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mounted servants, well armed, and accompanied by half a dozen peasants, who had been hired at Gravina to assist the ascent of the lumbering carriage up the mountain. These were,

however, soon dismissed, with a gratuity which was sufficiently munificent to draw down a shower of excellenzas and magnificos, tending to show that they were unaccustomed to such profusion; and the armed domestics having alighted, two of them proceeded to throw back the door of the vehicle, and to open the leathern curtains. This somewhat difficult task accomplished, the occupants of the bulky machine slowly descended amid the salutations of the stolid-looking monks, who uttered their accustomed words of greeting in much the same time and cadence as they declaimed the miserere in the chapel, with bent heads and arms folded meekly upon their breasts.

The first figure which emerged from the rotatory ark was that of a tall, stately, and stern-looking man of some five-and-fifty years of age, carefully dressed, and wearing a costly jewel upon his hand. His character was 'written in his countenance. It was apparent at the first glance that his will was iron, that his nerve was iron, that his heart was iron. There was not a wrinkle upon his brow, not a line about his eyes, not a curve around his mouth; all had indurated with time; nothing had yielded. It was easy to see that he was a male Tullia, who would, without compunction, drive his chariot wheels over a prostrate world. As he acknowledged the greeting of the monks, he smiled; and the smile did not belie the promise of his face, for it operated upon his rigid lips with no natural impulse, but rather like the forcing back of the stif fened hinges of some intricate piece of machinery. When the muscles of his mouth collapsed, which they did as uneasily as they had expanded, he turned again towards the carriage, and handed out a lady.

How beautiful she was, even in her grief! Folded from head to foot in a mantle of black velvet, the hood of which fell back as she descended the steps of the vehicle, the outline of her figure was entirely concealed; but the face was that of an angel, pure, and young, and sinless; with large tears rolling down the smooth and rounded

cheeks, as though she wept in her own innocence over the miseries and vices of an erring world. A cloud of golden hair that had escaped from the bodkins about which it had been wound, fell around her like a veil; and her small foot, as it rested for an instant upon the step of the vehicle, was so fairy-like and exquisitely-shaped, that it completed the etherial character of her beauty. In return for the monotonous welcome of the Benedictines, she bent her young head reverently, and seemed to crave a blessing; but the worthy brothers carefully averted their eyes from the graceful girl, and directed a steady gaze towards the carriage, like men who were aware that it had not yet discharged its freight. Their expectations were fulfilled; the stately noble moved slowly forward with his daughter, for such in truth she was; and he had no sooner quitted the portal, than it was filled by the burly person of a jovial priest, who leaned heavily on the arms of the domestics as he descended; and greeted the pious brothers with a benedicite, puffed rather than spoken, as he shuffled after his patron. then came forth the last actor in the drama of anguish and despair which was about to be played out, and mocked with the name and semblance of religion.

And

The cold stern pride of power had passed by the tearful helplessness of love had followed-succeeded in its turn by the sensual obtusion of selfishness; and then emerged, slowly, reluctantly, as if in quitting the cumbrous vehicle he lost his last hold upon the past, the victim who was about to be offered up on the altar of expediency and ambition.

It might have seemed another vision of the fair young girl who had lately glided by, had there not been an impress of greater manliness upon the face which now met the broad stream of sunshine that was flooding in its descent the court yard of the abbey. There was the same auburn-tinted hair, the same dark full eye, the same expression of fine and lofty sensibility -but there were no tears! The arched lip quivered for an instant, as though the sick heart had quailed; but in the next moment the troubled glances of the noble youth fell upon the weeping domestic who held back

the door of the carriage, and he strove to smile. Joachimo remembered that smile to his dying day!

At daybreak on the following morning the same cavalcade filled the area in front of the monastery. There stood the bulky vehicle, the mounted attendants, and the officiating brothers; and ere long a group of persons halted for a brief space beneath the lofty portal, exchanging their parting compliments. In the foreground was il reverendissimo generale dei Benedettini, with his jewelled ring upon his finger, his knotted scourges about his waist, and a smile, half haughty and half respectful playing round his thin lips.

Beside him, cold, haughty, and unmoved, towered the tall figure of il signor duca, upon whose arm leant a shrouded mass of black velvet, which heaved abruptly at intervals, as though it concealed the pangs of a mortal agony; while deeper in the shadow of the decreasing arches might be dimly traced the outlines of the domestic priest and the father of the novices.

