection; though Rosabella said not—"Thou art he on whom this flower shall be bestowed:" though Flodoardo's words had not expressed—"Rosabella, give me that violet, and that which it implies"—oh, their eyes were far from being silent. Those treacherous interpreters of secret feelings acknowledged more to each other than their hearts had yet acknowledged to themselves.

Flodoardo and Rosabella gazed on each other with looks which made all speech unnecessary. Sweet, tender, and enthusiastic was the smile which played around Rosabella's lips when her eyes met those of the youth whom she had selected from the rest of mankind; and with mingled emotions of hope and fear did the youth study the meaning of that smile. He understood it, and his heart beat louder, and his eye flamed brighter.

Rosabella trembled; her eyes could no longer sustain the fire of his glances, and a modest blush overspread her face and bosom.

"Rosabella!" at length murmured Flodoardo, unconsciously; "Flodoardo!" sighed Rosabella, in the same tone.

"Give me that violet!" he exclaimed, eagerly, then sank at her feet, and in a tone of the most humble supplication repeated, "Oh, give it to me!"

Rosabella held the flower fast.

"Ask for it what thou wilt. If a throne can purchase it, I will pay that price, or perish. Rosabella, give me that flower!"

She stole one look at the handsome suppliant and dared not hazard a second.

"My repose, my happiness, my life—nay, even my glory, all depend on the possession of that little flower. Let that be mine, and here I solemnly renounce all else which the world calls precious."

The flower trembled in her snowy hand. Her fingers clasped it less firmly.

"You hear me, Rosabella? I kneel at your feet; and am I then in vain a beggar?"

The word "beggar" recalled to her memory Camilla and her prudent counsels. "What am I doing?" she said to herself. "Have I forgotten my promise, my resolution? Fly, Rosabella, fly, or this hour makes you faithless to yourself and duty."

She tore the flower to pieces, and threw it contemptuously on the ground.

"I understand you, Flodoardo," said she; "and having understood you, will never suffer this subject to be renewed. Here let us part, and let me not again be offended by a similar presumption. Farewell!"

She turned from him with disdain, and left Flodoardo rooted to his place with sorrow and astonishment.



CHAPTER V: THE ASSASSIN.



Scarcely had she reached her chamber ere Rosabella repented her having acted so courageously. It was cruel in her, she thought, to have given him so harsh an answer. She recollected with what hopeless and melancholy looks the poor thunderstruck youth had followed her steps as she turned to leave him. She fancied that she saw him stretched despairing on the earth, his hair dishevelled, his eyes filled with tears. She heard him term her the murderess of his repose, pray for death as his only refuge; and she saw him with every moment approach towards the attainment of his prayer through the tears which he shed on her account. Already she heard those dreadful words—"Flodoardo is no more." Already she saw the sympathising multitude weep round the tomb of him whom all the virtuous loved, and whom the wicked dreaded; whom all his friends adored, and whom even his enemies admired.

"Alas! alas!" cried she, "this was but a wretched attempt to play the heroine. Already does my resolution fail me. Ah, Flodoardo! I meant not what I said. I love you—love you now, and must love you always, though Camilla may chide, and though my good uncle may hate me."

In a few days after this interview she understood that an extraordinary alteration had taken place in Flodoardo's manner and appearance; that he had withdrawn himself from all general society; and that when the solicitations of his intimate friends compelled him to appear in their circle, his spirits seemed evidently depressed by the weight of an unconquerable melancholy.

This intelligence was like the stroke of a poniard to the feeling heart of Rosabella. She fled for shelter to the solitude of her chamber, there indulged her feelings without restraint, and lamented, with showers of repentant tears, her harsh treatment of Flodoardo.

The grief which preyed in secret on her soul soon undermined her health. No one could relieve her sufferings, for no one knew the cause of her melancholy, or the origin of her illness. No wonder, then, that Rosabella's situation at length excited the most bitter anxiety in the bosom of her venerable uncle. No wonder, too, that Flodoardo entirely withdrew himself from a world which was become odious to him, since Rosabella was to be seen in it no longer; and that he devoted himself in solitude to the indulgence of a passion which he had vainly endeavoured to subdue, and which, in the impetuosity of its course, had already swallowed up every other wish, and every other sentiment.

But let us for the moment turn from the sick chamber of Rosabella, and visit the dwellings of the conspirators, who were now advancing with rapid strides towards the execution of their plans; and who, with every hour that passed over their heads, became more numerous, more powerful, and more dangerous to Andreas and his beloved Republic.

Parozzi, Memmo, Contarino, Falieri, the chiefs of this desperate undertaking, now assembled frequently in the Cardinal Gonzaga's palace, where different plans for altering the constitution of Venice were brought forward and discussed. But in all different schemes it was evident that the proposer was solely actuated by considerations of private interest. The object of one was to get free from the burden of enormous debts; another was willing to sacrifice everything to gratify his inordinate ambition. The cupidity of THIS man was excited by the treasures of Andreas and his friends; while THAT was actuated by resentment of some fancied offence, a resentment which could only be quenched with the offender's blood.

These execrable wretches, who aimed at nothing less than the total overthrow of Venice, or at least of her government, looked towards the completion of their extravagant hopes with the greater confidence, since a new but necessary addition to the already existing taxes had put the Venetian populace out of humour with their rulers.

Rich enough, both in adherents and in wealth, to realise their projects, rich enough in bold, shrewd, desperate men, whose minds were well adapted to the contrivance and execution of revolutionary projects, they now looked down with contempt upon the good old Doge, who as yet entertained no suspicion of their nocturnal meetings.

Still did they not dare to carry their projects into effect, till some principal persons in the State should be prevented by DEATH from throwing obstacles in their way. For the accomplishment of this part of their plan they relied on the daggers of the banditti. Dreadful therefore was the sound in their ears, when the bell gave the signal for execution, and they saw their best-founded hopes expire on the scaffold, which supported the headless trunks of the four bravoes. But if their consternation was great at thus losing the destined instruments of their designs, how extravagant was their joy when the proud Abellino dared openly to declare to Venice that he still inhabited the Republic, and that he still wore a dagger at the disposal of Vice.

"This desperado is the very man for us!" they exclaimed unanimously, and in rapture; and now their most ardent wish was to enroll Abellino in their services.

Their object was soon attained—they sought the daring ruffian, and he suffered himself to be found. He visited their meetings, but in his promises and demands he was equally extravagant.

The first and most earnest wish of the whole conspiracy was the death of Conari, the Procurator, a man whom the Doge valued beyond all others, a man whose eagle eyes made the conspirators hourly tremble for their secret, and whose service the Doge had accepted, in preference to those of the Cardinal Gonzaga. But the sum which Abellino demanded for the murder of this one man was enormous.

"Give me the reward which I require," said he, "and I promise, on the word of a man of honour, that after this night the Procurator, Conari, shall give you no further trouble. Exalt him to heaven, or imprison him in hell, I'll engage to find and stab him."

What could they do? Abellino was not a man to be easily beat down in his demands. The Cardinal was impatient to attain the summit of his wishes; but his road lay straight over Conari's grave!

Abellino received the sum demanded; the next day the venerable Conari, the Doge's best and dearest friend, the pride and safeguard of the Republic, was no longer numbered among the living.

"'Tis a terrible fellow, this Abellino!" cried the conspirators, when the news reached them, and celebrated the Procurator's death in triumph at the Cardinal's midnight feast.

