the earth by affliction, and Montalva exulted in the hope that his baseness to her would for ever remain concealed. The nuns of St. Sebastian welcomed her with kindness, and as soon as he had placed her there, Montalva returned to Naples.

CHAPTER XII.

DURING Montalva's short absence from Naples, a change the most melancholy had taken place at the castle of D'Rosonio. The count had looked forward with delight to the moment that was to make him a father; little did he think the price which he was to pay for that endearing name; his adored wife lived to give birth to a daughter, but her angelic spirit fled in a few hours after. This blow overwhelmed the unhappy D'Rosonio; he shut himself in his chamber and refused all consolation.

No sooner did Montalva learn this

melancholy news, than he hastened to his friend, not with the hope of administering comfort, but with the desire of gratifying the long cherished hatred he bore to the count. Never had he forgiven the preference which Bianca shewed to D'Rosonio; and innocent as the count was of her perfidy, Montalva from that hour, regarded him with abhorrence; self-interest, indeed, made him carefully conceal his sentiments, and he was a master of dissimulation; with the joy of a demon, did he witness the agonies to which the unhappy count abandoned himself; while with the most hypocritical affectation of pity, he joined him in deploring the loss of his Maria. The infant who was named Isabel, had been given to the care of a nun in the neighbourhood of the castle, as the sight of her aggravated her father's grief.

For some months, Montalva remained at the castle of D'Rosonio; and such was his dissimulation, that the count

believed Montalva's grief for the countess was inferior only to his own. A summons, as the signor pretended, from Naples, compelled him to quit the castle, and he bade the count adieu, with a promise speedily to return. The letter was from the abbess of St. Sabastian's; she informed him that Valeria's death was every day expected, and begged him if he wished to see her alive, to lose no time in hastening to the convent.

He travelled with the utmost expedition, but he came too late, for when he arrived, he learned that Valeria had just breathed her last. Conscience for a moment blanched the cheek of Montalva, at this intelligence; he could not conceal from himself that his hand had conducted the poor lost one to the tomb; her lovely form drooping in silent and uncomplaining anguish was before him, and he vainly strove to stifle the anguish which the fate of his victim had occasioned him. A few days before her death Valeria had written to him: no

"I do not

reproach for lost fame or happiness es-
caped her; she merely conjured him to
be a father to his child.
know what request that letter contains,
signor, (said the abbess, as she delivered
it to him); but I think if you had seen
the writer when she had delivered it to
me, you would not hesitate to grant it."

"I will grant it, (replied Montalva earnestly), I swear by heaven! that her request shall be complied with. Yes, Valeria, (added he mentally), I will indeed be a father to thy infant.” He hastened to the cottage where he had placed the babe, and his mind was a little soothed, by the thought of atoning to her, for the wrongs he had done her unfortunate mother; but his purpose was vain, the child had died in convulsions a week before his arrival. He returned to Naples and strove to banish reflection by plunging into dissipation; but the image of Valeria was before him, and bitter remembrance mingled the cup of pleasure with gall. A letter

Twenty more, It thu