street which led to the Strada, and soon stopped at a small, mean-looking shop. Taking leave of her kind companions, who seemed very reluctant to go in, Beatrice entered alone. A harsh voice, in an unfamiliar language, demanded her business. How strange does another tongue sound in our ears! Though perfectly acquainted with Italian, the question was thrice repeated before she comprehended its meaning. Glancing hurriedly around, to ascertain if they were alone, she approached the thin, miserable-looking being whose figure began to emerge from the surrounding darkness; she leant forward, and, in a whisper, pronounced the pass-word taught by her father. The old man hastily pulled down his spectacles from their sinecure office on his forehead, and looked at her with an expression of most angry amazement. "Now, the good St. Januarius help me! but it is my opinion that all the world are gone mad. Women and mischief, women and mischief-when were they ever separate?" 66 I shall trouble you but little," said Beatrice, her pride and her presence of mind rising together: "I am the daughter of Don Henriquez de los Zoridos: my father is here, I believe, and it is at his bidding that I have come." "Don Henriquez here!-no, indeed: evil was the hour that ever I listened to any of his wild schemes! Why, the insurrection he went to head, and which was to change the whole face of affairs in Spain, was blown away like a swarm of musquitos. Zoridos has, I dare say, been killed-I have heard nothing of him—I know nothing about him." "A fortnight," said Beatrice, " has not elapsed since I heard from my father: he appointed to meet me here, as at the house of one who knew his secrets and held his property." "Property!" said the man hastily, and with a more civil manner- "I never denied it-I am a safe person to trust. So the Don has escaped? I hope he's by this time sick of conspiracies. One wax taper, two wax tapers, to the good Saint Januarius, to set me free of these luckless Carbonari! No good comes of change. How has the world gone on so long, if every thing needs altering now? But you, Senhora, what do you want with me?" "Protection in a strange city till my father's arrival- or till I can hear from my friends. Fear not that Don Henriquez will spare his reward." Well, if this is not too bad!" But what the new speaker, a woman, thought too bad, was not destined to be expressed at this moment; for, Signor Pachetti hastily dragging his most unwilling companion into some room behind, their words were quite inaudible. In a few minutes they reappeared. Signor Pachetti introduced the female as his wife, who desired the Donna to walk in—in a tone which sounded as if she had said, walk out. The evening had now closed in, and a little earthenware lamp dimly lighted a small close room, where a table was laid, apparently for supper. Her hostess pushed forwards a chair,, and, after examining the contents of a closet, sat down also. The husband, who had employed the interval in closing the shop, reentered, and likewise drew a chair to the table. A hungry-looking hag brought in a dish of fried fish; and supper began in the most profound silence, only broken by Signor Pachetti's occasionally offering to help his guest, which he did in a hesitating voice, and every word accompanied by a deprecating glance at his wife, who returned it with one of those dark frowns which are the black clouds that foretell a domestic tempest. Beatrice now found herself in that most painful situation-an unwelcome visitor-knowing that she was an intruder, yet utterly unable to help herself. Supper was scarcely over, when her hostess rose-" I suppose the stranger sleeps here So -you can come this way." saying, she lighted another lamp, and shewed her unfortunate guest to a room, the dirt and misery of whose appearance was as new to her as it was wretched. Without a word, she set down the lamp, and slammed the door-the very eloquence of anger to the vulgar. Disappointment too great to bear— vexation at the timidity which had prevented her asking about Lorraine-anger at her reception-dismay at her situation, overcame all her resolution, and it was long before she even struggled with her passion of tears. The absurdity would have lightened the insult, could she have suspected that her hostess was jealous, not inhospitable. Jealousy ought to be tragic, to save it from being ridiculous. CHAPTER VIII. "You're very welcome." SHAKESPEARE. "Yet the charmed spell Which summons man to high discovery Is ever vocal in the outward world, Though they alone may hear it who have hearts To seek the perfumes of spice-laden winds Far in the Indian isles." Cambridge Prize-Poem: the North-west Passage. "DON'T you, Mandeville, take an especial interest in your young plantations, and say to yourself, How much more taste I have in the disposition of oak, elm, and beech, than my ancestors had!'" "To what does this allusion, whose truth I confess, tend?" said her husband, smiling. "Why, I want you to sympathise with me in my rejoicing over Emily's improvement; you |