ining apartment.

Fernand did not offer to convey to her any idea of the nature of the
conversation which occupied her brother and Flora Francatelli; neither
did she manifest the least curiosity to be enlightened on that head.

The moment the young lovers had quitted the next room Wagner intimated
the fact to Nisida; but at the same instant, just as he was about to
bestow upon her a tender caress, a dreadful, an appalling reminiscence
burst upon him with such overwhelming force that he fell back stupefied
on the sofa.

Nisida's countenance assumed an expression of the deepest solicitude,
and her eloquent, sparkling eyes, implored him to intimate to her what
ailed him.

But, starting wildly from his seat, and casting on her a look of such
bitter, bitter anguish, that the appalling emotions thus expressed
struck terror to her soul--Fernand rushed from the room.

Nisida sprung to the window; and, though the obscurity of the evening
now announced the last flickerings of the setting sunbeams in the west,
she could perceive her lover dashing furiously on through the spacious
gardens that surrounded the Riverola Palace.

On--on he went toward the River Arno; and in a few minutes was out of
sight.

Alas! intoxicated with love, and giving himself up to the one delightful
idea--that he was with the beauteous Nisida--then, absorbed in the
interest of the conversation which he had overheard between Francisco
and Flora--Wagner had forgotten until it was nearly too late, _that the
sun was about to set on the last day of the month_.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WEHR-WOLF.

'Twas the hour of sunset.

The eastern horizon, with its gloomy and somber twilight, offered a
strange contrast to the glorious glowing hues of vermilion, and purple,
and gold, that blended in long streaks athwart the western sky.

For even the winter sunset of Italy is accompanied with resplendent
tints--as if an emperor, decked with a refulgent diadem, were repairing
to his imperial couch.

The declining rays of the orb of light bathed in molten gold the
pinnacles, steeples, and lofty palaces of proud Florence, and toyed with
the limpid waves of the Arno, on whose banks innumerable villas and
casinos already sent forth delicious strains of music, broken only by
the mirth of joyous revelers.

And by degrees as the sun went down, the palaces of the superb city
began to shed light from their lattices, set in rich sculptured masonry;
and here and ther