hivered, and drew the rug over her naked
shoulders.

'I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!

'Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel
it--I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!'

She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it,
and kissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust.

'It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like him! I
have lost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! I should not
know it again myself! Yet it is dear to me! God! how dear! I will
forget what it is: I will only remember what it was, and love it as
well, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so like him! I thought that
I had wept away all my tears, but here is one still lingering.'

She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her hand for
the Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast into it a look
of hopeless enquiry. She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground.

'Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my scorched-up
burning palate! Now would I give treasures for a draught of water!
And they are God's Servants, who make me suffer thus! They think
themselves holy, while they torture me like Fiends! They are cruel and
unfeeling; And 'tis they who bid me repent; And 'tis they, who threaten
me with eternal perdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!'

She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while
She told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be
praying with fervency.

While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo's sensibility
became yet more violently affected. The first sight of such misery had
given a sensible shock to his feelings: But that being past, He now
advanced towards the Captive. She heard his steps, and uttering a cry
of joy, dropped the Rosary.

'Hark! Hark! Hark!' She cried: 'Some one comes!'

She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the
attempt: She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw,
Lorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains. He still approached, while
the Prisoner thus continued.

'Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was time! I
thought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of
hunger. Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity's sake! I am faint with
long fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the
ground. G