An unarmed spectator upon the meadow-borders, Beppo, had but obscure glimpses of scenes shifting like a sky in advance of hurricane winds.

Merthyr delivered the burden of death to Vittoria. Her soul had crossed the darkness of the river of death in that quiet agony preceding the revelation of her Maker's will, and she drew her dead husband to her bosom and kissed him on the eyes and the forehead, not as one who had quite gone away from her, but as one who lay upon another shore whither she would come. The manful friend, ever by her side, saved her by his absolute trust in her fortitude to bear the burden of the great sorrow undeceived, and to walk with it to its last resting-place on earth unobstructed. Clear knowledge of her, the issue of reverent love, enabled him to read her unequalled strength of nature, and to rely on her fidelity to her highest mortal duty in a conflict with extreme despair. She lived through it as her Italy had lived through the hours which brought her face to face with her dearest in death; and she also on the day, ten years later, when an Emperor and a King stood beneath the vault of the grand Duomo, and the organ and a peal of voices rendered thanks to heaven for liberty, could show the fruit of her devotion in the dark-eyed boy, Carlo Merthyr Ammiani, standing between Merthyr and her, with old blind Agostino's hands upon his head. And then once more, and but for once, her voice was heard in Milan.



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE COMPLETE VITTORIA:

A common age once, when he married her; now she had grown old A fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable in ruin Agostino was enjoying the smoke of paper cigarettes An angry woman will think the worst Anguish to think of having bent the knee for nothing Art of despising what he coveted As the Lord decided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!" Be on your guard the next two minutes he gets you alone But is there such a thing as happiness By our manner of loving we are known Compliment of being outwitted by their own offspring Conduct is never a straight index where the heart's involved Confess no more than is necessary, but do everything you can Critical in their first glance at a prima donna Deep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fiery as a saint's Defiance of foes and (what was harder to brave) of friends Do I serve my hand? or, Do I serve my heart? English antipathy to babblers Every church of the city lent its iron tongue to the peal Fast growing to be an eccentric by profession Foolish trick of thinking for herself Forgetfulness is like a closing sea Fortitude leaned so much upon the irony Good nerve to face the scene which he is certain will be enacted Government of brain; not sufficient Insurrection of heart Grand air of pitying sadness Had taken refuge in their opera-glasses Hated tears, considering them a clog to all useful machinery He is in the season of faults He is inexorable, being the guilty one of the two He postponed it to the next minute and the next Her singing struck a note of grateful remembered delight I always respected her; I never liked her I hope I am not too hungry to discriminate I know nothing of imagination Impossible for us women to comprehend love without folly in man In Italy, a husband away, ze friend takes title Intentions are really rich possessions Ironical fortitude It rarely astonishes our ears It illumines our souls Italians were like women, and wanted—a real beating Longing for love and dependence Love of men and women as a toy that I have played with Madness that sane men enamoured can be struck by Morales, madame, suit ze sun Necessary for him to denounce somebody Never, never love a married woman No intoxication of hot blood to cheer those who sat at home No word is more lightly spoken than shame Not to be feared more than are the general race of bunglers O heaven! of what avail is human effort? Obedience oils necessity Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour Pain is a cloak that wraps you about Patience is the pestilence People who can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season Profound belief in her partiality for him Question with some whether idiots should live Rarely exacted obedience, and she was spontaneously obeyed She thought that friendship was sweeter than love She was sick of personal freedom Simple obstinacy of will sustained her Speech was a scourge to her sense of hearing Taint of the hypocrisy which comes with shame The devil trusts nobody The divine afflatus of enthusiasm buoyed her no longer They take fever for strength, and calmness for submission Too weak to resist, to submit to an outrage quietly Too well used to defeat to believe readily in victory Was born on a hired bed Watch, and wait We are good friends till we quarrel again We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back Went into endless invalid's laughter Who shrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubt Whole body of fanatics combined to precipitate the devotion Why should these men take so much killing? Will not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinion Women and men are in two hostile camps You can master pain, but not doubt Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together

THE END