opposition conquered; still was her bosom the scene of fierce and contending passions.
Though in possession of every thing which her fancy had portrayed with such excessive delight, she was far from feeling that innocent and calm pleasure which soothes the soul, and, calming each violent emotion, fills it with a serene happiness. No—her brain was whirled around in transports; fierce, confused transports of visionary and unreal bliss: though her every pulse, her every nerve, panted with the delight of gratified and expectant desire; still was she not happy: she enjoyed not that tranquillity which is necessary to the existence of happiness.
In this temper of mind, for a short period she left Verezzi, as she had appointed a meeting with her coadjutor in wickedness.
She soon met him.
"I need not ask," exclaimed Zastrozzi, "for well do I see, in those triumphant glances, that Verezzi is thine; that the plan which we concerted when last we met, has put you in possession of that which your soul panted for."
"Oh! Zastrozzi!" said Matilda,—"kind, excellent Zastrozzi; what words can express the gratitude which I feel towards you—what words can express the bliss, exquisite, celestial, which I owe to your advice? yet still, amid the roses of successful love—amid the ecstasies of transporting voluptuousness—fear, blighting chilly fear, damps my hopes of happiness. Julia, the hated, accursed Julia's image, is the phantom which scares my otherwise certain confidence of eternal delight: could she but be hurled to destruction—could some other artifice of my friend sweep her from the number of the living"
"'Tis enough, Matilda," interrupted Zastrozzi; "'tis enough: in six days hence meet me here; meanwhile, let not any corroding anticipations destroy your present happiness; fear not; but, on the arrival of your faith-
