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I informed my readers, in the beginning of the last chapter, that Flodoardo was become melancholy, and that Rosabella was indisposed, but I did not tell them what had occasioned this sudden change.

Flodoardo, who on his first arrival at Venice was all gaiety, and the life of every society in which he mingled, lost his spirits on one particular day; and it so happened that it was on the very same day that Rosabella betrayed the first symptoms of indisposition.

For on this unlucky day did the caprice of accident, or perhaps the Goddess of Love (who has her caprices too every now and then), conduct Rosabella into her uncle's garden, which none but the Doge's intimate friends were permitted to enter; and where the Doge himself frequently reposed in solitude and silence during the evening hours of a sultry day.

Rosabella, lost in thought, wandered listless and unconscious along the broad and shady alleys of the garden. Sometimes, in a moment of vexation, she plucked the unoffending leaves from the hedges and strewed them upon the ground; sometimes she stopped suddenly, then rushed forward with impetuosity, then again stood still, and gazed upon the clear blue heaven. Sometimes her beautiful bosom was heaved with quick and irregular motion, and sometimes a half- suppressed sigh escaped from her lips of coral.

"He is very handsome!" she murmured, and gazed with such eagerness on vacancy, as though she had there seen something which was hidden from the sight of common observers.

"Yet Camilla is in the right," she resumed, after a pause, and she frowned as had she said that Camilla was in the wrong.

This Camilla was her governess, her friend, her confidante, I may almost say her mother. Rosabella had lost her parents early. Her mother died when her child could scarcely lisp her name; and her father, Guiscardo of Corfu, the commander of a Venetian vessel, eight years before had perished in an engagement with the Turks, while he was still in the prime of life. Camilla, one of the worthiest creatures that ever dignified the name of woman, supplied to Rosabella the place of mother, had brought her up from infancy, and was now her best friend, and the person to whose ear she confided all her little secrets.

While Rosabella was still buried in her own reflections, the excellent Camilla advanced from a side path, and hastened to join her pupil. Rosabella started.

Rosabella.--Ah! dear Camilla, is it you? What brings you hither?

Camilla.--You often call me your guardian angel, and guardian angels should always be near the object of their care.

Rosabella.--Camilla, I have been thinking over your arguments; I cannot deny that all you have said to me is very true, and very wise, but still -

Camilla.--But still, though your prudence agrees with me, your heart is of a contrary opinion.

Rosabella.--It is, indeed.

Camilla.--Nor do I blame your heart for differing from me, my poor girl. I have acknowledged to you without disguise that were _I_ at your time of life, and were such a man as Flodoardo to throw himself in my way, I could not receive his attentions with indifference. It cannot be denied that this young stranger is uncommonly pleasing, and, indeed, for any woman whose heart is disengaged, an uncommonly DANGEROUS companion. There is something very prepossessing in his appearance, his manners are elegant, and short as has been his abode in Venice, it is already past doubting that there are many noble and striking features in his character. But alas, after all, he is but a poor nobleman, and it is not very probable that the rich and powerful Doge of Venice will ever bestow his niece on one who, to speak plainly, arrived here little better than a beggar. No, no, child, believe me, a romantic adventurer is no fit husband for Rosabella of Corfu.

Rosabella.--Dear Camilla, who was talking about husbands? What I feel for Flodoardo is merely affection, friendship.

Camilla.--Indeed! Then you would be perfectly satisfied, should some one of our wealthy ladies bestow her hand on Flodoardo?

Rosabella (hastily).--Oh! Flodoardo would not ACCEPT her hand, Camilla; of that I am sure.

Camilla.--Child, child, you would willingly deceive yourself. But be assured that a girl who loves ever connects, perhaps unconsciously, the wish for an eternal UNION with the idea of eternal AFFECTION. Now this is a wish which you cannot indulge in regard to Flodoardo without seriously offending your uncle, who, good man as he is, must still submit to the severe control of politics and etiquette.

Rosabella.--I know all that, Camilla, but can I not make you comprehend that I am not in love with Flodoardo, and do not mean to be in love with him, and that love has nothing at all to do in the business? I repeat to you, what I feel for him is nothing but sincere and fervent friendship; and surely Flodoardo deserves that I should feel that sentiment for him. Deserves it, said I? Oh, what does Flodoardo NOT deserve?

Camilla.--Ay, ay, friendship, indeed, and love. Oh, Rosabella, you know not how often these deceivers borrow each other's mask to ensnare the hearts of unsuspecting maidens. You know not how often love finds admission, when wrapped in friendship's cloak, into that bosom, which, had he approached under his own appearance, would have been closed against him for ever. In short, my child, reflect how much you owe to your uncle; reflect how much uneasiness this inclination would cost him; and sacrifice to duty what at present is a mere caprice, but which, if encouraged, might make too deep an impression on your heart to be afterwards removed by your best efforts.

Rosabella.--You say right, Camilla. I really believe myself that my prepossession in Flodoardo's favour is merely an accidental fancy, of which I shall easily get the better. No, no; I am not in love with Flodoardo--of that you may rest assured. I even think that I rather feel an antipathy towards him, since you have shown me the possibility of his making me prove a cause of uneasiness to my kind, my excellent uncle.

Camilla (smiling).--Are your sentiments of duty and gratitude so very strong?

Rosabella.--Oh, that they are, Camilla; and so you will say yourself hereafter. This disagreeable Flodoardo--to give me so much vexation! I wish he had never come to Venice. I declare I do not like him at all.

