THERESA ABRTJZZI. 191 



slow, is not the less sure. Once, indeed, a demoniac impulse, 

 which her utter helplessness alone could have suggested, flashed, 

 across his excited imagination ; yet, fallen as he now was, his 

 better feelings recoiled with horror even from the thought of in- 

 juring such angelic purity. He but lingered round the spot, like 

 an unearthly being over the grave of his hopes, till the reviving 

 senses of Theresa warned him to be gone; when he departed, 

 thanks to the inefficiency or weakness of the Roman government, 

 none knew or inquired whither. 



Youth and an excellent constitution at length prevailed ; and 

 Theresa, now countess Abruzzi, revived to the misery and desola- 

 tion that awaited her. With a celerity, which seemed to spring 

 from a dread of encountering the cause of that misery, she fled 

 the scene of her deprivation, and sought that lonely home from 

 which happiness was for ever banished. Here a fixed but serene 

 melancholy succeeded to those paroxysms of grief which had 

 shaken her frame almost to dissolution. Yet, severe as was the 

 task of again mingling with the world, she declined not such 

 consolation as friendship might yield; wholly disregarding, how- 

 ever, on the one hand, the splendid alliances which were urged 

 on her acceptance, and, on the other, the counsels of those who 

 would have persuaded her to retire to a convent, and dedicate 

 her vast fortune to religious uses. Her sorrow was not of an 

 ascetic character : to console the aged and miserable, to heal the 

 wounds of sickness or misfortune, to feed the hungry, and to 

 clothe the naked — these were the only alleviations to a grief 

 which grew more calm but not less intense, as the strong lights 

 of her sufferings yielded to the soft shading of time. The perse- 

 verance of the prince of Castel-Monti, who only of her suitors 

 continued to persecute her with unavailing addresses, disturbed 

 for a space that serenity of woe which the virtuous alone can 

 feel. Even he, however, wearied and somewhat incensed at the 

 firmness of her rejection, seemed at last also to have abandoned a 

 fruitless pursuit. 



To the catastrophe of that fatal evening she had never adverted; 

 nor did the public voice reproach her with a supineness, which 

 was variously attributed to timidity or hopelessness of discovering 

 the perpetrators of the deed. The crime was too frequent, and 

 the atonement too uncertain, to excite more than a temporary in- 

 terest. Marco ever in her thoughts, but never named by her, 

 whera was he ? — Did he still live ? — Could he yet pursue that 

 guilty course which had led him to the commission of a crime, 



