a
Montani. She loved him passionately, and she _knew_ her love was
unrequited; for affections once bestowed, as his had been, can never be
recalled and given to another. The illness of the mind had its effect upon
the body; she became worse and worse, and, after the birth of a second
child, it was evident that she was sinking rapidly. She lay upon the
stately bed in her magnificent chamber, about which were scattered many
articles consecrated to her girlhood, or to her happy bridal, and, as
such, precious. Seated by the bedside was her husband; one hand clasping
hers, in the other he held a cambric handkerchief, with which he
occasionally wiped her languid brow. "Bear with me a little longer," my
husband--but a short time."

"Bear with you, Adelaide!" he repeated; "would to the Blessed Virgin you
might be spared to me!"

"It is impossible," she sighed, pressing his hand upon her wasted bosom.

"Adelaide"--he hesitated; after awhile--"I would ask you a question--a
question which, if you can, I entreat that you will answer."

She looked at him inquiringly, and he resumed, in a low voice: "What
became of Gina Montani?"

Even amidst the pallid hue of death, a flush appeared in her cheeks at the
words. She gasped once or twice with agitation before she could speak.
"Bring not up that subject now; the only one that came between us to
disturb our peace--the one to which I am indebted for my death. I am lying
dying before you, Giovanni, and you can think but of her."

"My love, why will you so misunderstand me?"

"These thoughts excite me dreadfully," she continued. "Let us banish them,
if you would have peace visit me in dying."

"May your death be far away yet," he sighed.

"Ah! I trust so--a little longer--a few days with you and my dear child!"
And the count clasped his hands together as he silently echoed her prayer.

"Will you reach me my small casket?" she continued; "I put a few trinkets
in it, yesterday, to leave as tokens of remembrance. I must show you how I
wish them bestowed."

He rose from his seat, and looked about the room; but he could not find
the jewelcase. "The small one, Giovanni," she said; "not my diamond
casket. I thought it was in the mosaic cabinet. Or, perhaps, they may have
taken it into my dressing-room."

He went into the adjoining apartment, and had found the missing casket,
when a shriek of horror from the lips of the Lady Adelaide smote his ear.
He was in an instant at her bedside,