The victim was not there!

Within an hour the great gates of St. Nicholas del Etna were again closed, silence as deep as that of night settled upon the edifice; and its momentary link with the outward world was once more broken.

It was night clear, starry, balmy night. Such a night as the song-birds love in the leafy valleys and beside the running streams. Such a night as the flowers love when they spring from a kindly soil, and open their petals to the dew-shower. Such a night as makes the forests eloquent, and gives a voice to every leaf, and a carpet of silver sheen to every open glade. Such a night as young hearts cherish when fond dreams flood them with a luxury of happiness that asks for silence. Who that has passed a summer night in Sicily will ever forget its charm! And this was the night of a Sicilian summer; and the marchese alone amid its soft and balmy stillness. But he held his vigil in the depth of no pleasant valley; he indulged his memories to the music of no running water; for him the songbirds were mute, the forests dark, and the flowers scentless. He watched the waning of the hours beside the grated VOL. XXII.—No. 130.

sat

window of his narrow cell, his breviary upon his knee, his hands tightly clasped above it, and his young head, shorn of its clustering locks, upturned in voiceless despair to the calm sky.

A year had passed away since, accompanied by a relentless father, and a gentle but helpless sister, he had been abandoned to a destiny worse than death. Since, with a heart bounding with its first love, and full of sympathy with the bright and the beautiful things about it; with a yearning for honour, and a spirit swelling with a noble and legitimate ambition, he had been torn away from all that made life dear, and enclosed in a living tomb, to which the grave would seem to him a paradise. He had found neither sympathy nor fellowship-he had sought for none, his own despair sufficed for all companionship-he had scrupulously fulfilled the routine of his religious duties, however puerile and mechanical were many of its detailshe had revolted against no demonstration of monastical authority, however irritating and unnecessary-but he had observed, even through the enforced silence of the order, the utter want of a common human interest which existed in the community. Even where a slight similarity of taste (of feeling there was necessarily no demonstration) might be detected between two individuals, each pursued his avocation apart, and without appearing to comprehend that it could be equally attractive to another; while the brotherhood were, generally speaking, divided into two distinct classes--those who lived in the most austere practices of an exaggerated devotion, indulged, as it seemed, rather as an exciting occupation than as a consideration of principle; and those who vegetated in a lethargic, or rather sensual state of mental monotony, alive to nothing save the indulgences of the refectory, and the impunity of sleep.

During the first few months of his sojourn at St. Nicholas, the paroxysms of despair to which the young marchese had unresistingly yielded himself up had been frightful. The brief hours allotted to rest were to him whole ages of agony and horror. In them he had lived over again every striking incident of his life, while the demon memory grappled at his heart that they could return no more.

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He

remembered the beauty of Estrellathe loveliness that he had worshipped with all the fervour of his young and ardent spirit-he called up before him, with the bitter defiance of utter misery, her surpassing tenderness-and then he pictured to himself a rival, a happy rival, who had sprung into life upon the ruins of his own crushed hopesand he beat his burning brow against the iron bars of his prison-cell, and howled forth to the winds of heaven his impotent and phrenzied violence. Then came visions of the career that he should have run; of the honour and the fame that he had shaped out for himself before he became the victim of a father's selfishness; and again the strong man wrestled against his inevitable destiny, and profaned the midnight stillness with deep and hollow curses.

It will be readily understood that these spirit-struggles exhausted alike the mind and the frame of the unhappy young man; and there were moments when his intellectual powers became so far weakened by the strife within him, that he sat in the sunshine like a placid child, and mentally lingered over the most puerile images of the past. Visions of lighted halls, and flower-wreathed saloons, where fair women were dancing gaily to the music of mingled instruments; and men of proud name and noble lineage moved amid the crowd, with courteous greetings and lip-deep flatteries. And as these scenes rose up before him, he laughed the low, meaningless laughter of partial insensibility; and then suddenly awoke once more to a full perception of his misery only to groan in his spirit-depths, and to gnash the teeth of helpless and maniac rage.

His

This phase of feeling went by in its turn. A dull and uncontending apathy gradually took possession of him, and usurped the place of anguish. He knew that for him there was no future, and he ceased to wish for one. religious duties gradually became, not only distasteful, but even learned in time to bear the stamp of absurdity. Still he could scarcely be said to reason; he only commented. A bitter contempt of the effeminate robe that clung about him, and swept the earth as he moved along, fettering the free action of his strong and vigorous limbs, was soon succeeded by a loathing of

himself. He felt degraded by this masquerade alike of body and of spirit; and his existence ultimately became one without hope, without interest, and without aim.

