mely terrible and wondrously
beautiful, even in that fit of agitated passion--"listen, Fernand!" she
cried, in her musical, flute-like voice, which, however, assumed the
imperious accent and tone of command: "thou art a coward, and unworthy
such an earnest--such a profound, such a devoted love as mine, if thou
refusest to consummate a sacrifice which will make us both powerful and
great as long as we live! Consider, my Fernand--the spirit with whom
thou wouldst league thyself can endow us with an existence running over
centuries to come, can invest us with eternal youth, can place countless
treasures at our disposal, can elevate us to the proudest thrones of
Christendom! Oh! wilt thou spurn advantages like those? wilt thou refuse
to avail thyself of gifts that must render us so supremely happy? No,
no: and we can return together to my native city, we can enter Florence
in triumph, thou no longer fearing the terror of the law, I no longer
compelled to simulate the doom of the deaf and dumb! Our enemies shall
lick the dust at our feet, and we shall triumph wherever success may be
desirable. Oh! I understand that beseeching, appealing look, Fernand:
thou thinkest that I shall love thee less if this immense sacrifice be
consummated, that I shall look upon thee with loathing. No, not so: and
to convince thee that mine is a soul endowed with an iron will, that
mine is an energy which can grapple even with remorse, I will reveal to
thee a secret which thou hast perhaps never even suspected. Fernand!"
she exclaimed, now becoming absolutely terrible with the excitement that
animated her; "Fernand!" she repeated, "'twas I who murdered the girl
Agnes, in the garden of thy mansion at Florence!"

"Thou, thou, Nisida?" almost shrieked Wagner wildly; "oh, no, no! Recall
that dreadful avowal! And yet--oh! yes--I see it all--my former
suspicions are confirmed. Wretched woman. What harm did the unfortunate
Agnes do to thee?"

"I saw in her a rival, Fernand--or fancied that she was so," answered
Nisida; "I overheard your conversation with her that morning in the
garden--I saw her embrace thee tenderly--mine ears drank in her words;
oh, I remember them even now! She said, 'Oh, what a night of uneasiness
have I passed! But at length thou art restored to me; thou whom I have
ever loved so fondly; although I abandoned thee for so long a time!'
Were not those her very words? And thou didst speak to her in a tone
equally tender. Ah! I have eve