dered her, pass into
the house. He had seen enough, however, to remark that her long and
beautiful hair was almost golden in tint, and that her eyes, whatever
their colour, were large and lustrous. He would have dwelt with more
pleasure on her beauty had he not marked, in the haughty gestures
she vouchsafed and the proud carriage of her head, a bearing he,
not unfairly, ascribed to a character imperious and exacting--almost
insolent, indeed, in its requirement of respect.

Guglia Ridolfi was, however, the greatest heiress in the Roman States:
she was the niece of a cardinal, the granddaughter of a grandee of
Spain, and, more than all, had been taught to reflect on these facts
from the earliest years of her girlhood. It had been for years the
policy of the Cardinal to increase the _prestige_ of her position by
every means in his power; and they who knew the ambitious nature of the
man could easily see how, in the great game he played, his own future
aggrandisement was as much included as was her elevation. Left without
a father or mother when a mere infant, she had been confided to the care
of her uncle. Surrounded with teachers of every kind, she only learned
what and when she pleased, her education being, in fact, the result of
certain impulses which swayed her from time to time. As she was gifted
with great quickness, however, and a remarkable memory, she seemed to
make the most astonishing progress, and her fame as a linguist and her
reputation for accomplishments were the talk of Rome.

She had all the waywardness, caprice, and instability such a discipline
might be supposed to produce, and so completely sated with amusement and
pleasure was she that now, as a mere child, or little more, she actually
pined away from sheer _ennui_ of life. A momentary change of place
afforded her a slight passing satisfaction, and so she had come down to
Orvieto to stay some time, and persuade herself, if she could, that she
enjoyed it. Strangely enough, nothing in either her general appearance
or her gestures betrayed this weariness of the world: her eyes were
bright, her look animated, her step active. It was only when watching
her closely that one could see how estranged her thoughts were from what
seemed to fill them; and how, at times, a low, faint sigh would escape
her, even when she was apparently occupied and interested.

It was rumoured that these very traits of her disposition were what had
attached her uncle so fondly to