The Doge was almost distracted with terror and astonishment. He engaged to give ten thousand sequins to any one who should discover by whom Conari had been removed from the world. A proclamation to this effect was published at the corner of every street in Venice, and made known throughout the territories of the Republic. A few days after this proclamation had been made, a paper was discovered affixed to the principal door of the Venetian Signoria.

"VENETIANS!

"You would fain know the author of Conari's death. To spare you much fruitless trouble, I hereby acknowledge that I, Abellino, was his assassin.

"Twice did I bury my dagger in his heart, and then sent his body to feed the fishes. The Doge promises TEN thousand sequins to him who shall discover Conari's murderer; and to him who shall be clever enough to SEIZE him, Abellino hereby promises TWENTY. Adieu, Signors. I remain your faithful servant,

"ABELLINO."



CHAPTER VI: THE TWO GREATEST MEN IN VENICE.



It must be superfluous to inform my readers that all Venice became furious at this new insolence. Within the memory of man had no one ever treated with such derision the celebrated Venetian police, or set the Doge's power at defiance with such proud temerity. This occurrence threw the whole city into confusion; every one was on the look-out; the patrols were doubled; the sbirri extended their researches on all sides; yet no one could see, or hear, or discover the most distant trace of Abellino.

The priests in their sermons strove to rouse the slumbering vengeance of Heaven to crush this insolent offender. The ladies were ready to swoon at the very name of Abellino, for who could assure them that, at some unexpected moment, he might not pay THEM the same compliment which he had paid to Rosabella? As for the old women, they unanimously asserted that Abellino had sold himself to the Prince of Darkness, by whose assistance he was enabled to sport with the patience of all pious Venetians, and deride the impotence of their just indignation. The Cardinal and his associates were proud of their terrible confederate, and looking forward with confidence to the triumphant issue of their undertaking. The deserted family of Conari called down curses on his murderer's head, and wished that their tears might be changed into a sea of sulphur, in whose waves they might plunge the monster Abellino; nor did Conari's relations feel more grief for his loss than the Doge and his two confidants, who swore never to rest till they had discovered the lurking-place of this ruthless assassin, and had punished his crime with tenfold vengeance.

"Yet, after all," said Andreas one evening, as he sat alone in his private chamber, "after all, it must be confessed that this Abellino is a singular man. He who can do what Abellino has done must possess both such talents and such courage as, stood he at the head of an army, would enable him to conquer half the world. Would that I could once get a sight of him!"

"Look up, then!" roared Abellino, and clapped the Doge on the shoulder. Andreas started from his seat. A colossal figure stood before him, wrapped in a dark mantle above which appeared a countenance so hideous and forbidding, that the universe could not have produced its equal.

"Who art thou?" stammered out the Doge.

"Thou seest me, and canst doubt? Well, then, I am Abellino, the good friend of your murdered Conari, the Republic's most submissive slave."

The brave Andreas, who had never trembled in fight by land or by sea, and for whom no danger had possessed terrors sufficient to shake his undaunted resolution, the brave Andreas now forgot for a few moments his usual presence of mind. Speechless did he gaze on the daring assassin, who stood before him calm and haughty, unappalled by the majesty of the greatest man in Venice.

Abellino nodded to him with an air of familiar protection, and graciously condescended to grin upon him with a kind of half- friendly smile.

"Abellino," said the Doge, at length, endeavouring to recollect himself, "thou art a fearful—a detestable man."

"Fearful?" answered the bravo; "dost thou think me so? Good, that glads me to the very heart! Detestable? that may be so, or it may not. I confess, the sign which I hang out gives no great promise of good entertainment within; but yet, Andreas, one thing is certain. You and I stand on the same line, for at this moment we are the two greatest men in Venice; you in your way, I in mine."

The Doge could not help smiling at the bravo's familiar tone.

"Nay, nay," continued Abellino, "no smiles of disbelief, if you please. Allow me, though a bravo, to compare myself to a Doge; truly, I think there's no great presumption in placing myself on a level with a man whom I hold in my power, and who therefore is in fact beneath me."

The Doge made a movement, as he would have left him.

"Not so fast," said Abellino, laughing rudely, and he barred the Doge's passage. "Accident seldom unites in so small a space as this chamber a pair of such great men. Stay where you are, for I have not done with you yet; we must have a little conversation."

"Hear me, Abellino," said the Doge, mustering up all the dignity which he possessed; "thou hast received great talents from Nature: why dost thou employ them to so little advantage? I here promise you, on my most sacred word, pardon for the past, and protection for the future, will you but name to me the villain who bribed you to assassinate Conari, abjure your bloody trade, and accept an honest employment in the service of the Republic. If this offer is rejected, at least quit with all speed the territory of Venice, or I swear—"

"Ho! ho!" interrupted Abellino; "pardon and protection, say you? It is long since I thought it worth my while to care for such trifles. Abellino is able to protect himself without foreign aid; and, as to pardon, mortals cannot give absolution for sins like mine. On that day, when all men must give in the list of their offences, then, too, will I give in mine, but till then never. You would know the name of him who bribed me to be Conari's murderer? Well, well, you shall know it, but not to-day. I must quit with all speed the Venetian territory? and wherefore; through fear of thee? Ho! ho! Through fear of Venice? Ha, Abellino fears not Venice; 'tis Venice that fears Abellino! You would have me abjure my profession? Well, Andreas, there is one condition, which, perhaps—"

"Name it," cried the Doge, eagerly; "will ten thousand sequins purchase your departure from the Republic?"

"I would gladly give you twice as much myself, could you recall the insult of offering Abellino so miserable a bribe! No, Andreas, but one price can pay me: give me your niece for my bride. I love Rosabella, the daughter of Guiscard of Corfu."

"Monster—what insolence!"

"Ho! ho! Patience, patience, good uncle, that is to be. Will you accept my terms?"

"Name what sum will satisfy you, and it shall be yours this instant, so you will only relieve Venice from your presence. Though it should cost the Republic a million she will be a gainer, if her air is no longer poisoned by your breath."

"Indeed! Why, in fact, a million is not so great a sum; for look you, Andreas, I have just sold for near HALF a million the lives of your two dear friends, Manfrone and Lomellino. Now give me Rosabella, and I break the bargain."

"Miscreant! Has Heaven no lightnings?"

"You will not? Mark me! In four-and-twenty hours shall Manfrone and Lomellino be food for fishes. Abellino has said it. Away!"

And with these words he drew a pistol from under his cloak, and flashed it in the Doge's face. Blinded by the powder, and confused by the unexpected explosion, Andreas started back, and sunk bewildered on a neighbouring sofa. He soon recovered from his astonishment. He sprang from his seat to summon his guards and seize Abellino; but Abellino had already disappeared.

On that same evening were Parozzi and his confederates assembled in the palace of the Cardinal Gonzaga. The table was spread with the most luxurious profusion, and they arranged over their flowing goblets plans for the Republic's ruin. The Cardinal related how he had of late contrived to insinuate himself into the Doge's good graces, and had succeeded in impressing him with an opinion that the chiefs of the confederacy were fit men to hold offices of important trust. Contarino boasted that he doubted not before long to be appointed to the vacant procuratorship. Parozzi reckoned for HIS share upon Rosabella's hand, and the place either of Lomellino or Manfrone, when once those two chief obstacles to his hope should be removed. Such was the conversation in which they were engaged, when the clock struck twelve, the doors flew wide, and Abellino stood before them.

"Wine, there!" cried he; "the work is done. Manfrone and Lomellino are at supper with the worms. And I have thrown the Doge himself into such a fit of terror that I warrant he will not recover himself easily. Now answer are you content with me, you bloodhounds?"

"Next, then, for Flodoardo!" shouted Parozzi.

