186 THERESA ABRUZZI. 



maimer utterly foreign to the mild and urbane dignity of his 

 former character. 



" I come, count, a suppliant, but to your justice rather than 

 to your mercy. The task you have imposed on me is impracti- 

 cable; either extend the time, or reduce the demand. I have 

 toiled when even the herdsman slept; I have dared that, which 

 but for Theresa" — and he struck his forehead with his clenched 

 hand as he spoke, " I had trembled even to look upon. Nay, 

 hear me out. — I have amassed a treasure which ought, which must 

 be accepted as a release from further toil." 



" Name it," replied the count — " It is a good earnest," con- 

 tinued he, returning the papers to Marco, " and requires but a 

 little more exertion to secure the object of your desires. Nay, 

 nay, no entreaties; I am firm, Petroni." 



"Say rather hardened," exclaimed Marco, with bitterness; 

 "but 1 have done: I bow to no man. On your head be the 

 consequences of this fatal hour ! " 



Infuriated by conflicting passions, he rushed into the garden, 

 where, at the foot a temple which had been erected to the memory 

 of the late countess, he beheld Theresa, seated and looking on 

 the declining sun with a countenance in which peace, innocence, 

 and love, were sweetly depicted. He paused, he trembled ; the 

 big drops of emotion chased each other across his pale forehead, 

 as he gazed on her who, still unconscious of his presence, seemed 

 lost in happy musing. ' 



" With thee — with thee, Marco," she slowly murmured. He 

 was at her feet. 



" If you love me, Theresa" — 



" Marco, what means this ? " exclaimed the affrighted maid. 



" It means," said he wildly, " that I am again rejected, spurned, 

 despised, by your relentless father; that, to gratify his ambition, 

 his avarice, he would force me on courses which my soul abhors. 

 Oh, save me, save me, Theresa ! " he cried, his tears bursting 

 forth in an unrestrained flood : " I am lost — dishonored — 

 wretched here and hereafter, but for thee ! Thy gentle hand can 

 alone lead me back from paths which but for thee I had never 

 trod ! " 



" Marco, what mean you ? *' 



" That to win you from your father I must peril life, honour, 

 my immortal soul ! " 



" Oh frightful, frightful I speak not thus ! by what means 

 can I r 



