fied. Gaspardo bargained for my silence, and then betrayed me! But the gipsy shall not be outdone in the work of revenge. In my turn have I spurred on the house of Villa Alba to avenge the loss of their son. Justice is not far distant! even now its emissaries are at hand to seize the assassin!" Gaspardo turned to Alberto, and asked him if the proof were clear that Orovida was his sister? "The villain," said Zamira, "would fain annihilate that testimony too, if possible; he wishes to marry her-but that shall never be! Look here, if you want farther proof!" and she held up a pair of gold bracelets containing the miniature likeness of a little girl. "These," said she, "I once parted with in the hour of want; I effected with these my escape from a dungeon, but my ever faithful myrmidons have restored them to me, to convince the world that the Lady Orovida is the daughter of the Countess Rovena, and, haply, to baulk the designs of yonder desperate man. Examine well the likeness between this miniature and the face of the child in yonder portrait."Here the gipsy pointed to the freshlyvarnished portrait of the Countess and her daughter amongst the paintings with which the hall was adorned. Don Alberto declared the resemblance could not be mistaken; and inquired of the gipsy how she became possessed of the bracelets. "May Heaven pardon me that crime !" said Zamira. "Twenty years since, I met the Countess in the Sierra of Grenada, on her route to Madrid. I terrified her into the gift of these jewels by the curses I implored on her head. When lately the papers of Don Alberto fell into my hands, I immediately traced the links of the chain by which I knew Orovida to be the sister of Count Gaspardo. I have watched him closely since, and came hither to forbid his nuptials." All eyes were turned towards the Count; he was lost in deep thought. His bloodless cheek and pursed brow bespoke some frightful resolve. "Do but unsay this deed of blood," said Alberto, "and all may yet be well! Then shall the annals of Rovena be unstained by murder, and thy mother's grave not be dishonoured!" “Old man, thy regrets are useless all; spare thy tears for other griefs. It is true, Lorenzo fell by my hand-true it is that I murdered him! But 'twas for love of Orovida! That she is my sister is my only punishment! No weightier blow can assail Rovena now. Still she shall be my bride; no earthly power shall wrest her from me!" "Oh, shield her, for Heaven's sake!" cried the gipsy : "The Curse!-The Curse!" "It is too late!" cried Gaspardo aloud; "sleep within my arms, thou pale bride, though that sleep be death!" He plunged the dagger to the heart of Orovida."From thee," said the dying lady, “this blow is well! Now shall no living branch of thy house ever hear the reproach that shall be cast upon thy name! Wilt thou, my brother, outlive this hour? That thought— "Be satisfied, my love!" said Gaspardo, "soon will I follow thee to thy cold bed. Now is the gipsy's curse fulfilled! The race of Rovena is past!" "Oh! fatal superstition!" said the old Alberto, "thou alone hast realized the gipsy's prophecy! Weakness and fear have rendered true a prediction, that else had been idle and vain!" S. B. WOMAN'S LOVE. RUDOLPH had braved many dangers unshrinkingly; he had striven in the tourney and the mêlée with knights and men at arms; he had crossed his blade with the Osman's crooked sabre in the field and in the breach; but the appal ling circumstances by which he was now surrounded excited a painful thrill; the blood rushed through his veins with fearful rapidity; his pulse throbbed; his heart beat; and, with strained eyes, he gazed wildly around him. He was conducted in silence through a gloomy passage, which led from his dungeon; a door opened, and he found himself suddenly thrust into a square apartment, the massy walls of which, dark and frowning, were bare, save where at intervals a staple or chain of rusty iron projected from the rough stone. In one corner several instruments of strange shape were heaped together, apparently removed for the purpose of making room for some other apparatus which rose in the centre of the floor, covered with a black cloth. A grated window afforded sufficient light to reveal the melancholy accompaniments of this dismal chamber; and, drawing towards it, the knight looked out upon a dreary court-yard, where he beheld a scaffold, and all the insignia of death— the block, the axe, the heap of sawdust, and the grim headsman standing beside them. For whom were these sickening preparations made?