austed itself in its outburst from his lips.
There now came across him a sense, mournful, and not without
tenderness, of the intimate and peculiar relationship between Beatrice
and himself. They stood, as it were, in an utter solitude, which would
be made none the less solitary by the densest throng of human life.
Ought not, then, the desert of humanity around them to press this
insulated pair closer together? If they should be cruel to one another,
who was there to be kind to them? Besides, thought Giovanni, might
there not still be a hope of his returning within the limits of
ordinary nature, and leading Beatrice, the redeemed Beatrice, by the
hand? O, weak, and selfish, and unworthy spirit, that could dream of an
earthly union and earthly happiness as possible, after such deep love
had been so bitterly wronged as was Beatrice's love by Giovanni's
blighting words! No, no; there could be no such hope. She must pass
heavily, with that broken heart, across the borders of Time--she must
bathe her hurts in some fount of paradise, and forget her grief in the
light of immortality, and THERE be well.

But Giovanni did not know it.

"Dear Beatrice," said he, approaching her, while she shrank away as
always at his approach, but now with a different impulse, "dearest
Beatrice, our fate is not yet so desperate. Behold! there is a
medicine, potent, as a wise physician has assured me, and almost divine
in its efficacy. It is composed of ingredients the most opposite to
those by which thy awful father has brought this calamity upon thee and
me. It is distilled of blessed herbs. Shall we not quaff it together,
and thus be purified from evil?"

"Give it me!" said Beatrice, extending her hand to receive the little
silver vial which Giovanni took from his bosom. She added, with a
peculiar emphasis, "I will drink; but do thou await the result."

She put Baglioni's antidote to her lips; and, at the same moment, the
figure of Rappaccini emerged from the portal and came slowly towards
the marble fountain. As he drew near, the pale man of science seemed to
gaze with a triumphant expression at the beautiful youth and maiden, as
might an artist who should spend his life in achieving a picture or a
group of statuary and finally be satisfied with his success. He paused;
his bent form grew erect with conscious power; he spread out his hands
over them in the attitude of a father imploring a blessing upon his
children; but those were the same h