e!" cried Flora, bursting into tears;
"but it was not my fault! On the night following the one in which the
banditti stormed the convent, as I ere now detailed to your ears, I
returned home to my aunt. When the excitement of our meeting was past,
and when we were alone together, I threw myself at her feet, confessed
all that had passed between thee and me, and implored her advice.

"'Flora,' she said, while her tears fell upon me as I knelt, 'no
happiness will come to thee, my child, from this attachment which has
already plunged thee into so much misery. It is beyond all doubt certain
that the relations of the count were the authors of thy imprisonment;
and their persecutions would only be renewed, were they to learn that
the count was made aware of your reappearance in Florence. For thy sake,
then, my child, I shall suffer the impression of thy continued absence
and loss to remain on the minds of those who may inquire concerning
thee; and should his lordship call here again, most especially to him
shall I appear stricken with grief on account of thee. His passion, my
child, is one of boyhood--evanescent, though ardent while it endures. He
will soon forget thee; and when he shall have learnt to love another
there will no longer be any necessity for thee to live an existence of
concealment.'

"Thus spoke my aunt, dear Francisco, and I dared not gainsay her. When
you came the last time. I heard your voice; I listened from my chamber
door to all you said to my aunt, and I longed to fly into your arms. You
went away and my heart was nearly broken. Some days afterward we learnt
the strange disappearance of the Lady Nisida and then knew that you must
have received a severe blow, for I was well aware how much you loved
her. Two or three weeks elapsed, and then we heard that you were about
to depart to the wars. Oh! how bitter were the tears that I shed, how
fervent were the prayers that I offered up for your safety."

"And those prayers have been heard on high, beloved one, exclaimed
Francisco, who had listened with melting heart and returning tenderness
to the narrative which the maiden told so simply but so sincerely, and
in the most plaintive tones of her musical voice.

"Can you forgive me now?" asked the blushing maiden, her swimming eyes
bending on her lover glances eloquently expressive of hope.

"I have nothing to forgive, sweet girl," replied Francisco. "Your aunt
behaved with a prudence which in justice I cannot