rget her
birth and position as to favor the suit! Madness! And this is your
good Blanche!--your guide in all works of benevolence! She shall be
punished for this base betrayal of the confidence I have reposed in
her."

Nina fell upon her knees before her father, and with tears and
earnest entreaties pleaded for the mother of Pierre; but the old man
was wild and mad with anger. He uttered passionate maledictions on
the head of Blanche and her presumptuous son, and positively forbade
Nina again leaving the castle on any pretext whatever, under the
penalty of never being permitted to return.

Had so broad an interdiction not been made, there would have been
some glimmer of light in Nina's dark horizon; she would have hoped
for some change--would have, at least, been blessed with short, even
if stolen, interviews with Pierre. But not to leave the castle on
any pretext--not to see Pierre again! This was robbing life of every
charm. For more than a year she had loved the young man with an
affection to which every day added tenderness and fervor. Could this
be blotted out in an instant by a word of command? No! That love
must burn on the same.

The Baron Holbein loved his daughter; she was the bright spot in
life. To make her happy, he would sacrifice almost anything. A
residence of many years in the world had shown him its pretensions,
its heartlessness, the worth of all its titles and distinctions. He
did not value them too highly. But, when a peasant approached and
asked the hand of his daughter, the old man's pride, that was
smouldering in the ashes, burned up with a sudden blaze. He could
hardly find words to express his indignation. It took but a few days
for this indignation to burn low. Not that he felt more favorable to
the peasant--but, less angry with his daughter. It is not certain
that time would not have done something favorable for the lovers in
the baron's mind. But they could not wait for time. Nina, from the
violence and decision displayed by her father, felt hopeless of any
change, and sought an early opportunity to steal away from the
castle and meet Pierre, notwithstanding the positive commands that
had been issued on the subject. The young man, in the thoughtless
enthusiasm of youth, urged their flight.

"I am master of my art," he said, with a proud air. "We can live in
Florence, where I have many friends."

The youth did not find it hard to bring the confiding, artless girl
into his wishes. In l