longer contain myself. "Bianca!"
exclaimed I, in a half smothered voice. She started at the sound;
brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face; darted a
glance at me; uttered a piercing shriek and would have fallen to the
earth, had I not caught her in my arms.

"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom; my voice
stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or
motion. Alarmed at the effects of my own precipitation, I scarce knew
what to do. I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to
consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half opening her eyes--"where
am I?" murmured she faintly. "Here," exclaimed I, pressing her to my
bosom. "Here! close to the heart that adores you; in the arms of your
faithful Ottavio!"

"Oh no! no! no!" shrieked she, starting into sudden life and
terror--"away! away! leave me! leave me!"

She tore herself from my arms; rushed to a corner of the saloon, and
covered her face with her hands, as if the very sight of me were
baleful. I was thunderstruck--I could not believe my senses. I followed
her, trembling, confounded. I endeavored to take her hand, but she
shrunk from my very touch with horror.

"Good heavens, Bianca," exclaimed I, "what is the meaning of this? Is
this my reception after so long an absence? Is this the love you
professed for me?"

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She turned to me
a face wild with anguish. "No more of that! no more of that!" gasped
she--"talk not to me of love--I--I--am married!"

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A sickness struck to my
very heart. I caught at a window frame for support. For a moment or
two, everything was chaos around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca
lying on a sofa; her face buried in a pillow, and sobbing convulsively.
Indignation at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every other
feeling.

"Faithless--perjured--" cried I, striding across the room. But another
glance at that beautiful being in distress, checked all my wrath. Anger
could not dwell together with her idea in my soul.

"Oh, Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have dreamt of this;
could I have suspected you would have been false to me?"

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered with
emotion, and gave me one appealing look--"False to you!--they told me
you were dead!"

"What," said I, "in spite of our constant correspondence?"