eproving voice. "Arise, Don
Camillo, lest I repent listening to your prayer; you exceed our
conditions."

"As much as this emotion exceedeth my hopes," answered the noble. "Holy
father, it is a sin to oppose Providence! Providence brought me to the
rescue of this lovely being when accident threw her into the Giudecca,
and once more Providence is my friend, by permitting me to be a witness
of this feeling. Speak, fair Violetta, thou wilt not be an instrument of
the Senate's selfishness--thou wilt not hearken to their wish of
disposing of thy hand on the mercenary who would trifle with the most
sacred of all vows to possess thy wealth?"

"For whom am I destined?" demanded Violetta.

"No matter, since it be not for me. Some trafficker in happiness, some
worthless abuser of the gifts of fortune."

"Thou knowest, Camillo, our Venetian custom, and must see that I am
hopelessly in their hands."

"Arise, Duke of St. Agata," said the monk, with authority--"when I
suffered you to enter this palace, it was to remove a scandal from its
gates, and to save you from your own rash disregard of the state's
displeasure. It is idle to encourage hopes that the policy of the
Republic opposes. Arise then, and respect your pledges."

"That shall be as this lady may decide. Encourage me with but an
approving look, fairest Violetta, and not Venice, with its Doge and
inquisition, shall stir me an inch from thy feet!"

"Camillo!" answered the trembling girl, "thou, the preserver of my life,
hast little need to kneel to me!"

"Duke of St. Agata--daughter!"

"Nay, heed him not, generous Violetta. He utters words of convention--he
speaks as all speak in age, when men's tongues deny the feelings of
their youth. He is a Carmelite, and must feign this prudence. He never
knew the tyranny of the passions. The dampness of his cell has chilled
the ardor of the heart. Had he been human, he would have loved; had he
loved, he would never have worn a cowl."

Father Anselmo receded a pace, like one pricked in conscience, and the
paleness of his ascetic features took a deadly hue. His lips moved as if
he would have spoken, but the sounds were smothered by an oppression
that denied him utterance. The gentle Florinda saw his distress, and she
endeavored to interpose between the impetuous youth and her charge.

"It may be as you say, Signor Monforte," she said--"and that the Senate,
in its fatherly care, searches a partner worthy of an heiress of a hou