Bianca, though proud and determined, was always afraid of her mother; she felt awed and strangely influenced when in her presence. And truly the countess was one of those resolute and imperious dames who combine the strength of a man, with the wily cunning, passionate feelings, and unsleeping animosities which characterize the weaker sex of southern lands. There was something in her air and countenance which was sure to influence all beholders, and bend them to her will. Her dark eyes seemed to penetrate the very souls of those on whom she gazed; and there was a mysterious power and even charm in her clear full voice, an air of repose in the faultless features of her pale face, which fascinated as well as subdued those on whom she chose to exercise her will. It was said that the countess never slept at night; the hours were passed by her in watching the stars; and many whispered that at these hours unholy orgies took place, and magic incantations were employed by this strange lady against those who offended her.

Bianca Donati found her mother seated on

her chair of state, under a magnificent dais at the end of a large room, which was seldom used but on solemn and important occasions. Once only had Bianca entered that splendid yet gloomy room before. It was on the day her father was buried; and though many years had gone by, the vivid impression of vague horror stamped on her young mind on that occasion remained with a yesterday's distinctness, and filled her with dread as she opened the ponderous door. As it closed behind her with a sound which echoed through the lofty hall, Bianca shuddered. Strange images of death and torture, and mysterious fate, seemed to flit before her affrighted gaze; the very sound of her own light and trembling footsteps startled her, and recalled the fearful scene she had there witnessed a scene which had haunted her imagination and often disturbed her dreams.

"My child," said the clear silvery voice of the countess.

Bianca hastened to obey its summons, anxious to be near something living, in this funereal abode. She stood before her mother's throne.

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My child," continued the countess, fixing her dark eyes with a stern and solemn expression on the pale countenance of her daughter. "I have sent for thee to hear my decision, to learn thy fate. This day will see thee wedded to a noble Guelf, a valiant knight, who was destined by thy father-by that parent whose lifeless form was once laid under this dais-to be thy husband. His spirit, the soul of thy revered parent, speaks in me now; prepare therefore to obey the will of both thy parents. Nay, tremble not; remember the noble blood which runs through thy veins-remember the heroes of thy father's house, the firmness and unshrinking character of thy mother's princely race, and be not unworthy of such ancestors. Go; attire thyself in the bridal dress I have prepared, and in one hour return to pledge thy faith at the altar of God to the husband I have chosen. Begone." And the countess waved her hand with an impatient gesture.

Bianca heard this decision with speechless dismay. She well knew how useless it was to remonstrate with her imperious mother on any

subject; and there was that in her parent's countenance which seemed to shew how useless words, or even prayers and entreaties would be, to bend its inexorable will. Bianca's faculties seemed paralyzed, too, in sullen despair; and scarcely knowing what she was doing, she approached the deep recess of a large window which projected over the narrow street.

The dark and solemn gloom of that mysterious apartment was so depressing that she instinctively turned to the bright light of day. Suddenly Bianca uttered a cry of joy. "It is he!" she exclaimed, opening the lattice, while a ray of joy darted through her mind and raised her drooping spirit.

The countess started, and approached the window with a countenance of surprise and displeasure. She looked in the direction in which Bianca was so intently gazing, and said, "My child, do you see that handsome cavalier on the white horse?"

"I do, indeed," exclaimed Bianca.

"Look at him attentively," continued the countess; "he comes from his castle in the Val

d'Arno to his stately palace in the Strada Maggiore; soon he will pass this window again, attired in the dress of a bridegroom, to receive the hand of my daughter. That valiant knight, Bianca, is to be your husbund."

It was the same!—it was the unknown knight whom Bianca had loved, whose image her enthusiastic imagination had dwelt on, the man she had sworn should alone obtain her hand. A few words explained the whole truth to the countess; all fear, all perplexity was gone; a smile, the first smile Bianca had ever seen on her proud mother's countenance, now illumined her features.

"Come, my child," she said, after a pause, and embracing her for the first time with the real tenderness of a mother; 66 come, and swear solemnly at the altar of God to marry that knight."

Bianca followed to the chapel. There was a solemnity in the tone and step of the countess which, in spite of all her joy, inspired Bianca with a feeling of awe. The young girl's religious feelings were more those of fear than