A LAST LOOK. 149 



her kind old father. On rising, she gently kissed his fore- 

 head, and treading lightly, left the chamber, meaning 

 presently to seek her own. 



Ah, Bianca ! which of the sweet enticements of that Mid- 

 summer night could break thy purpose, and lure thee to go 

 forth? Was it the evening breeze whispering among the 

 trees close by, or the distant murmur of the placid sea ? Was 

 it the breath of the evening-scented flowers, or the shouts of 

 revelry rising from the illumined city ? It was none of these ; 

 but it was an impulse, sudden, irresistible, which urged her 

 to take one last, one little look at that dear garden, where she 

 had been used to play, and not alone always, in her childhood. 

 From the garden three minutes would take her through the 

 olive grove, and give her a parting glimpse just only one 

 of the terrace walk beyond, that walk connected with 

 remembrances more recent and more dear than all. But one 

 thought made her hesitate, might she not meet him? Oh 

 no. There was that night, at the Palazzo of the ( Marchese, a 

 grand masked ball in honour of the evening's festival, and 

 also of the approaching bridal. The ducal family of Doria 

 was to be among the guests. Beatrice in all the blaze of 

 jewels, rank, and beauty queen of the night, Marco, her 

 devoted subject, in a day or two to be her lord. 



" Oh no," thought Bianca, as she hastened through the 

 grove ; " there's no fear that I shall meet with him. 1 ' 



She found the gate open which led from the olive planta- 

 VOL. II. 10. 