"Flodoardo!" muttered Abellino between his teeth; "hum—hum—that's not so easy."



BOOK THE THIRD



CHAPTER I: THE LOVERS.



Rosabella, the idol of all Venice, lay on the bed of sickness; a sorrow, whose cause was carefully concealed from every one, undermined her health, and destroyed the bloom of her beauty. She loved the noble Flodoardo; and who could have known Flodoardo and not have loved him? His majestic stature, his expressive countenance, his enthusiastic glance, his whole being declared aloud—Flodoardo is Nature's favourite, and Rosabella had been always a great admirer of Nature.

But if Rosabella was ill, Flodoardo was scarcely better. He confined himself to his own apartment; he shunned society, and frequently made long journeys to different cities of the Republic, in hopes of distracting his thoughts by change of place from that object which, wherever he went, still pursued him. He had now been absent for three whole weeks. No one knew in what quarter he was wandering; and it was during this absence that the so-long expected Prince of Monaldeschi arrived at Venice to claim Rosabella as his bride.

His appearance, to which a month before Andreas looked forward with such pleasing expectation, now afforded but little satisfaction to the Doge. Rosabella was too ill to receive her suitor's visits, and he did not allow her much time to recover her health; for six days after his arrival at Venice the Prince was found murdered in a retired part of one of the public gardens. His sword lay by him unsheathed and bloody; his tablets were gone, but one leaf had been torn from them and fastened on his breast. It was examined, and found to contain the following lines, apparently written in blood:-

"Let no one pretend to Rosabella's hand, who is not prepared to share the fate of Monaldeschi. "The Bravo, "ABELLINO."

"Oh, where shall I now fly for comfort? for protection?" exclaimed the Doge in despair, when this dreadful news was announced. "Why, why, is Flodoardo absent?"

Anxiously did he now desire the youth's return, to support him under the weight of these heavy misfortunes; nor was it long before that desire was gratified. Flodoardo returned.

"Welcome, noble youth!" said the Doge, when he saw the Florentine enter his apartment. "You must not in future deprive me of your presence for so long. I am now a poor forsaken old man. You have heard that Lomellino—that Manfrone—"

"I know all," answered Flodoardo, with a melancholy air.

"Satan has burst his chains, and now inhabits Venice under the name of Abellino, robbing me of all that my soul holds precious. Flodoardo, for Heaven's love, be cautious; often, during your absence, have I trembled lest the miscreant's dagger should have deprived me too of YOU. I have much to say to you, my young friend, but I must defer it till the evening. A foreigner of consequence has appointed this hour for an audience, and I must hasten to receive him—but in the evening—"

He was interrupted by the appearance of Rosabella, who, with tottering steps and pale cheeks, advanced slowly into the apartment. She saw Flodoardo, and a faint blush overspread her countenance. Flodoardo rose from his seat, and welcomed her with an air of distant respect.

"Do not go yet," said the Doge; "perhaps in half an hour I may be at liberty: in the meanwhile I leave you to entertain my poor Rosabella. She has been very ill during your absence; and I am still uneasy about her health. She kept her bed till yesterday, and truly I think she has left it too soon."

The venerable Doge quitted the apartment, and the lovers once more found themselves alone. Rosabella drew near the window; Flodoardo at length ventured to approach it also.

"Signora," said he, "are you still angry with me?"

"I am not angry with you," stammered out Rosabella, and blushed as she recollected the garden scene.

"And you have quite forgiven my transgression?"

"Your transgression?" repeated Rosabella, with a faint smile; "yes, if it was a transgression, I have quite forgiven it. Dying people ought to pardon those who have trespassed against them, in order that they, in their turn, may be pardoned their trespasses against Heaven—and I am dying; I feel it."

"Signora!"

"Nay, 'tis past a doubt. It's true, I have quitted my sick-bed since yesterday; but I know well that I am soon to return to it, never to leave it more. And therefore—therefore, I now ask your pardon, signor, for the vexation which I was obliged to cause to you the last time we met."

Flodoardo replied not.

"Will you not forgive me? You must be very difficult to appease— very revengeful!"

Flodoardo replied not.

"Will you refuse my offered hand? Shall all be forgotten?"

"Forgotten, lady? Never, never—every word and look of yours is stamped on my memory, never to be effaced. I cannot forget a transaction in which YOU bore a part: I cannot forget the scene that passed between us, every circumstance is too precious and sacred. As to PARDON"—he took her extended hand and pressed it respectfully to his lips—"I would to Heaven, dear lady, that you had in truth injured me much, that I might have much to forgive you. Alas! I have at present nothing to pardon."

Both were now silent. At length Rosabella resumed the conversation by saying—"You have made a long absence from Venice; did you travel far?"

"I did."

"And received much pleasure from your journey?"

"Much; for everywhere I heard the praises of Rosabella."

"Count Flodoardo," she interrupted him with a look of reprehension, but in a gentle voice, "would you again offend me?"

"That will soon be out of my power. Perhaps you can guess what are my present intentions."

"To resume your travels soon?"

"Exactly so; and the next time that I quit Venice, to return to it no more."

"No more?" she repeated, eagerly. "Oh, not so, Flodoardo! Ah, can you leave me?"—She stopped, ashamed of her imprudence. "Can you leave my uncle? I meant to say. You do but jest, I doubt not."

"By my honour, lady, I never was more in earnest."

"And whither, then, do you mean to go?"

"To Malta, and assist the knights in their attacks upon the corsairs of Barbary. Providence, perhaps, may enable me to obtain the command of a galley, then will I call my vessel 'Rosabella;' then shall the war-cry be still 'Rosabella;' that name will render me invincible."

"Oh! this is a mockery, Count. I have not deserved that you should sport with my feelings so cruelly."

"It is to SPARE your feelings, signora, that I am now resolved to fly from Venice; my presence might cause you some uneasy moments. I am not the happy man whose sight is destined to give you pleasure; I will, at least, avoid giving you pain."

"And you really can resolve to abandon the Doge, whose esteem for you is so sincere, whose friendship has always been so warm?"

"I value his friendship highly, but it is not sufficient to make me happy, and could he lay kingdoms at my feet, still would his friendship be insufficient to make me happy."

"Does, then, your happiness require so much?"

"It does—much more than I have mentioned, infinitely more. But one boon can make me happy; I have begged for it on my knees." He caught her hand and pressed it eagerly to his lips. "I have begged for it, Rosabella, and my suit has been rejected."

"You are a strange enthusiast," she said with difficulty, and scarcely knew what she said, while Flodoardo drew her gently nearer to him, and murmured in a supplicating voice, "Rosabella!"

"What would you of me?"

"My happiness!"

She gazed upon him for a moment undecided, then hastily drew away her hand, and exclaimed, "Leave me, this moment, I command you. Leave me, for Heaven's sake!"

Flodoardo clasped his hands together in despair and anguish. He bowed his head in token of obedience. He left her with slow steps and a melancholy air, and as he passed the threshold, turned to bid her farewell for ever. Suddenly she rushed towards him, caught his hand, and pressed it to her heart.

"Flodoardo," she cried, "I am thine!" and sank motionless at his feet.



CHAPTER II: A DANGEROUS PROMISE.



And now who was so blessed as the fortunate Flodoardo? The victory was his own, he had heard the wished-for sentence pronounced by the lips of Rosabella. He raised her from the ground, and placed her on a sofa. Her blue eyes soon unclosed themselves once more, and the first object which they beheld was Flodoardo kneeling at her feet, while with one arm he encircled her waist. Her head sank upon the shoulder of the man for whom she had breathed so many sighs, who had occupied so many of her thoughts by day, who had been present in so many of her dreams by night.