Camilla.--No--what! Not like Flodoardo?

Rosabella (casting down her eyes).--No, not at all. Not that I wish him ill, either, for you know, Camilla, there's no reason why I should hate this poor Flodoardo!

Camilla.--Well, we will resume this subject when I return. I have business, and the gondola waits for me. Farewell, my child; and do not lay aside your resolution as hastily as you took it up.

Camilla departed, and Rosabella remained melancholy and uncertain. She built castles in the air, and destroyed them as soon as built. She formed wishes, and condemned herself for having formed them. She looked round her frequently in search of something, but dared not confess to herself what it was of which she was in search.

The evening was sultry, and Rosabella was compelled to shelter herself from the sun's overpowering heat. In the garden was a small fountain, bordered by a bank of moss, over which the magic hands of art and nature had formed a canopy of ivy and jessamine. Thither she bent her steps. She arrived at the fountain, and instantly drew back, covered with blushes, for on the bank of moss, shaded by the protecting canopy, whose waving blossoms were reflected on the fountain, Flodoardo was seated, and fixed his eyes on a roll of parchment.

Rosabella hesitated whether she should retire or stay. Flodoardo started from his place, apparently in no less confusion than herself, and relieved her from her indecision by taking her hand with respect, and conducting her to the seat which he had just quitted.

Now, then, she could not possibly retire immediately, unless she meant to violate every common principle of good breeding.

Her hand was still clasped in Flodoardo's; but it was so natural for him to take it, that she could not blame him for having done so. But what was she next to do? Draw her hand away? Why should she, since he did her hand no harm by keeping it, and the keeping it seemed to make him so happy? And how could the gentle Rosabella resolve to commit an act of such unheard-of cruelty as wilfully to deprive any one of a pleasure which made him so happy, and which did herself no harm?

"Signora," said Flodoardo, merely for the sake of saying something, "you do well to enjoy the open air. The evening is beautiful."

"But I interrupt your studies, my lord," said Rosabella.

"By no means," answered Flodoardo; and there this interesting conversation came to a full stop. Both looked down; both examined the heaven and the earth, the trees and the flowers, in the hopes of finding some hints for renewing the conversation; but the more anxiously they sought them, the more difficult did it seem to find what they sought; and in this painful embarrassment did two whole precious minutes elapse.

"Ah, what a beautiful flower!" suddenly cried Rosabella, in order to break the silence, then stooped and plucked a violet with an appearance of the greatest eagerness, though, in fact, nothing at that moment could have been more a matter of indifference.

"It is a very beautiful flower, indeed," gravely observed Flodoardo, and was out of all patience with himself for having made so flat a speech.

"Nothing can surpass this purple," continued Rosabella; "red and blue so happily blended, that no painter can produce so perfect a union."

"Red and blue--the one the symbol of happiness, the other of affection. Ah, Rosabella! how enviable will be that man's lot on whom your hand shall bestow such a flower. Happiness and affection are not more inseparably united than the red and blue which purple that violet."

"You seem to attach a value to the flower of which it is but little deserving."

"Might I but know on whom Rosabella will one day bestow what that flower expresses. Yet, this is a subject which I have no right to discuss. I know not what has happened to me to-day. I make nothing but blunders and mistakes. Forgive my presumption, lady. I will hazard such forward inquiries no more."

He was silent. Rosabella was silent also.

But though they could forbid their lips to betray their hidden affection; though Rosabella said not--"Thou art he on whom this flower shall be bestowed:" though Flodoardo's words had not expressed--"Rosabella, give me that violet, and that which it implies"--oh, their eyes were far from being silent. Those treacherous interpreters of secret feelings acknowledged more to each other than their hearts had yet acknowledged to themselves.

Flodoardo and Rosabella gazed on each other with looks which made all speech unnecessary. Sweet, tender, and enthusiastic was the smile which played around Rosabella's lips when her eyes met those of the youth whom she had selected from the rest of mankind; and with mingled emotions of hope and fear did the youth study the meaning of that smile. He understood it, and his heart beat louder, and his eye flamed brighter.

Rosabella trembled; her eyes could no longer sustain the fire of his glances, and a modest blush overspread her face and bosom.

"Rosabella!" at length murmured Flodoardo, unconsciously; "Flodoardo!" sighed Rosabella, in the same tone.

"Give me that violet!" he exclaimed, eagerly, then sank at her feet, and in a tone of the most humble supplication repeated, "Oh, give it to me!"

Rosabella held the flower fast.

"Ask for it what thou wilt. If a throne can purchase it, I will pay that price, or perish. Rosabella, give me that flower!"

She stole one look at the handsome suppliant and dared not hazard a second.

"My repose, my happiness, my life--nay, even my glory, all depend on the possession of that little flower. Let that be mine, and here I solemnly renounce all else which the world calls precious."

The flower trembled in her snowy hand. Her fingers clasped it less firmly.

"You hear me, Rosabella? I kneel at your feet; and am I then in vain a beggar?"

The word "beggar" recalled to her memory Camilla and her prudent counsels. "What am I doing?" she said to herself. "Have I forgotten my promise, my resolution? Fly, Rosabella, fly, or this hour makes you faithless to yourself and duty."

She tore the flower to pieces, and threw it contemptuously on the ground.

"I understand you, Flodoardo," said she; "and having understood you, will never suffer this subject to be renewed. Here let us part, and let me not again be offended by a similar presumption. Farewell!"

She turned from him with disdain, and left Flodoardo rooted to his place with sorrow and astonishment.