nsensibility. Beatrice, with a quick spiritual sense, immediately felt
that there was a gulf of blackness between them which neither he nor
she could pass. They walked on together, sad and silent, and came thus
to the marble fountain and to its pool of water on the ground, in the
midst of which grew the shrub that bore gem-like blossoms. Giovanni was
affrighted at the eager enjoyment--the appetite, as it were--with which
he found himself inhaling the fragrance of the flowers.

"Beatrice," asked he, abruptly, "whence came this shrub?"

"My father created it," answered she, with simplicity.

"Created it! created it!" repeated Giovanni. "What mean you, Beatrice?"

"He is a man fearfully acquainted with the secrets of Nature," replied
Beatrice; "and, at the hour when I first drew breath, this plant sprang
from the soil, the offspring of his science, of his intellect, while I
was but his earthly child. Approach it not!" continued she, observing
with terror that Giovanni was drawing nearer to the shrub. "It has
qualities that you little dream of. But I, dearest Giovanni,--I grew up
and blossomed with the plant and was nourished with its breath. It was
my sister, and I loved it with a human affection; for, alas!--hast thou
not suspected it?--there was an awful doom."

Here Giovanni frowned so darkly upon her that Beatrice paused and
trembled. But her faith in his tenderness reassured her, and made her
blush that she had doubted for an instant.

"There was an awful doom," she continued, "the effect of my father's
fatal love of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind.
Until Heaven sent thee, dearest Giovanni, oh, how lonely was thy poor
Beatrice!"

"Was it a hard doom?" asked Giovanni, fixing his eyes upon her.

"Only of late have I known how hard it was," answered she, tenderly.
"Oh, yes; but my heart was torpid, and therefore quiet."

Giovanni's rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightning
flash out of a dark cloud.

"Accursed one!" cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. "And, finding
thy solitude wearisome, thou hast severed me likewise from all the
warmth of life and enticed me into thy region of unspeakable horror!"

"Giovanni!" exclaimed Beatrice, turning her large bright eyes upon his
face. The force of his words had not found its way into her mind; she
was merely thunderstruck.

"Yes, poisonous thing!" repeated Giovanni, beside himself with passion.
"Thou hast done it! Thou hast