As they gazed in silent rapture on each other, they forgot that they were mortals; they seemed to be transported to a happier, to a better world. Rosabella thought that the chamber in which she sat was transformed into an earthly Paradise; invisible seraphs seemed to hallow by their protecting presence the indulgence of her innocent affection, and she poured forth her secret thanks to Him who had given her a heart susceptible of love.

Through the whole course of man's existence, such a moment as this occurs but once. Happy is he who sighs for its arrival; happy is he who, when it arrives, has a soul worthy of its enjoyment; happy is even he for whom that moment has long been passed, so it passed not unenjoyed, for the recollection of it still is precious. Sage philosophers, in vain do you assure us that the raptures of a moment like this are mere illusions of a heated imagination, scarcely more solid than an enchanting dream, which fades before the sunbeams of truth and reason. Alas! does there exist a happiness under the moon which owes not its charms in some degree to the magic of imagination!

"You are dear to me, Flodoardo," murmured Rosabella, for Camilla and her counsels were quite forgotten; "oh, you are very, very dear!"

The youth only thanked her by clasping her still closer to his bosom, while, for the first time, he sealed her coral lips with his own.

At that moment the door was suddenly thrown open. The Doge Andreas re-entered the apartment: the expected stranger had been suddenly taken ill, and Andreas was no sooner at liberty than he hastened to rejoin his favourite. The rustling of his garments roused the lovers from their dream of bliss. Rosabella started from Flodoardo's embrace with a cry of terror; Flodoardo quitted his kneeling posture, yet seemed by no means disconcerted at the discovery.

Andreas gazed upon them for some minutes, with a look which expressed at once anger, melancholy, and the most heartfelt disappointment. He sighed deeply, cast his eyes towards heaven, and in silence turned to leave the apartment.

"Stay yet one moment, noble Andreas," cried the Florentine.

The Doge turned, and Flodoardo threw himself at his feet. Andreas looked down with calm and serious dignity on the kneeling offender, by whom his friendship had been so unworthily rewarded, and by whom his confidence had been so cruelly betrayed.

"Young man," said he, in a stern voice, "the attempt to excuse yourself must be fruitless."

"Excuse myself!" interrupted Flodoardo, boldly; "no, my lord, I need no excuses for loving Rosabella; 'twere for him to excuse himself who had seen Rosabella and NOT loved her; yet, if it is indeed a crime in me that I adore Rosabella, 'tis a crime of which Heaven itself will absolve me, since it formed Rosabella so worthy to be adored."

"You seem to lay too much stress on this fantastic apology," answered the Doge, contemptuously; "at least you cannot expect that it should have much weight with me."

"I say it once more, my lord," resumed Flodoardo, while he rose from the ground, "that I intend to make no apology; I mean not to excuse my love for Rosabella, but to request your approbation of that love. Andreas, I adore your niece; I demand her for my bride."

The Doge started in astonishment at this bold and unexpected request.

"It is true," continued the Florentine, "I am no more than a needy, unknown youth, and it seems a piece of strange temerity when such a man proposes himself to espouse the heiress of the Venetian Doge. But, by Heaven, I am confident that the great Andreas means not to bestow his Rosabella on one of those whose claims to favour are overflowing coffers, extensive territories, and sounding titles, or who vainly decorate their insignificance with the glory obtained by the titles of their ancestors, glory of which they are themselves incapable of acquiring a single ray. I acknowledge freely that I have as yet performed no actions which make me deserving of such a reward as Rosabella; but it shall not be long ere I WILL perform such actions, or perish in the attempt."

The Doge turned from him with a look of displeasure.

"Oh, be not incensed with him, dear uncle," said Rosabella. She hastened to detain the Doge, threw her white arms around his neck fondly, and concealed in his bosom the tears with which her countenance was bedewed.

"Make your demands," continued Flodoardo, still addressing himself to the Doge; "say what you wish me to do, and what you would have me become, in order to obtain from you the hand of Rosabella. Ask what you will, I will look on the task, however difficult, as nothing more than sport and pastime. By Heaven, I would that Venice were at this moment exposed to the most imminent danger, and that ten thousand daggers were unsheathed against your life; Rosabella my reward—how certain should I be to rescue Venice, and strike the ten thousand daggers down."

"I have served the Republic faithfully and fervently for many a long year," answered Andreas, with a bitter smile; "I have risked my life without hesitation; I have shed my blood with profusion; I asked nothing for my reward but to pass my old age in soft tranquillity, and of this reward have I been cheated. My bosom friends, the companions of my youth, the confidants of my age, have been torn from me by the daggers of banditti; and you, Flodoardo, you, on whom I heaped all favours, have now deprived me of this my only remaining comfort. Answer me, Rosabella; hast thou in truth bestowed thy heart on Flodoardo irrevocably?"

One hand of Rosabella's still rested on her uncle's shoulder; with the other she clasped Flodoardo's and pressed it fondly against her heart—yet Flodoardo seemed still unsatisfied. No sooner had the Doge's question struck his ear, than his countenance became dejected; and though his hand returned the pressure of Rosabella's, he shook his head mournfully, with an air of doubt, and cast on her a penetrating look, as would he have read the secrets of her inmost soul.

Andreas withdrew himself gently from Rosabella's arm, and for some time paced the apartment slowly, with a countenance sad and earnest. Rosabella sank upon a sofa which stood near her, and wept. Flodoardo eyed the Doge, and waited for his decision with impatience.

Thus passed some minutes. An awful silence reigned through the chamber; Andreas seemed to be labouring with some resolution of dreadful importance. The lovers wished, yet dreaded, the conclusion of the scene, and with every moment their anxiety became more painful.

"Flodoardo!" at length said the Doge, and suddenly stood still in the middle of the chamber. Flodoardo advanced with a respectful air. "Young man," he continued, "I am at length resolved; Rosabella loves you, nor will I oppose the decision of her heart; but Rosabella is much too precious to admit of my bestowing her on the first who thinks fit to demand her. The man to whom I give her must be worthy such a gift. She must be the reward of his services; nor can he do services so great that such a reward will not overpay them. Your claims on the Republic's gratitude are as yet but trifling; an opportunity now offers of rendering as an essential service. The murderer of Conari, Manfrone, and Lomellino—go, bring him hither! Alive or dead, thou must bring to this palace the terrible banditti-king, ABELLINO!"

At this unexpected conclusion of a speech on which his happiness or despair depended, Flodoardo started back. The colour fled from his cheeks.

"My noble lord!" he said at length, hesitating, "you know well that- -"

"I know well," interrupted Andreas, "how difficult a task I enjoin, when I require the delivery of Abellino. For myself I swear that I had rather a thousand times force my passage with a single vessel through the whole Turkish fleet, and carry off the admiral's ship from the midst of them, than attempt to seize this Abellino, who seems to have entered into a compact with Lucifer himself: who is to be found everywhere and nowhere; whom so many have seen, but whom no one knows; whose cautious subtlety has brought to shame the vigilance of our State inquisitors, of the College of Ten, and of all their legions of spies and sbirri; whose very name strikes terror into the hearts of the bravest Venetians, and from whose dagger I myself am not safe upon my throne. I know well, Flodoardo, how much I ask; but I know also how much I proffer. You seem irresolute? You are silent? Flodoardo, I have long watched you with attention. I have discovered in you marks of a superior genius, and therefore I am induced to make such a demand. If any one is able to cope with Abellino, thou art the man. I wait your answer."

