than thus to be assured of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the
conviction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer of Bianca; I no
longer hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in with
insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her very smiles ceased to
delight me, for I felt culpable in having won them.

She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and inquired the
cause with her usual frankness and simplicity. I could not evade the
inquiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told her all the conflict
of my soul; my devouring passion, my bitter self-upbraiding. "Yes!"
said I, "I am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from my family--a
wanderer--a nameless, homeless wanderer, with nothing but poverty for
my portion, and yet I have dared to love you--have dared to aspire to
your love!"

My agitation moved her to tears; but she saw nothing in my situation so
hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought up in a convent, she knew
nothing of the world, its wants, its cares;--and, indeed, what woman is
a worldly casuist in matters of the heart!--Nay, more--she kindled into
a sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my fortunes and myself. We had
dwelt together on the works of the famous masters. I had related to her
their histories; the high reputation, the influence, the magnificence
to which they had attained;--the companions of princes, the favorites
of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this she applied to me.
Her love saw nothing in their greatest productions that I was not able
to achieve; and when I saw the lovely creature glow with fervor, and
her whole countenance radiant with the visions of my glory, which
seemed breaking upon her, I was snatched up for the moment into the
heaven of her own imagination.

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story; yet I cannot help
Lingering over a period of my life, on which, with all its cares and
conflicts, I look back with fondness; for as yet my soul was unstained
by a crime. I do not know what might have been the result of this
struggle between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a
Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my brother. It was
accompanied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence concerning me, and a
prayer, should this notice meet my eye, that I would hasten to Naples,
to comfort an infirm and afflicted father.

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition; but my brother had
never been as a brother to me; I had lon