which we abridge.  The scene lies at Genoa, where Giulietta Aldobrandini, being at the point of death, commits her three daughters to the care of their uncle the Cardinal Aldobrandini.  The Countess dies, and the three girls, Constanza, Bianca, and Giulietta, having sprung up into graceful womanhood, arrive at the Cardinal’s palace.]

It was early in a spring evening when the Aldobrandini arrived at their uncle’s dwelling.  It was an old and heavy-looking building.  Constanza and Bianca, as the massy gate swung behind them, on their arrival in the dark, arched court, simply remarked that they were afraid it would be very dull:  but Giulietta’s imagination was powerfully impressed; a vague terror filled her mind, which the gloom of the huge and still chambers through which they were ushered did not tend to decrease.  At length, they paused in a large vaulted room, while the aged domestic went on, to announce them to the cardinal.  Giulietta glanced around:  the purple hangings were nearly black with age, so was the furniture, while the narrow windows admitted shadows rather than light.  Some portraits hung on the walls, all dignitaries of the church; but the colour of their scarlet robes had faded with time, and each wan and harsh face seemed to turn frowning on the youthful strangers.  A door opened, and they were ushered into the presence of their uncle.  He was standing by a table, on which was a crucifix and an open breviary, while a volume of the life of St. Chrysostom lay open on the floor.  A window of stained glass was half screened by a heavy curtain, and the dark panels of carved oak added to the gloom of the oratory.  The sisters knelt before him, while gravely and calmly he pronounced over them a welcome and a blessing.  Constanza and Bianca received them gracefully and meekly, but Giulietta’s heart was too full; she thought how different would have been the meeting had they been but kneeling before parents instead of the stern prelate.  She bowed her head upon the breviary; and her dark hair fell over her face while she gave way to a passionate burst of tears.  Next to indulging in the outward expression of feeling himself, the cardinal held it wrong to encourage it in another.  Gently, but coldly, he raised the weeping Giulietta; and, with kind but measured assurances of his regard and protection, he dismissed the sisters to their apartment.  Could Giulietta have known the many anxious thoughts that followed her, how little would she have doubted her uncle’s affection!

* * * * *

The light of a few dim stars shed a variable gleam amid the thick boughs of a laurel grove, too faint to mark the objects distinctly, but enough to guide the steps of one who knew the place.  The air was soft and warm, while its sweetness told of the near growth of roses; but a sweeter breath than even the rose was upon the air, the low and musical whisper of youth and of love.  Gradually, two graceful forms became outlined on the dark air—­the one a noble-looking cavalier, the other Giulietta.  Yet the brow of the cavalier was a gloomy one to turn on so fair a listener in so sweet a night; and his tone was even more sad than tender.