Flodoardo paced the chamber in silence. Dreadful was the enterprise proposed. Woe to him should Abellino discover his purpose. But Rosabella was the reward. He cast a look on the beloved one, and resolved to risk everything.

He advanced towards the Doge.

Andreas.—Now, then, Flodoardo—your resolution?

Flodoardo.—Should I deliver Abellino into your power, do you solemnly swear that Rosabella shall be my bride?

Andreas.—She shall! and NOT TILL THEN.

Rosabella.—Ah! Flodoardo, I fear this undertaking will end fatally. Abellino is so crafty, so dreadful. Oh! look well to yourself, for should you meet with the detested monster, whose dagger -

Flodoardo (interrupting her hastily).—Oh! silence, Rosabella—at least allow me to hope. Noble Andreas, give me your hand, and pledge your princely word that, Abellino once in your power, nothing shall prevent me from being Rosabella's husband.

Andreas.—I swear it; deliver into my power, either alive or dead, this most dangerous foe of Venice, and nothing shall prevent Rosabella from being your wife. In pledge of which I here give you my princely hand.

Flodoardo grasped the Doge's hand in silence, and shook it thrice. He turned to Rosabella, and seemed on the point of addressing her, when he suddenly turned away, struck his forehead, and measured the apartment with disordered and unsteady steps. The clock in the tower of St. Mark's church struck five.

"Time flies!" cried Flodoardo; "no more delay, then. In four-and- twenty hours will I produce in this very palace this dreaded bravo, Abellino."

Andreas shook his head. "Young man," said he, "be less confident in your promises; I shall have more faith in your performance."

Flodoardo (serious and firm).—Let things terminate as they may, either I will keep my word, or never again will cross the threshold of your palace. I have discovered some traces of the miscreant, and I trust that I shall amuse you to-morrow, at this time and in this place, with the representation of a comedy; but should it prove a tragedy instead, God's will be done.

Andreas.—Remember that too much haste is dangerous; rashness will destroy even the frail hopes of success which you may reasonably indulge at present.

Flodoardo.—Rashness, my lord? He who has lived as I have lived, and suffered what I have suffered, must have been long since cured of rashness.

Rosabella (taking his hand).—Yet be not too confident of your own strength, I beseech you! Dear Flodoardo, my uncle loves you, and his advice is wise! Beware of Abellino's dagger!

Flodoardo.—The best way to escape his dagger is not to allow him time to use it: within four-and-twenty hours must the deed be done, or never. Now, then, illustrious Prince, I take my leave of you. To-morrow I doubt not to convince you that nothing is too much for love to venture.

Andreas.—Right; to venture: but to achieve?

Flodoardo.—Ah, that must depend—He paused suddenly again his eyes were fastened eagerly on those of Rosabella, and it was evident that with every moment his uneasiness acquired fresh strength. He resumed his discourse to Andreas, with a movement of impatience.

"Noble Andreas," said he, "do not make me dispirited; rather let me try whether I cannot inspire you with more confidence of my success. I must first request you to order a splendid entertainment to be prepared. At this hour in the afternoon of to-morrow let me find all the principal persons in Venice, both men and women, assembled in this chamber; for should my hopes be realised, I would willingly have spectators of my triumph. Particularly let the venerable members of the College of Ten he invited, in order that they may at last he brought face to face with this terrible Abellino, against whom they have so long been engaged in fruitless warfare."

Andreas (after eyeing him some time with a look of mingled surprise and uncertainty).—They shall be present.

Flodoardo.—I understand, also, that since Conari's death you have been reconciled to the Cardinal Gonzaga; and that he has convinced you how unjust were the prejudices with which Conari had inspired you against the nobility—Parozzi, Contarino, and the rest of that society. During my late excursions I have heard much in praise of these young men, which makes me wish to show myself to them in a favourable light. If you have no objection, let me beg you to invite them also.

Andreas.—You shall be gratified.

Flodoardo.—One thing more, which had nearly escaped my memory. Let no one know the motive of this entertainment till the whole company is assembled. Then let guards be placed around the palace, and, indeed, it may be as well to place them even before the doors of the saloon; for in truth this Abellino is such a desperate villain, that too many precautions cannot be taken against him. The sentinels must have their pieces loaded, and, above all things, they must be strictly charged, on pain of death, to let every one enter, but no one quit the chamber.

Andreas.—All this shall be done punctually.

Flodoardo.—I have nothing more to say. Noble Andreas, farewell. Rosabella, to-morrow, when the clock strikes five, we shall meet again, or never.

He said, and rushed out of the apartment. Andreas shook his head; while Rosabella sank upon her uncle's bosom, and wept bitterly.



CHAPTER III.—THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.



"Victory!" shouted Parozzi, as he rushed into the Cardinal Gonzaga's chamber, where the chief conspirators were all assembled; "our work goes on bravely. Flodoardo returned this morning to Venice, and Abellino has already received the required sum."

Gonzaga.—Flodoardo does not want talents; I had rather he should live and join our party. He is seldom off his guard -

Parozzi.—Such vagabonds may well be cautious; they must not forget themselves, who have so much to conceal from others.

Falieri.—Rosabella, as I understand, by no means sees this Florentine with unfavourable eyes.

Parozzi.—Oh, wait till to-morrow, and then he may make love to the devil and his grandmother, if he likes it. Abellino by that time will have wrung his neck round, I warrant you.

Contarino.—It is strange that, in spite of all inquiries, I can learn but little at Florence respecting this Flodoardo. My letters inform me that some time ago there did exist a family of that name; but it has been long extinct, or if any of its descendants are still in being at Florence, their existence is quite a secret.

Gonzaga.—Are you all invited to the Doge's tomorrow?

Contarino.—All of us, without exception.

Gonzaga.—That is well. It seems that my recommendations have obtained some weight with him, since his triumvirate has been removed. And in the evening a masked ball is to be given. Did not the Doge's chamberlain say so?

Falieri.—He did.

Memmo.—I only hope there is no trick in all this. If he should have been given a hint of our conspiracy! Mercy on us! my teeth chatter at the thought.

Gonzaga.—Absurd! By what means should our designs have been made known to him? The thing is impossible.

Memmo.—Impossible? What, when there's scarce a cutpurse, housebreaker, or vagabond in Venice who has not been enlisted in our service, would it be so strange if the Doge discovered a little of the business? A secret which is known to so many, how should it escape his penetration?

Contarino.—Simpleton! the same thing happens to him which happens to betrayed husbands. Everyone can see the horns except the man who carries them. And yet I confess it is full time that we should realise our projects, and prevent the possibility of our being betrayed.

Falieri.—You are right, friend; everything is ready now. The sooner that the blow is struck the better.

Parozzi.—Nay, the discontented populace, which at present sides with us, would be perfectly well pleased if the sport began this very night; delay the business longer, and their anger against Andreas will cool, and render them unfit for our purpose.

Contarino.—Then let us decide the game at once; be to-morrow the important day. Leave the Doge to my disposal. I'll at least engage to bury my poniard in his heart, and then let the business end as it may, one of two things must happen: either we shall rescue ourselves from all trouble and vexation, by throwing everything into uproar and confusion, or else we shall sail with a full wind from this cursed world to another.

Parozzi.—Mark me, friends, we must go armed to the Doge's entertainment.

Gonzaga.—All the members of the College of Ten have been particularly invited -

Falieri.—Down with every man of them!

Memmo.—Aye, aye! Fine talking, but suppose it should turn out to be down with ourselves?

