“No! no! no!” cried she faltering and embarrassed; but the glance at her face had told me volumes.  I saw in her pallid and wasted features; in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her eye a whole history of a mind broken down by tyranny.  Great God! and was this beauteous flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon?  The idea roused me to madness.  I clinched my teeth and my hands; I foamed at the mouth; every passion seemed to have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled within my heart.  Bianca shrunk from me in speechless affright.  As I strode by the window my eye darted down the alley.  Fatal moment!  I beheld Filippo at a distance!  My brain was in a delirium—­I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with the quickness of lightning.  He saw me as I came rushing upon him—­he turned pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he would have fled, and trembling drew his sword.

“Wretch!” cried I, “well may you draw your weapon!”

I spake not another word—­I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom.  He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated.  I sprang upon him with the blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger; redoubled my blows; mangled him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until with reiterated wounds and strangling convulsions he expired in my grasp.  I remained glaring on the countenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes upon me.  Piercing shrieks roused me from my delirium.  I looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us.  My brain whirled.  I waited not to meet her, but fled from the scene of horror.  I fled forth from the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my head.  I fled without knowing whither—­almost without knowing why—­my only idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors I had left behind; as if I could throw space between myself and my conscience.  I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and days among their savage heights.  How I existed I cannot tell—­what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not.  I kept on and on—­trying to outtravel the curse that clung to me.  Alas, the shrieks of Bianca rung for ever in my ear.  The horrible countenance of my victim was for ever before my eyes.  “The blood of Filippo cried to me from the ground.”  Rocks, trees, and torrents all resounded with my crime.

Then it was I felt how much more insupportable is the anguish of remorse than every other mental pang.  Oh! could I but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart; could I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as I entered the garden at Sestri; could I but have restored my victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport even though Bianca were in his arms.