—the manacles which bound him, his close imprisonment of three days, and, above all, the accusations of a conscious heart, returned a ready answer; and his approaching fate was embittered by the conviction that it was just. On the field of battle, or even on the gibbet or the wheel, in a better cause, Rudolph would have yielded his last breath with heroic fortitude; but to descend dishonoured to the grave, and leave behind him the frail partner of his guilt, exposed to the world's contumely, perchance to a more dreadful punishment || than that which awaited the author of her shame, wrung the warrior's heartstrings, and subdued his ardent spirit. Rudolph Von Wilmenstein, descended from a younger branch of a noble family, No. 81. Vol. XIV. was a soldier of fortune; he had sought and obtained renown, under the banner of the Hungarian monarch, against the Turk; and, after two glorious campaigns, repaired to the court of Duke Maximilian, of, to offer his sword in the impending war with Lombardy. Undistinguished, amidst a crowd of knights, anxiously pressing their claims to high appointments in the same service, he received very slight notice from the haughty prince, who ruled with little less than imperial splendour; but Rudolph, though ambitious, was also modest, and, content to remain in obscurity during the silken pastimes of a court, he awaited with unmurmuring patience the moment wherein his feats of arms should attract attention to his skill and prowess. Rudolph's fine person, expressive features, and noble bearing, had not passed wholly unnoticed the admiring whispers of the damsels in her train drew the regards of their proud and scornful mistress, Ismengarde, only child of Maximilian, and heiress of the duchy. Fascinated, as by a spell, the hitherto icy heart of the Princess was touched, and the imperious dignity of the high-born dame gave way to the instinctive impulse of the woman; the handsome stranger became the constant subject of her meditations, and she determined, should it be possible, to bring him to her feet. This was an undertaking fraught with difficulty, in consequence of the immeasurable distance which fortune had placed between them, and of the unbending stateliness and formal etiquette which, even in those rude times, marked the court of Maximilian. Ismengarde, cold and repelling, in the consciousness of her high birth and beauty, disdained to mingle with the crowd who shared in its festal splendours, and either withdrew early, or calling her ladies of honour around her, sat aloof in a distant circle, which none except nobles of exalted rank dared approach. Love, however, that all-powerful enslaver of human hearts, who mocks the tyrant custom — who laughs to scorn the rules of prudence or the pride of rank-love soon pointed out a method by which the princess P might hope to converse with the object of her affections-the season of the carnival approached; and in the masking and disguising which distinguished its revels, she contrived, without exciting suspicion, to engage Rudolph in the dance. The knight hung enamoured over the dark- || eyed beauty, who, reposing on his arm, suffered gentle words to escape her lips, in reply to his ardent protestations. One evening the delighted pair had wandered away from the crowded hall; the sound of music stole faintly upon their ears; the glare of the tapers threw a softened light|| from the wide gothic windows upon banks and beds of flowers; and the gems of the spangled sky were reflected in the crystal mirror of a fairy lake below. It was in this sweet hour that Rudolph besought his mysterious companion to reveal herself the veil dropped from her rich tresses, and he beheld the Princess Ismengarde, on whom he had been wont to gaze as upon the stars above them. From this fatal evening the knight haunted the palace garden, making the air musical with the witching melody of his fond guitar; the melting serenade, breathed beneath the lattice of Ismengarde's chamber, was answered by signals which repaid the minstrel's song. Sometimes a shower of rose-buds, detached from the alabaster vase which graced his lady's balcony, were dropped at his feet; at others, the soft waking of a lute, whose chords were swept at intervals, assured him that there was one listener within-a gentle heart, wrought by the soft persuasiveness of his lay to answer with responsive notes. Thus emboldened, the adventurous cavalier climbed the marble balustrade, and the lovers met-too often for Rudolph's honour, and for the peace of Ismengarde. It was the painful recollection of this breach of duty to the sovereign he served, to the woman he adored, which bleached Rudolph's cheeks, and shook his tortured frame. The impossibility of making atonement by the sacrifice of his forfeit life added a sting to the disgraceful punishment awaiting him. The knight's minutes seemed now to be counted; the execu tioner passed his finger over the axe, and looked somewhat impatiently towards the place where he stood; he cast his eye upwards to catch a glimpse of the narrow patch of blue sky which canopied the dismal court-yard--all below was buried in deep shade; but the dancing sunbeams played upon the opposite wall, and he drank in the golden light, which, perchance, would never meet his eager gaze again. Rudolph was roused from his agitating reflections by the opening of one of the three doors which the apartment contained; the bolts dropped one by one-it grated harshly upon its ponderous hinges and, preceded by two domestics, the Duke Maximilian entered. Stern determination sat upon the avenger's brow; he signed to his attendants, and they removed