Falieri.—Thou white-livered wretch! Stay at home, then, and take care of your worthless existence. But if our attempt succeeds, come not to us to reimburse you for the sums which you have already advanced. Not a sequin shall be paid you back, depend on't.

Memmo.—You wrong me, Falieri; if you wish to prove my courage, draw your sword and measure it against mine. I am as brave as yourself; but, thank Heaven, I am not quite so hot-headed.

Gonzaga.—Nay, even suppose that the event should not answer our expectations? Andreas once dead, let the populace storm as it pleases; the protection of his Holiness will sanction our proceedings.

Memmo.—The Pope? May we count on his protection?

Gonzaga (throwing him a letter).—Read there, unbeliever. The Pope, I tell you, must protect us, since one of our objects is professed to be the assertion of the rights of St. Peter's Chair in Venice. Prithee, Memmo, tease us no more with such doubts, but let Contarino's proposal be adopted at once. Our confederates must be summoned to Parozzi's palace with all diligence, and there furnished with such weapons as are necessary. Let the stroke of midnight be the signal for Contarino's quitting the ball-room, and hastening to seize the arsenal. Salviati, who commands there, is in our interest, and will throw open the gates at the first summons.

Falieri.—The admiral Adorna, as soon as he hears the alarm-bell, will immediately lead his people to our assistance.

Parozzi.—Oh, our success is certain.

Contarino.—Only let us take care to make the confusion as general as possible. Our adversaries must be kept in the dark who are their friends and who their foes, and all but our own party must be left ignorant as to the authors, the origin, and the object of the uproar.

Parozzi.—Heaven, I am delighted at finding the business at length so near the moment of execution!

Falieri.—Parozzi, have you distributed the white ribbons by which we are to recognise our partisans?

Parozzi.—That was done some days ago.

Contarino.—Then there is no more necessary to be said on the subject. Comrades, fill your goblets. We will not meet again together till our work has been completed.

Memmo.—And yet methinks it would not be unwise to consider the matter over again coolly.

Contarino.—Pshaw! consideration and prudence have nothing to do with a rebellion; despair and rashness in this case are better counsellors. The work once begun, the constitution of Venice once boldly overturned, so that no one can tell who is master and who is subject, then consideration will be of service in instructing us how far it may be necessary for our interest to push the confusion. Come, friends! fill, fill, I say. I cannot help laughing when I reflect that, by giving this entertainment to-morrow, the Doge himself kindly affords us an opportunity of executing our plans.

Parozzi.—As to Flodoardo, I look upon him already as in his grave; yet before we go to-morrow to the Doge's, it will be as well to have a conference with Abellino.

Contarino.—That care we will leave to you, Parozzi, and in the meanwhile here's the health of Abellino.

All.—Abellino!

Gonzaga.—And success to our enterprise to-morrow.

Memmo.—I'll drink THAT toast with all my heart.

All.—Success to to-morrow's enterprise!

Parozzi.—The wine tastes well, and every face looks gay; pass eight-and-forty hours, and shall we look as gaily? We separate smiling; shall we smile when two nights hence we meet again? No matter.



CHAPTER IV.—THE DECISIVE DAY.



The next morning everything in Venice seemed as tranquil as if nothing more than ordinary was on the point of taking place; and yet, since her first foundation, never had a more important day risen on the Republic.

The inhabitants of the ducal palace were in motion early. The impatient Andreas forsook the couch on which he had passed a sleepless and anxious night, as soon as the first sunbeams penetrated through the lattice of his chamber. Rosabella had employed the hours of rest in dreams of Flodoardo, and she still seemed to be dreaming of him, even after sleep was fled. Camilla's love for her fair pupil had broken her repose; she loved Rosabella as had she been her daughter, and was aware that on this interesting day depended the love-sick girl's whole future happiness. For some time Rosabella was unusually gay; she sang to her harp the most lively airs, and jested with Camilla for looking so serious and so uneasy; but when mid-day approached, her spirits began to forsake her. She quitted her instrument, and paced the chamber with unsteady steps. With every succeeding hour her heart palpitated with greater pain and violence, and she trembled in expectation of the scene which was soon to take place.

The most illustrious persons in Venice already filled her uncle's palace; the afternoon so much dreaded, and yet so much desired, was come; and the Doge now desired Camilla to conduct his niece to the great saloon, where she was expected with impatience by all those who were of most consequence in the Republic.

Rosabella sank on her knees before a statue of the Virgin. "Blessed Lady!" she exclaimed, with lifted hands, "have mercy on me! Let all to-day end well!"

Pale as death did she enter the chamber in which, on the day before, she had acknowledged her love for Flodoardo, and Flodoardo had sworn to risk his life to obtain her. Flodoardo was not yet arrived.

The assembly was brilliant, the conversation was gay. They talked over the politics of the day, and discussed the various occurrences of Europe. The Cardinal and Contarino were engaged in a conference with the Doge, while Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri stood silent together, and revolved the project whose execution was to take place at midnight.

The weather was dark and tempestuous. The wind roared among the waters of the canal, and the vanes of the palace-towers creaked shrilly and discordantly. One storm of rain followed hard upon another.

The clock struck four. The cheeks of Rosabella, if possible, became paler than before. Andreas whispered something to his chamberlain. In a few minutes the tread of armed men seemed approaching the doors of the saloon, and soon after the clattering of weapons was heard.

Instantly a sudden silence reigned through the whole assembly. The young courtiers broke off their love-speeches abruptly, and the ladies stopped in their criticisms upon the last new fashions. The statesmen dropped their political discussions, and gazed on each other in silence and anxiety.

The Doge advanced slowly into the midst of the assembly. Every eye was fixed upon him. The hearts of the conspirators beat painfully.

"Be not surprised, my friends," said Andreas, "at these unusual precautions; they relate to nothing which need interfere with the pleasures of this society. You have all heard but too much of the bravo Abellino, the murderer of the Procurator Conari, and of my faithful counsellors Manfrone and Lomellino, and to whose dagger my illustrious guest the Prince of Monaldeschi has but lately fallen a victim. This miscreant, the object of aversion to every honest man in Venice, to whom nothing is sacred or venerable, and who has hitherto set at defiance the whole vengeance of the Republic—before another hour expires, perhaps this outcast of hell may stand before you in this very saloon."

All (astonished).—Abellino? What, the bravo Abellino?

Gonzaga.—Of his own accord!

Andreas.—No, not of his own accord, in truth. But Flodoardo of Florence has undertaken to render this important service to the Republic, to seize Abellino, cost what it may, and conduct him hither at the risk of his life.

A Senator.—The engagement will be difficult to fulfil. I doubt much Flodoardo's keeping his promise.

Another.—But if he SHOULD perform it, the obligation which Flodoardo will lay upon the Republic will not be trifling.

A Third.—Nay, we shall be all his debtors, nor do I know how we can reward Flodoardo for so important a service.

Andreas.—Be that my task. Flodoardo has demanded my niece in marriage if he performs his promise. Rosabella shall be his reward.

All gazed on each other in silence; some with looks expressing the most heartfelt satisfaction, and others with glances of envy and surprise.

Falieri (in a low voice).—Parozzi, how will this end?

Memmo.—As I live, the very idea makes me shake as if I had a fever.

Parozzi (smiling contemptuously).—It's very likely that Abellino should suffer himself to be caught!

Contarino.—Pray inform me, signors, have any of you ever met this Abellino face to face?

Several Noblemen at once.—Not I. Never.

A Senator.—He is a kind of spectre, who only appears now and then, when he is least expected and desired.

Rosabella.—I saw him once; never again shall I forget the monster.

