o clearly
intimated, her heart melted.

Suddenly the door burst open, and there stalked into the room a woman
of eminent but most graceful stature, and of a most sovereign and
voluptuous beauty. She was habited in the Venetian dress; her dark
eyes glittered with fire, her cheek was inflamed with no amiable
emotion, and her long black hair was disordered by the violence of her
gesture.

'And who are these?' she exclaimed in a shrill voice.

All started; Herbert sprang up from his position with a glance of
withering rage. Venetia was perplexed, Lady Annabel looked round, and
recognised the identical face, however distorted by passion, that she
had admired in the portrait at Arqua.

'And who are these?' exclaimed the intruder, advancing. 'Perfidious
Marmion! to whom do you dare to kneel?'

Lady Annabel drew herself up to a height that seemed to look down even
upon this tall stranger. The expression of majestic scorn that she
cast upon the intruder made her, in spite of all her violence and
excitement, tremble and be silent: she felt cowed she knew not why.

'Come, Venetia,' said Lady Annabel with all her usual composure, 'let
me save my daughter at least from this profanation,'

'Annabel!' said Herbert, rushing after them, 'be charitable, be just!'
He followed them to the threshold of the door; Venetia was silent, for
she was alarmed.

'Adieu, Marmion!' said Lady Annabel, looking over her shoulder with a
bitter smile, but placing her daughter before her, as if to guard her.
'Adieu, Marmion! adieu for ever!'

CHAPTER VI.

The moon shone brightly on the house of Petrarch, and the hamlet
slept in peace. Not a sound was heard, save the shrill voice of the
grasshoppers, so incessant that its monotony blended, as it were, with
the stillness. Over the green hills and the far expanse of the sheeny
plain, the beautiful light of heaven fell with all the magical repose
of the serene hour, an hour that brought to one troubled breast, and
one distracted spirit, in that still and simple village, no quietude.

Herbert came forth into the balcony of his residence, and leaning over
the balustrade, revolved in his agitated mind the strange and stirring
incidents of the day. His wife and his child had quitted the inn of
Rovigo instantly after that mortifying rencounter that had dashed so
cruelly to the ground all his sweet and quickly-rising hopes. As for
his companion, she had by his peremptory desire returned to Arqua