the black drapery which had formerly attracted Rudolph's attention, in the supposition that it covered some of those diabolical engines of inventive cruelty constructed for the prolongation of human suffering; but as the sable train rolled off, it disclosed, to his surprise, a temporary altar, magnificently decorated. The servants, having performed the allotted task, retired; and the same door revolving a second time, Ismengarde was led forward, pale, trembling, and leaning upon the arm of a dignified ecclesiastic; her dark hair hanging dishevelled over her shoulders-the diadem falling from her head, and the loose folds of her jewelled robe sweeping, disordered, upon the ground. Still, in this utter desolation and misery, she preserved an air of grandeur; and though every limb was convulsed, the strong efforts which she made to preserve composure were not wholly unsuccessful; and there were moments in which her resolution appeared to be as unconquerable as that of her father; but Rudolph alone observed her sorrow, and he hid his face in his fettered hands, turning away from the sight of her beauty and her distress. Approach," exclaimed the Duke, addressing the unhappy pair; "the offspring of your mutual crime must be born in wedlock; and, the nuptial rites concluded, a just doom awaits its guilty parents. The convent and the scaffold are both prepared-take your leave, therefore, of this world for ever." Rudolph, rejoicing in his misery that the life and the reputation of Ismengarde would be spared, drew near the altar; he would have spoken of comfort, but utterance was denied, and the priest com menced his melancholy office before he could rally the flagging spirits which had sunk in the uncontrollable anguish of this dreaded hour. How many tears were shed, how many sighs breathed, in the short interval which ensued! The knight's burning finger clasped the clay-cold hand of his bride as he stood in chains beside her-a last embrace, a last farewell was forbidden by the vindictive parent, who tore the shrieking wife from the wretched husband's outstretched arm. The monk withdrew; the third and last door now opened, and disclosed a flight of stairs, which led directly to the scaffold. The court-yard below was filled with armed men; and Rudolph felt that the advance of a few steps would bring him to the grave. Death would have been a welcome release from the agony which had been crowded into the last few minutes; but the thought of Ismengarde's despair unnerved him; and if prayers could have availed, he would have sunk in prostrate humility before his earthly judge. The withering smile on the Duke's lip, the savage glance of his flashing eyes forbade hope. Maximilian waved him to depart; the intrepid warrior, disdaining to beg his life, and unwilling to expose the situation of Ismengarde to the rude soldiery below, prepared to obey in silence. The Princess followed her lover's receding form with a wild impassioned gaze, and, darting, frenzied, forward, shut the door, which closed and opened by a spring, and then drawing a poignard from her bosom, ere Rudolph could raise his manacled hand to save, buried it deep in the breast of her relentless father, who fell a corpse at the foot of the altar. Paralysed by this unexpected catastrophe, the knight stood aghast with horror; his first impulse was to rush upon the scaffold, to meet the death which had been prevented by a murder so horrid and so unnatural; but his feet seemed chained to the spot, and he stood motionless, watching, with intense solicitude, the movements of the parricide. Ismengarde betrayed no touch of remorseful feeling; she covered the body with the black drapery which lay beside it, and then hurried from the chamber. Rudolph, left alone with the stiffening remains of his relentless enemy, started from his frozen attitude, almost trusting that he should awake from a fearful dream: but he could not escape the horrible reality. He turned to the window, and then beheld the preparations still going forward for his own death. A friar had ascended the scaffold to administer the last rites, and the deep toll of a funeral bell smote heavily upon his ear. The priest, who had performed the bridal ceremony, now entered, followed by a few attendant monks, who, by their superior's directions, took up the Duke's body, without removing the black winding-sheet which enveloped it. Rudolph's chains were unclasped, a rich robe was thrown around him, and, conducted into the hall of audience, he saw Ismengarde seated on the throne of her fathers, and heard the shouts which united their names in ducal sovereignty. Maximilian was reported to have died suddenly by the bursting of a blood vessel—and the tale, if suspected, remained unquestioned. Riches, power, rank-all that the world could offer, were laid by Ismengarde at her husband's feet; he turned away in sad and silent horror from the fruits of guilt; but still he could not abandon one who had plunged her soul in crime for loving him too well, and they lived together in gloomy wretchedness. Untouched by repentance for a deed which