have trembled in the presence of our happiness—we were then draining the sweet waters of a fountain, whose silver cord is soon loosened, and whose golden bowl is soon broken. Ah, dearest! do you remember the summer—'tis nearly four years since—when the acacia blossomed twice? Methinks it was typical, for the tree exhausted itself and perished, even of its own too great luxuriance. But do you not look back to that summer?"
For a moment the colour came into Francesca's pale countenance, for that was the summer when she first knew Evelyn; but it faded, and left her paler than before.
"We have paid dearly for that happiness since. Guido, dearest Guido, what can we have done to be so deceived, so wretched? Think but for a moment how precious, how great a gift, is the deep, strong, and trusting affection of the young heart; and how cruel is the fate which decrees it should be given, and in vain!"
"I have not courage, even now, to think of that," interrupted Guido, the damps rising heavily upon his forehead. Tenderly Francesca bent over him; she parted the thick moist clusters of his rich curls, and, bathing his temples with an aromatic essence, kissed him, and bade him sleep. But he was too much excited for rest. "Marie!"
