o deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left
it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon
as he had gone.

One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under
which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of
his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the
burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection
of Ginevra's lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed
the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her
studio, coloring engravings.

"Oh, Ginevra!" he cried.

She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed.

"Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?" she said.

"But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way," he answered.

"Could I be idle," she asked, her eyes filling with tears, "when I know
that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if
I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us:
pains and pleasures, both."

"She is cold!" cried Luigi, in despair. "Wrap your shawl closer round
you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly."

They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her
beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence,
they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening.
Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing
luminous.

"See!" said Ginevra. "It is an omen. We shall be happy."

"Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. "Oh, Ginevra! you
who deserved all the treasures upon earth--"

"I have your heart," she said, in tones of joy.

"Ah! I complain no more!" he answered, straining her tightly to him, and
covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness
of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he
could not look at it and not be comforted.

"What silence!" said Ginevra, presently. "Dear friend, I take great
pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes,
it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all
sleep, I wake."

"Oh, my Ginevra," he cried, "it is not to-night alone I feel how
delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come and
sleep."

"Yes," replied Ginevra, "if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much
that night I first discovered that you wer