imagining. The heart of the count has long been given to another;
and, you know, by your love for him, that such passion can never
change its object. Had he met you in earlier life, it might have
been otherwise. He marries you, for your lineage is a high one;
and she, in the world's eye and in that of his own haughty race,
was no fit mate for him."

"Ay," she shuddered, "it is explained now. So, Gina Montani was this
beloved one. I am his by sufferance--she, by love. Holy Mother, have mercy
on my brain! I _know_ they love--I see it all too plainly. And I could
believe his deceitful explanation, and trust him. I _told_ him I believed
it on our wedding night. _He did not know why he went to her house; habit,
he supposed, or, want of occupation._ Oh, shame on his false words! Shame
on my own credulity!"

None of us forget the stanzas in Collins's Ode to the Passions:

"Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed,
Sad proof of thy distressful state:
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed,
And now it courted love--now, raving, calling on hate."

And calling, indeed, upon hate, as she strode her chamber in a frenzy near
akin to madness, was the lady Adelaide, when her attendant, Lucrezia,
entered.

"My dear lady," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, as any crocodile might
do--"my dear, dear young lady, I cannot know that you are thus suffering,
and keep away from your presence. Pardon me for intruding upon you against
orders."

The Lady Adelaide smoothed her brow, and the lines of her face resumed
their haughtiness, as she imperiously ordered Lucrezia to quit the room.
The heart most awake to the miseries of life wears to the world the
coldest surface; and it was not in the Lady Adelaide's nature to betray
aught of her emotions to any living being, save, perhaps, her husband.

"Nay, my lady, suffer me to remain yet a a moment: at least, while I
disclose what I know of that viper."

The Lady Adelaide started; but she suppressed all excitement, and Lucrezia
began her tale--an exaggerated account of the interview she had been a
witness to between the Lord of Visinara and Gina Montani. The countess
listened to its conclusion, and a low moan escaped her.

"What think you now, madam, she deserves?"

"_To die!_" burst from the pale lips of the unhappy lady.

"To die," acquiesced Lucrezia, calmly. "No other punishment would meet her
guilt; and no other, that I am aware of, cou