sic of an angel's voice, bidding me enter
with noiseless steps, and beware of rousing her brothers, whose
violence would endanger my life. In obedient silence I followed her up
a dark staircase into a saloon adjoining the grand canal, and dimly
lighted by a single lamp. The enchanting Laura was attired in a white
robe of elegant simplicity, well fitted to display the perfect
symmetry and luxuriant fulness of her incomparable shape. Her head was
uncovered, and her waving tresses floated in rich profusion over her
shoulders and bosom. Thus unadorned, her beauty was so dazzling and
celestial, that I could have knelt and worshipped her as the Aphrodite
of the Adriatic Paphos. I gazed upon her until I became giddy with
admiration and rapture. Yielding to an irresistible impulse, I lost
all discretion--folded the lovely creature in my embrace--and
impressed a fervent kiss upon her coral lips.

"'Unhand me, daring youth!' she exclaimed, her fine features flashing
with indignant eloquence as she repulsed me. 'Remember that I am
Foscari's daughter, and do me the justice to believe, that I have not
unadvisedly received you at an hour so unseemly. I was impelled to
this step not only by the regard due to your personal safety, but by
my implicit confidence in the honour of a cavalier. Think not, rash
youth! that a Foscari would condescend, like Bianca Capello, to an
obscure stranger. I know that you are not what you would seem. I know
that 'Colonna the painter' is but the outward shell which hides the
pearl and pride of the Florentine nobility. I have a friend in Venice
who is in confidential intercourse by letter with your aunt Veronica,
and from her I heard in secresy that the study of painting was not
your primary object in Venice, but assumed only to mask some more
important purpose.'

"Mortified by the indiscretion of my aunt, and sensible of the fatal
consequences it might involve, I soon recovered some degree of
self-control, and apologised to the still offended Laura for the
inconsiderate freedom in which I had indulged. I then disclosed to her
some particulars of my previous history, and expressed, in ardent and
grateful terms my sense of the flattering distinction conferred upon
me by the loveliest woman in Venice.

"'Ah, Montalto!' she replied, with glowing cheeks, and a look of
enchanting tenderness, 'you know not the dreadful risk to which my
wish to become better acquainted with your merits exposes me. I am
watche