In this temper of mind he gave less uneasiness to the stern general than when he had struggled and grappled with his fate. From time to time similar sufferings had induced evasion from the monastery; and the superior, jealous of the sanctity and reputation of his house, caused Father Dominic, for such was the conventual name of the marchese, to be strictly and unremittingly watched. The precaution was, however, needless. The world contained but one loved spot on earth for the young noble; and thence he felt that he should be instantly ejected with obloquy and insult. Estrella, the beloved object of his heart - Nina, the cherished sister of his youth, were alike the inmates of his father's palace; and neither the daughter nor the ward had possessed sufficient influence to shake the cruel purpose of the duca, when he vowed his unhappy son to the cloister. Why then should he fly? Who would receive and cherish the apostate monk? No-he knew that for him there was no other home on earth than the dim cloisters of the convent-no other hope than that which pointed to the gloomy cemetery.

He was fast sinking into a state of mental and moral atrophy, when it chanced to become his duty to distribute at the gate of the monastery the alms which, at stated periods, the necessitous of the mountain villages came to receive at the hands of the community. He took from a lay brother the basket of food that was tendered to him without comment or inquiry; and silently moved forward to the porch, where a score of mendicants were awaiting his arrival, and that of a second monk who shared his office. It was the first time that Father Dominic had performed this duty, which was fulfilled by all the brotherhood in rotation; and to which he had not been admitted until the superior had become thoroughly convinced that a perfect and placid resignation had succeeded to his original bursts of violence and anguish.

For twelve long months the wretched young man had looked upon no human face, save those of the shorn and silent

brotherhood; he had listened to no human voice, save those of the community in the chapel; he had performed no office of sympathy; he had met no look of thankfulness and joy. No wonder, therefore, that as he gazed upon the group before him, he felt his spirit slowly awakening to a touch of mortal tenderness. There stood the aged man leaning upon his staff, with his gray hairs fluttering in the wind; the mother with her infant in her arms; the maiden leading by the hand her baby sister; amid the laughter of children, ascending like incense to the clear sky, and the murmur of gratitude, and the whisper of respectful awe. The breast of the cowled father swelled almost to bursting, and his breath came hard and thick, and a sense of suffocation grew upon him, as though his heart had been suddenly flooded with tears. The sensation was so overwhelming that he hurriedly threw back the covering from his head that the breeze might blow upon him-the free breeze which was sweeping along the mountain side, beyond the bolts and bars by which he was himself held captive.

As he did so, a young peasant girl who had hitherto held back, and suffered every applicant to pass before her and receive relief, started slightly and approached the marchese; whose companion, perceiving the indiscretion of which he had been guilty, quitted his post for a moment, and gliding behind the involuntary culprit, cast the cowl once more over his head.

As

That moment of pious zeal sufficed for the mission of the maiden. the scandalised monk turned away to resume his almsgiving, she extended her hand to Father Dominic; and while, with trembling fingers, he presented the food for which she asked, she dropped into his basket a folded letter. All had passed so momentarily that no eye, save that for which it was intended, had detected the action of the girl; and by an impulse which he did not seek to explain, even to himself, when the marchese next plunged his hand into the pannier, he rapidly concealed the paper in the pocket of his wide sleeve.

From that moment he was unconscious how he completed his duty. He mechanically followed the example of his coadjutor, as he terminated his

almsgiving with a benedicite, which was received on bended knees by the mendicants; and when Father Francesco retired from the porch, he withdrew also, and heard the heavy gate again close behind him like one who dreams.

From the courtyard they proceeded to the chapel, where the remainder of the community were already assembling; and as he passed along, the marchese thrust the letter in his breast, where, during the service, it seemed to him to burn through his shirt of serge; nor did he remark that, at the close of their devotions, the monk, who had been his companion in the work of charity in which he had so lately been engaged, after having flung himself prostrate upon the marble floor, at the feet of the superior, had, on a signal from the latter, followed him from the chapel.

He was, consequently, wholly unprepared, when, as he reached his cell, and was about to examine the mysterious missive, he received a summons to the apartment of the general, which he was well aware must be obeyed upon the instant. Meekly bowing hi head, he accordingly followed Father Francesco, and without the interchange of another syllable, they reached the presence to which he had been called.

