THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 195 



"Dread them?" 



"Yes; bright as they look, they come from the dark 

 graves; and with us, in our family, they have always been 

 omens warnings of death and dolor. Before my poor 

 mother died " 



" Nay, nay," cried Marco ; " now thou art more silly than 

 I deemed thee." 



Yet he strove, at the same time, to remove the glittering 

 causes of alarm. When with some trouble he had disengaged 

 them from the net-work, one yet clung to his hand, and, on 

 shaking it off into the air, the insect, as if proud of the place 

 it had lately occupied, instead of joining its companions, flew 

 back, and settled on Bianca's head. Not a word, this time, 

 escaped her lips; but she turned pale and trembled. Her 

 lover again gently chid her again displaced the Lucciola, and 

 threw it far into the underwood. Then, supporting the steps 

 of the frightened girl, accompanied her to within a few paces 

 of her father's cottage, once more whispered his tender " Buona 

 notte," and departed to join in the revels of the night pro- 

 longed far into the morning. 



******* 



Twelve months had brought round another Eve of St. John, 

 and brought with it, and on just such a summer night, the like 

 festivities the like illuminations. 



Had the year been productive of as little change to our 

 high-born youth and low-born maiden ? To Bianca, the proud 

 noble, who should have been as nothing, was, in womanly 

 devotion, still everything. Yet had he become an everything 

 which she was now required, and, in womanly disinterestedness, 

 was ready to resign. 



And Marco ? Why, he still loved the peasant girl, as well, 

 perhaps, as ever as well as a young patrician (though sprung 

 of merchant princes) might. His heart, such as it was, was 

 still Bianca's ; but his hand, in accordance with the desire and 

 policy of his father, had been for many months pledged, and 