Andreas.—And my interview with him is too well known to make it needful for me to relate it.

Memmo.—I have heard a thousand stories about this miscreant, the one more wonderful than the other; and for my own part I verily believe that he is Satan himself in a human form. I must say that I think it would be wiser not to let him be brought in among us, for he is capable of strangling us all as we stand here, one after another, without mercy.

"Gracious Heaven!" screamed several of the ladies, "you don't say so? What, strangle us in this very chamber?"

Contarino.—The principal point is, whether Flodoardo will get the better of HIM, or HE of Flodoardo. Now I would lay a heavy wager that the Florentine will return without having finished the business.

A Senator.—And I would engage, on the contrary, that there is but one man in Venice who is capable of seizing Abellino, and that THAT man is Flodoardo of Florence. The moment that I became acquainted with him, I prophesied that one day or other he would play a brilliant part in the annals of history.

Another Senator.—I think with you, signor. Never was I so struck with a man at first sight as I was with Flodoardo.

Contarino.—A thousand sequins on Abellino's not being taken, unless death should have taken him first.

The First Senator.—A thousand sequins on Flodoardo seizing him -

Andreas.—And delivering him up to me, either alive or dead.

Contarino.—Illustrious signors, you are witnesses of the wager. My Lord Vitalba, there is my hand on it. A thousand sequins!

The Senator.—Done.

Contarino (smiling).—Many thanks for your gold, signor. I look on it as already in my purse. Flodoardo is a clever gentleman, no doubt, yet I would advise him to take good care of himself; for he will find that Abellino knows a trick or two, or I am much mistaken.

Gonzaga.—May I request your Highness to inform me whether Flodoardo is attended by the sbirri?

Andreas.—No, he is alone. Near four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since he set out in pursuit of the bravo.

Gonzaga (to Contarino, with a smile of triumph).—I wish you joy of your thousand sequins, signor.

Contarino (bowing respectfully).—Since your Excellency prophesies it I can no longer doubt my success.

Memmo.—I begin to recover myself! Well, well! let us see the end.

Three-and-twenty hours had elapsed since Flodoardo had entered into the rash engagement. The four-and-twentieth now hastened to its completion, and yet Flodoardo came not.



CHAPTER V.—THE CLOCK STRIKES FIVE.



The Doge became uneasy. The senator Vitalba began to tremble for his thousand sequins, and the conspirators could not restrain their spiteful laughter, when Contarino gravely declared that he would gladly lose, not ONE thousand sequins, but twenty, if the loss of his wager through Abellino's being captured might but secure the general safety of the Republic.

"Hark!" cried Rosabella, "the clock strikes five!"

All listened to the chimes in the tower of St. Mark's Church, and trembled as they counted the strokes. Had not Camilla supported her, Rosabella would have sank upon the ground. The destined hour was past, and still Flodoardo came not!

The venerable Andreas felt a sincere affection for the Florentine; he shuddered as he dwelt upon the probability that Abellino's dagger had prevailed.

Rosabella advanced towards her uncle as if she would have spoken to him; but anxiety fettered her tongue, and tears forced themselves into her eyes. She struggled for a while to conceal her emotions, but the effort was too much for her. She threw herself on a sofa, wrung her hands, and prayed to the God of mercy for help and comfort.

The rest of the company either formed groups of whisperers, or strolled up and down the apartment in evident uneasiness. They would willingly have appeared gay and unconcerned, but they found it impossible to assume even an affectation of gaiety, and thus elapsed another hour, and still Flodoardo came not.

At that moment the evening sun broke through the clouds, and a ray of its setting glory was thrown full upon the countenance of Rosabella. She started from the sofa, extended her arms towards the radiant orb, and exclaimed, while a smile of hope played round her lips, "God is merciful; God will have mercy on me."

Contarino.—Was it at five o'clock that Flodoardo engaged to produce Abellino? It is now a full hour beyond his time.

The Senator Vitalba.—Let him only produce him at last, and he may be a month beyond his time if he choose.

Andreas.—Hark! No. Silence! silence! Surely I hear footsteps approaching the saloon.

The words were scarcely spoken when the folding doors were thrown open, and Flodoardo rushed into the room enveloped in his mantle. His hair streamed on the air in wild disorder; a deep shade was thrown over his face by the drooping plumes of his barrette, from which the rain was flowing. Extreme melancholy was impressed on all his features, and he threw gloomy looks around him as he bowed his head in salutation of the assembly.

Every one crowded round him; every mouth was unclosed to question him; every eye was fixed on his face as if eager to anticipate his answers.

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Memmo, "I am afraid that—"

"Be silent, signor!" interrupted Contarino, sternly; "there is nothing to be afraid of."

"Illustrious Venetians!"—it was thus that Flodoardo broke silence, and he spoke with the commanding tone of a hero—"I conclude that his Highness has already made known to you the object of your being thus assembled. I come to put an end to your anxiety; but first, noble Andreas, I must once more receive the assurance that Rosabella of Corfu shall become my bride, provided I deliver into your power the bravo Abellino."

Andreas (examining his countenance with extreme anxiety).— Flodoardo, have you succeeded? Is Abellino your prisoner?

Flodoardo.—If Abellino is my prisoner, shall Rosabella be my bride?

Andreas.—Bring me Abellino, alive or dead, and she is yours. I swear it beyond the power of retracting, and also that her dowry shall be royal!

Flodoardo.—Illustrious Venetians, ye have heard the Doge's oath?

All.—We are your witnesses.

Flodoardo (advancing a few paces with a bold air, and speaking in a firm voice).—Well, then, Abellino is in my power—is in YOURS.

All (in confusion and a kind of uproar).—In ours? Merciful heaven! Where is he? Abellino!

Andreas.—Is he dead or living?

Flodoardo.—He still lives.

Gonzaga (hastily).—He lives?

Flodoardo (bowing to the Cardinal respectfully).—He still lives, signor.

Rosabella (pressing Camilla to her bosom). Didst thou hear that, Camilla? Didst thou hear it? The villain still lives. Not one drop of blood has stained the innocent hand of Flodoardo.

The Senator Vitalba.—Signor Contarino, I have won a thousand sequins of you.

Contarino.—So it should seem, signor.

Andreas.—My son, you have bound the Republic to you for ever, and I rejoice that it is to Flodoardo that she is indebted for a service so essential.

Vitalba.—And permit me, noble Florentine, to thank you for this heroic act in the name of the Senate of Venice. Our first care shall be to seek out a reward proportioned to your merits.

Flodoardo (extending his arms towards Rosabella, with a melancholy air).—There stands the only reward for which I wish.

Andreas (joyfully).—And that reward is your own. But where have you left the bloodhound? Conduct him hither, my son, and let me look at him once more. When I last saw him, he had the insolence to tell me, "Doge, I am your equal. This narrow chamber now holds the two greatest men in Venice." Now, then, let me see how this other great man looks in captivity.

Two or three Senators.—Where is he? Bring him hither.

Several of the ladies screamed at hearing this proposal. "For heaven's sake," cried they, "keep the monster away from us! I shall be frightened out of my senses if he comes here."

"Noble ladies," said Flodoardo, with a smile, expressing rather sorrow than joy, "you have nothing to apprehend. Abellino shall do you no harm; but he needs must come hither to claim THE BRAVO'S BRIDE." And he pointed to Rosabella.

"Oh, my best friend," she answered, "how shall I express my thanks to you for having thus put an end to my terrors? I shall tremble no more at hearing Abellino named. Rosabella shall now be called the Bravo's Bride no longer."

Falieri.—Is Abellino already in this palace?