had secured to her the possession of the one she loved, Ismengarde resented Rudolph's shuddering anguish; her proud eyes quailed beneath his melancholy glance; and after vainly seeking to recover his lost affection, she gave herself up to the world's delusive pleasures. In the soft gush of the rippling waters, in the waving of the flowers, the beaming stars, and golden sunlight, the unhappy knight saw only the sad remembrance of departed happiness; he loathed his life, and he loathed the murderess who had preserved him from the axe. Beneath a palm-tree, in a garden attached to the monastery of Mount Carmel, lie the bones of a knight slain in the holy wars; and under a magnificent tomb, in the cathedral church of her native city, those of Ismengarde repose. Happily unconscious of the guilt and misery of his parents, their only child succeeded to the ducal throne.. R. S. P. A NIGHT IN THE ABRUZZI. "You are then determined to go, gentlemen! Well, then, felice viaggio! felice viaggio!-but, believe me, don't spare the legs of your mules if you wish to escape a disagreeable encounter. You have arms, I suppose?"-" None !"-" Without arms at nightfal in the Abruzzi! By the Madonna, but these Frenchmen think of nothing.-Gentlemen, a poor capucin possesses little other property than his prayers. Mine will attend you, but at any ratetake this!" and saying these words, the capucin drew from under his capacious brown sleeve a little box of walnut-tree, and, giving it to the younger of the two travellers, he compelled them to mount and ride without delay. "You will bring me that back to-morrow," he cried, as they rode off; and, stretching his arms towards them, gave them his benedicite. The gate of the convent closed. "By the Madonna!" exclaimed Ernest, as they wound gaily up the ascent which led from the walls of the hospitable convent, "a benediction and provisions for the journey! Why, the capucin spoils us. Let us see what this mysterious box contains. A beautiful rosary, by my faith, and under that I suppose some amulet.— A singular amulet, indeed!-'tis a magnificent poniard. What an edifying association! Spiritual life and death, murder and prayer! Oh, Italy, Italy! land of anomalies and contrasts!" But, indeed, setting aside the piquancy of the association which was so truly felt and expressed by the light-hearted Ernest, the poinard was well deserving of a careful inspection. The hilt was of ivory, and consisted of three small figures skillfully grouped in relief, representing Faith, Hope, and Charity. The blade, which at first sight appeared disproportionately broad for the handle, bore the engraved names of Jesus and Mary, with several burning hearts. On pressing a small gilt button on the upper part of the guard, new wonders revealed themselves: that which the two friends had taken for the blade, was nothing more than a metallic case destined to serve as a sheath for the protection of the blade itself, and that blade was a chef-d'œuvre of armourer's workmanship; bright as silver, supple as a foil, in thickness scarcely the eighth of an inch, and surprisingly tempered. The file and burin of the engraver had carefully cut out in it, in hollow work, a scene of the Passion-that of the Garden of Olives. Between each little tree, and the sinuosities of Mount Calvary, the metal had been skilfully grooved: but this research in the workmanship had not alone for its object to please the eye. Another thought had pre-occupied the artist. Thanks to this succession of full and empty parts, the flesh, rapidly separated at first, rejoined through the blade from side to side, and the weapon could not be withdrawn without causing a cruel laceration, and allowing the air to penetrate the wound, which, according to an opi nion, true or false, renders it mortal. This horrid refinement made the two friends shudder, and the conclusion they both agreed upon to this examination, was, that in a country where even capucin monks carried such viatici for their own private use, it was very imprudent to en→ tangle themselves, without a guide, in narrow defiles at so late an hour; that serious inconveniences might arise from their losing their way; and that it would be even more prudent to wait for daybreak in some miserable hovel, than to expose themselves to be attacked in the dark far from all assistance, for the mere pleasure of being ransomed. A shrill whistle suspended all conversation, and the travellers reined up simultaneously, and with some feeling of uneasiness, on the brow of a rugged mountain road. It was a goatherd, who, followed by a large shaggy black dog, was walking with rapid strides, and cheering the loneliness of the way as he could.→→ " Hollo, ho, there! my friend!" cried our travellers, when they were within hearing, can you inform us where we may pass the night?"-"The night?" said the goatherd, holding back his dog by the collar, which was ready to fly at the travellers' horses, "turn to the right, follow the foot-path between the rocks, it will lead you to the hut where my goats and I take our siesta every day; the door and |