the future happiness of his life depended, wrung from Valeria a reluctant consent to become his, if, at the expiration of a year, he continued to desire it.

Scarcely did the enraptured Alberto allow her time to finish the sentence, which was to him the mandate of future bliss; the violence of his transports almost frightened the timid Valeria; but when he left her, when she found herself clasped in the arms of his mother, when Laura on one side, and the abbess on the other, congratulated her with tears of joy, her heart found relief in weeping; and she endeavoured to persuade herself, that she ought to be happy yet, still the circumstances of her birth hung upon her spirits, and she shuddered while she thought of the crimes of that man, to whom she owed her being. Every pains was taken by her kind and attentive friends, to chace from her mind these melancholy reflections; and Alberto resolved to un

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dertake a journey

a journey to the castle of D'Rosonio, to discover, if possible, by what means Valeria had been exchanged for the heiress of the count. The heart of Valeria felt this proof of her lover's attention; and he departed, after a thousand charges from her, to be careful of his health and safety.

CHAP. XII.

ALBERTO was charged by his Valeria with a letter to the good Father Francisco, whose convent was in his way to D'Rosonio. The father rejoiced at the intelligence which Alberto brought of the health and safety of Valeria, in whose fate he took the warmest interest. He pressed Alberto to stop for a few days at his convent, and the youth complied with his request. From. Francisco, Sforza had a detail of the agonies which the wretched Montalva had suffered, and he joined the father in lamenting the suddenness of his fate.

"Yet, who (said the pious and tolerant Francisco), shall dare to limit the mercies of the Most High? and in the sight of Heaven, how know we that the unhappy count's pangs have not expiated the enormity of his guilt! My profession renders me acquainted with the depravity of the human heart, and many are the death-bed scenes which I have witnessed; but I hope to be spared the sight of such a one again; for never, never did I view such horrors."

That night the father was sent for to a lady, who had been a benefactress to the convent, and who was suddenly seized with an illness that threatened to be fatal. It was late when he returned. "I have been witnessing a scene different to the one we spoke of yesterday (said he to Sforza). I have seen a woman meet death with the resignation of a saint, and the courage of a martyr. Poor Viola! one error, one single error, clouded thy life with woe;

but years of penitence have long since expiated it, and thou art now gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest'."

The deceased penitent, was indeed the Viola, whom Anselmo had seduced. When, instigated by her attendant, she had thrown herself upon the generosity of his aunt, the signora, she did it not from a spirit of revenge, but a hope that the signora, whose benevolence was the theme of universal praise, would influence her nephew to do her justice. She totally concealed the pecuniary transactions between them, from a generous wish not to lessen Anselmo more than she could help in the eyes of the signora; and when she found that he steadily refused to marry her, and that his aunt, in consequence, cast him from her affection, she bitterly regretted what she had done. With tears did she supplicate the signora to pardon him, but that lady would not listen to her

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