rning dependence on a restoration to her
father's presence and her father's love, that had moved her over the
young chieftain's grave, and had prompted her last effort for freedom
when Ulpius had dragged her through the passage in the rifted wall,
suddenly revived.

Once more she arose, and looked forth on the desolate city and the
stormy sky, but now with mild and unshrinking eyes. Her recollections
of the past grew tender in their youthful grief; her thoughts for the
future became patient, solemn, and serene. Images of her first and her
last-left protector, of her old familiar home, of her garden solitude
on the Pincian Mount, spread beautiful before her imagination as
resting-places to her weary heart. She descended the steps of the
summer-house with no apprehension of her enemies, no doubt of her
resolution; for she knew the beacon that was now to direct her onward
course. The tears gathered full in her eyes as she passed into the
garden; but her step never faltered, her features never lost their
combined expression of tranquil sorrow and subdued hope. So she once
more entered the perilous streets, and murmuring to herself, 'My
father! my father!' as if in those simple words lay the hand that was
to guide, and the providence that was to preserved her, she began to
trace her solitary way in the direction of the Pincian Mount.

It was a spectacle--touching, beautiful, even sublime--to see this
young girl, but a few hours freed, by perilous paths and by criminal
hands, from scenes which had begun in treachery, only to end in death,
now passing, resolute and alone, through the streets of a mighty city,
overwhelmed by all that is poignant in human anguish and hideous in
human crime. It was a noble evidence of the strong power over the
world and the world's perils, with which the simplest affection may arm
the frailest being--to behold her thus pursuing her way, superior to
every horror of desolation and death that clogged her path,
unconsciously discovering in the softly murmured name of 'father',
which still fell at intervals from her lips, the pure purpose that
sustained her--the steady heroism that ever held her in her doubtful
course. The storms of heaven poured over her head--the crimes and
sufferings of Rome darkened the paths of her pilgrimage; but she passed
firmly onward through all, like a ministering spirit, journeying along
earthly shores in the bright inviolability of its merciful mission and
its