‘A few days after this event Felippo received a letter from Clara’s mother informing him that her unhappy daughter had, in her grief and disappointment, died for the sake of her faithless lover, moreover that she had declared in her last moments that she would not rest in her grave till she had punished him for his infidelity. This letter made a great impression on him. Henceforward he always carried the letter about with him, and sometimes drew it unconsciously from his pocket and stared at its agonising pages. Even Camilla’s presence could not always prevent this, and as she, of course, ascribed his agitation to the paper, she availed herself of an opportunity when he had let it drop on the floor and seemed quite lost in thought, to examine, without ceremony, what had caused him so much distress. Felippo did not awake from his reverie till she had perused the letter, and was folding it up with her countenance deadly pale. He threw himself at her feet in a mood of the sincerest anguish and repentance, conjuring her to tell him what he ought now to do.
‘“Only let your affection for me be more constant than it was for this poor unfortunate,” said Camilla, and he vowed this from his inmost heart.
‘At last the day for the marriage arrived. When, according to the old fashion of the Venetians, Felippo went in the twilight to the residence of his bride, he could not help believing, all the way, that Clara’s ghost was walking by his side. Indeed, no loving couple were ever accompanied to the altar by such fearful omens as those which now took place. At the request of Camilla’s parents I was there in attendance as a witness, and I have never since forgotten the horrors of that morning.