Flodoardo.—He is.

Vitalba.—Then why do you not produce him? Why do you trifle so long with our impatience?

Flodoardo.—Be patient. It's now time that the play should begin. Be seated, noble Andreas. Let all the rest arrange themselves behind the Doge. Abellino's coming!

At that word both old and young, both male and female, with the rapidity of lightning, flew to take shelter behind Andreas. Every heart beat anxiously; but as to the conspirators, while expecting Abellino's appearance, they suffered the torments of the damned.

Grave and tranquil sat the Doge in his chair, like a judge appointed to pass sentence on this King of the Banditti. The spectators stood around in various groups, all hushed and solemn, as if they were waiting to receive their final judgment. The lovely Rosabella, with all the security of angels whose innocence have nothing to fear, reclined her head on Camilla's shoulder and gazed on her heroic lover with looks of adoration. The conspirators, with pallid cheeks and staring eyes, filled up the background, and a dead and awful silence prevailed through the assembly, scarcely interrupted by a single breath.

"And now, then," said Flodoardo, "prepare yourselves, for this terrible Abellino shall immediately appear before you. Do not tremble; he shall do no one harm."

With these words he turned away from the company, advanced towards the folding-doors. He paused for a few moments, and concealed his face in his cloak.

"Abellino!" cried he at length, raising his head, and extending his arm towards the door. At that name all who heard it shuddered involuntarily, and Rosabella advanced unconsciously a few steps towards her lover. She trembled more for Flodoardo than herself.

"Abellino!" the Florentine repeated, in a loud and angry tone, threw from him his mantle and barrette, and had already laid his hand on the lock of the door to open it, when Rosabella uttered a cry of terror.

"Stay, Flodoardo!" she cried, rushing towards him, and—Ha! Flodoardo was gone, and there, in his place, stood Abellino, and shouted out, "Ho! ho!"



CHAPTER VI.—APPARITIONS.



Instantly a loud cry of terror resounded through the apartment. Rosabella sank fainting at the bravo's feet; the conspirators were almost suffocated with rage, terror, and astonishment; the ladies made signs of the cross, and began in all haste to repeat their paternosters; the senators stood rooted to their places like so many statues; and the Doge doubted the information of his ears and eyes.

Calm and terrible stood the bravo before them, in all the pomp of his strange and awful ugliness, with his bravo's habit, his girdle filled with pistols and poniards, his distorted yellow countenance, his black and bushy eyebrows, his lips convulsed, his right eye covered by a large patch, and his left half buried among the wrinkles of flesh which swelled around it. He gazed around him for a few moments in silence, and then approached the stupefied Andreas.

"Ho! ho!" he roared in a voice like thunder, "you wish to see the bravo Abellino? Doge of Venice, here he stands, and is come to claim his bride."

Andreas gazed with looks of horror on this model for demons, and at length stammered out with difficulty, "It cannot be real; I must surely be the sport of some terrible dream."

"Without there, guards!" exclaimed the Cardinal Gonzaga, and would have hastened to the folding doors, when Abellino put his back against them, snatched a pistol from his girdle, and pointed it at the Cardinal's bosom.

"The first," cried he, "who calls for the guard, or advances one step from the place on which he stands, expires that moment. Fools! Do ye think I would have delivered myself up, and desired that guards might beset these doors, had I feared their swords, or intended to escape from your power? No; I am content to be your prisoner, but not through compulsion! I am content to be your prisoner; and it was with that intent that I came hither. No mortal should have the glory of seizing Abellino. If justice required him to be delivered up, it was necessary that he should be delivered up by himself! Or do ye take Abellino for an ordinary ruffian, who passes his time in skulking from the sbirri, and who murders for the sake of despicable plunder? No, by heaven, no! Abellino was no such common villain. It's true I was a bravo; but the motives which induced me to become one were great and striking."

Andreas (clasping his hands together).—Almighty God! can all this be possible?

An awful silence again reigned through the saloon. All trembled while they listened to the voice of the terrible assassin, who strode through the chamber proud and majestic as the monarch of the infernal world.

Rosabella opened her eyes; their first look fell upon the bravo.

"Oh, God of mercy!" she exclaimed, "he is still there. Methought, too, that Flodoardo -. No, no; it could not be! I was deceived by witchcraft."

Abellino advanced towards her, and attempted to raise her. She shrunk from his touch with horror.

"No, Rosabella," said the bravo, in an altered voice, "what you saw was no illusion. Your favoured Flodoardo is no other than Abellino the bravo."

"It is false!" interrupted Rosabella, starting from the ground in despair, and throwing herself for refuge on Camilla's bosom. "Monster! thou canst not be Flodoardo! such a fiend can never have been such a seraph. Flodoardo's actions were good and glorious as a demi-god's! 'Twas of him that I learned to love good and glorious actions, and 'twas he who encouraged me to attempt them myself; his heart was pure from all mean passions, and capable of conceiving all great designs. Never did he scruple, in the cause of virtue, to endure fatigue and pain, and to dry up the tears of suffering innocence—that was Flodoardo's proudest triumph! Flodoardo and thou—! Wretch, whom many a bleeding ghost has long since accused before the throne of heaven, darest thou to profane the name of Flodoardo!"

Abellino (proud and earnest).—Rosabella, wilt thou forsake me? Wilt thou retract thy promise? Look, Rosabella, and be convinced: I, the bravo, and thy Flodoardo are the same.

He said, removing the patch from his eye, and passed a handkerchief over his face once or twice. In an instant his complexion was altered, his bushy eyebrows and straight black hair disappeared, his features were replaced in their natural symmetry, and lo! the handsome Florentine stood before the whole assembly, dressed in the habit of the bravo Abellino.

Abellino.—Mark me, Rosabella! Seven times over, and seven times again, will I change my appearance, even before your eyes, and that so artfully that, study me as you will, the transformation shall deceive you. But change as I may, of one thing be assured: I am the man whom you loved as Flodoardo.

The Doge gazed and listened without being able to recover from his confusion, but every now and then the words "Dreadful! dreadful!" escaped from his lips, and he wrung his hands in agony. Abellino approached Rosabella, and said in the tone of supplication: "Rosabella, wilt thou break thy promise? Am I no longer dear to thee?"

Rosabella was unable to answer; she stood like one changed to a statue, and fixed her motionless eyes on the bravo.

Abellino took her cold hand and pressed it to his lips.

"Rosabella," said he, "art thou still mine?"

Rosabella.—Flodoardo, oh! that I had never loved, had never seen thee!

Abellino.—Rosabella wilt thou still be the bride of Flodoardo? wilt thou be "the Bravo's Bride?"

Love struggled with abhorrence in Rosabella's bosom, and painful was the contest.

Abellino.—Hear me, beloved one! It was for thee that I have discovered myself—that I have delivered myself into the hands of justice. For thee—oh, what would I not do for thee! Rosabella, I wait but to hear one syllable from your lips; speak but a decisive yes or no, and all is ended. Rosabella, dost thou love me still?

And still she answered not; but she threw upon him a look innocent and tender as ever beamed from the eye of an angel, and that look betrayed but too plainly that the miscreant was still master of her heart. She turned from him hastily, threw herself into Camilla's arms, and exclaimed, "God forgive you, man, for torturing me so cruelly!"

The Doge had by this time recovered from his stupor. He started from his chair, threats flashed from his eyes, and his lips trembled with passion. He rushed towards Abellino; but the senators threw themselves in his passage, and held him back by force. In the meanwhile the bravo advanced towards him with the most insolent composure, and requested him to calm his agitation.