letter finished, Francesca retired to rest, but in vain. What the morrow might bring forth kept her awake with feverish anticipation.
There is something in human nature that shrinks from any great change, even though that change be for the better. Alas! all experience shows us how little we dare trust our fate. At length, worn and wearied, she slept; but the turmoil of her thoughts was also in her dreams. Now, pale as she last beheld him, she saw Guido, beckoning her with a sad and mournful aspect. Suddenly he changed into Evelyn; but he, too, seemed grave and cold; and yet she followed him through a dim uncertain country, weighed down by that sense of oppression and helplessness which is only known to sleep. His silence appeared so strange, and fear was upon her; she tried, but could not speak—at last he passed away—terrible shapes crowded round her; and, in the effort to avoid their loathsome contact, she awoke.
The sun was shining into her room, and the birds singing cheerfully, while the many odours from the garden below came in at the open lattice. All was reviving and joyous; and the depression of the previous night vanished like the fear in her visions. Her first act was to despatch her letter to Lord Avonleigh; that done, she could settle to
