ne!" said her companion, who might
have told some five-and-forty years, and whose garb and voice bespoke
her of inferior rank to the younger female. "The streets seem quiet
enough now, and, the Virgin be praised! we are not so far from home
either."

"Oh, Benedetta, it is he! it is the young signor--it is Adrian!"

"That is fortunate," said the nurse, for such was her condition, "since
they say he is as bold as a Northman: and as the Palazzo Colonna is not
very far from hence, we shall be within reach of his aid should we want
it: that is to say, sweet one, if you will walk a little slower than you
have yet done."

The young lady slackened her pace, and sighed.

"He is certainly very handsome," quoth the nurse: "but thou must not
think more of him; he is too far above thee for marriage, and for aught
else, thou art too honest, and thy brother too proud--"

"And thou, Benedetta, art too quick with thy tongue. How canst thou talk
thus, when thou knowest he hath never, since, at least, I was a mere
child, even addressed me: nay, he scarce knows of my very existence. He,
the Lord Adrian di Castello, dream of the poor Irene! The mere thought
is madness!"

"Then why," said the nurse, briskly, "dost thou dream of him?"

Her companion sighed again more deeply than at first.

"Holy St. Catherine!" continued Benedetta, "if there were but one man in
the world, I would die single ere I would think of him, until, at least,
he had kissed my hand twice, and left it my own fault if it were not my
lips instead."

The young lady still replied not.

"But how didst thou contrive to love him?" asked the nurse. "Thou canst
not have seen him very often: it is but some four or five weeks since
his return to Rome."

"Oh, how dull art thou?" answered the fair Irene. "Have I not told thee
again and again, that I loved him six years ago?"

"When thou hadst told but thy tenth year, and a doll would have been thy
most suitable lover! As I am a Christian, Signora, thou hast made good
use of thy time.

"And during his absence," continued the girl, fondly, yet sadly, "did
I not hear him spoken of, and was not the mere sound of his name like a
love-gift that bade me remember? And when they praised him, have I not
rejoiced? and when they blamed him, have I not resented? and when they
said that his lance was victorious in the tourney, did I not weep with
pride? and when they whispered that his vows were welcome in the bower,
wept I not as