toward her friends.

"Carlo--Marianne," she anxiously said, "come here to me, protect me with
your love from this mortal fear and anguish which has suddenly come over
me. See, the moon is hiding behind the clouds. Ah, the whole world grows
dark and casts a mourning veil over its bright face!"

And the timid child, clinging to Marianne's arm, concealed her face in
the bosom of her motherly friend.

"And you call that an omen!" said Carlo, with forced cheerfulness. "This
time, princess, I am the _fatum_ which has alarmed you! It is my own
fault that this string broke. It was already injured and half broken
this evening when I tuned the guitar, but I hoped it would suffice for
the low, sad melodies you now always play. Yes, could I have known that
you would have so exulted and shouted, I should have replaced it with
another string, and this great misfortune would not have occurred."

While speaking, he had again attached the string and drawn it tight.

"The defective string is quickly repaired, and you can recommence your
hymn of joy," he said, handing back the guitar to Natalie.

She sadly shook her head. "It is passed," said she, "I can exult and
sing no more to-day, and have an aversion to this garden. See how black
and threatening these pines rise up, and do not these myrtle-bushes
resemble large dark graves? No, no; it frightens me here--I can no
longer remain among these graves and these watchers of the dead! Come,
let us go to our rooms! It is night--we will sleep and dream! Come, let
us immediately go into the house."

And like a frightened roe she fled toward the house, the others
following her.

In an hour all was silent in the villa. The lights were successively
extinguished in Natalie's and Marianne's chambers; only in Carlo's
little chamber yet burned a dull, solitary lamp, and occasionally the
shadow of the uneasy singer passed the window as he restlessly walked
his room. At length, however, this lamp also was distinguished, and all
was dark and still.

About this time a dark shadow was seen creeping slowly and cautiously
through the garden. Soon it stood still, and then one might have
supposed it to be a deception, and that only the wind shaking the pines
had caused that moving shadow. But suddenly it again appeared in a
moonlighted place, where no bush or tree threw its shade, and, as if
alarmed by the brightness, it then again moved aside into the bushes.

This shadow came constantly nearer and