The marchese passed the threshold of his superior with a dread of he knew not what, but which made his heart throb and his pulse quiver; and for a moment he did not venture to look up; but as all continued silent about him, he at length raised his eyes, and saw at the other extremity of the cell, the general seated in an arm-chair, with his feet resting upon a crimson cushion, and his head bent over a manuscript folio which lay on a small ebony table beside him. As he remained apparently absorbed in his occupation, and did not even betray a consciousness that others were present, the marchese had time to recover from the partial agitation into which he had been betrayed, and to resume his usual apathetic composure. Every thing about the apartment in which he stood was simple, and remarkable only for the exquisite cleanliness and order that pervaded the whole aspect of the place. The sunshine which, in its westering course, would have streamed through the narrow casements, was

excluded by curtains of white linen; a faint odour of incense was in the atmosphere, and a small oratory at the upper end of the cell, supporting a crucifix and a human skull, was rendered even cheerful by the profusion of flowers with which it was laden.

As the young monk completed his survey, the superior deliberately placed his forefinger upon a particular passage of the volume in which he had been engaged, as if in order to recur to it after a brief and unimportant interruption, and then slowly raised his head and looked towards the door. As their eyes met, Father Dominic prostrated himself in token of humility, according to the rules of the order, and was about to resume his upright attitude, when the stern voice of the general forbade it.

"Unbend not your impious knees!" he thundered out: "better were it that you should make a vow to live and die in that seemly posture, than to draw down, as you have this day done, the profane scoffs of the wicked upon our holy order. Sinner that you are! you have outraged the fraternity who received you into their bosoms-the blessed house which has admitted you beneath its roof-the saintly garb that has covered your corrupt and sinful heart! What have you to reply to this solemn accusation? What have you to plead in extenuation of your crime?"

"An utter ignorance of its nature, holy father," was the calm reply.

"How, miscreant!" exclaimed the general, half rising from his seat, and then sinking back, as if overcome by horror, upon its yielding cushions; "how! are you indeed so hardened in iniquity, that you can be guilty of a heinous transgression, and then plead ignorance of your sin?"

"If I am the culprit you describe, it is even so," again answered the low firm voice.

"Degenerate son of a pious house!" vociferated the exasperated superior, whose passion augmented with the tranquil apathy of his victim, "will you deny that under the very shadow of the statue of our holy patron, St. Nicholas, you wantonly cast off your cowl to attract the sinful glances of a woman? Nay, nay, no disclaimersFather Francesco was by your side, and he is your accuser."

The marchese turned one long bitter glance of withering scorn upon his crouching companion, and then again confronting the passion-kindled eye of the superior, said haughtily

"He has done well, doubtless, as a brother of St. Nicholas, even although as a man he has covered himself with disgrace and dishonour by a lie; and this, then, merciful father!—this is the stuff that monks are made of!"

"Peace, sinner!" shouted the superior; "peace, lest I forget mercy, and deliver you over at once to a life-long misery. Was it not enough that you were cast out from the bosom of your family, because you sought to mislead the pure mind of a noble maiden, and to fill her heart with visions of worldly passion; but must you come among us, the holy brotherhood of St. Nicholas, to attract the idle and impious eyes of a pauper-peasant girl? Blessed be our lady and St. Benedict, that there stood one beside you who better knew his obligation to our pious house. But this grievous sin must be expiated, unhappy apostate! this foul stain upon the honour of our community, must be washed away. You have exhausted the patience of our mercy; the various acts of penance with which we sought to blot out your scornful and irreverent disgust to your duties, when first you came among us, were performed as though they rather solaced your weariness than brought repentance for your crime. Those with which we looked to arouse you from your wilful apathy, only proved to us the miserable resolution of your hard and stubborn spirit. Even now you dare to lift up your voice in unseemly taunt and covert menace; but we will be braved no longer. The light is failing-you have a long night before you for penitence and vigil; you shall pass it in the upper cemetery, where the shadows of the mighty mountain shut out with their dark outline the glory of the midnight sky. You will have the dead for all companionship."

"Be it so," calmly interposed the marchese; "better the true dead than the traitor living." And as he spoke, he rose to his feet, and clasped his arms proudly and defyingly across his breast.

"And not that only," pursued the superior, in the cold, hard accent of

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