Teresa knew not that the mysterious and indefinite feeling which stood as a barrier between her affections and Sir Edward St. John, was the impassable gulph which separates purity from vice.

True, he had appeared to her under fairest colours, and no symptom of his real nature had ever been discerned by her unsuspecting innocence; yet, though she knew not of his depravity, her pure heart refused to mingle with his corrupted one, and the persecutions she endured for his sake vexed and tormented her, without persuading her. Sir Edward had taken particular pains to attach the poor Antonio to him, and he had succeeded to such a degree, that the harmless imbecile sought him continually, and, whenever he entered the apartment, his countenance would light up with childish joy, and when Sir Edward was compelled to depart, he would relapse into deep melancholy or stupid apathy.

This deeply affected Teresa; it was most gratifying to her to see the smile of pleasure

illumining her beloved father's features, and at such moments her beautiful eyes rested with more than usual softness on Sir Edward's face. One evening she was sitting with her father in the identical statue gallery where her mother had first listened to most welcome words and vows of love. The marble sphinx was still in the same place, and the daughter's arm rested, in deep dejection, where the mother's had rested many a long year ago.

Sir Edward joined them, and seated himself near Antonio and Teresa. Antonio had been watching the glorious setting sun for some time, in silence; but at the sound of Sir Edward's voice he turned slowly round, and Teresa observed, with strong emotion, that he had been weeping. She had never seen a tear moistening his eye since the fatal evening when his reason had fled, and now he seemed unconscious of the large drops which rolled slowly down his pallid cheeks. His daughter threw herself on his neck, and weeping convulsively, called on him, by the memory of her sainted mother, to bless

her by a gleam of returning reason. But, alas! this partial return of feeling passed away, and holding Teresa from him, Antonio gazed in her face with his wonted vacant expression. The poor girl shook her head in anguish, and was about to resume her seat, when suddenly her father seized her hand and that of Sir Edward, and joining them in his own, looked imploringly from one to the other.

In extreme distress and confusion, Teresa withdrew her hand, and hastily quitted the gallery.

She was aware that this circumstance would render Sir Edward St. John more importunate than ever, and she resolved to put her longdelayed plan of quitting Florence, into immediate execution. With gratitude and affection she thanked the Princess for her motherly kindness, and announced her intention of departing with her father, and seeking his birth-place.

The Princess saw that she was firm, and therefore attempted not to combat her resolution. Nothing was to be said to Sir Edward on

the subject of their approaching departure, and his visits continued as usual.

On the night preceding the day fixed for their journey, Teresa, after embracing Chiara affectionately, retired to her bed, and was soon visited by the refreshing sleep of youth and innocence. Her dreams were of the sainted mother whose form and features were imprinted on her memory by her father's vivid descriptions ; suddenly she awoke from these sweet dreams and sighed to find they were not realities.

How wonderful is it, she thought, that persons and scenes such as we have never known or seen should present themselves to us in sleep. Sometimes such a being as we would fain select or form for ourselves is with us in those shadowy regions, and we are most happy. We encounter looks which haunt us for many waking hours, we hear tones which cause the most delicious emotion; but, alas! even this transient bliss is often poisoned by the thought in our dream, "Can this be a dream?"

Then we see scenes of ideal beauty, we gaze

on landscapes of unearthly loveliness, we sail on sunlit seas, where scarce a ripple agitates the bark which bears us; we laugh—we weep in agony of spirit; we love, we hate; we are inspired authors or gifted artists; but how strange it is, that the extreme of happiness or misery never is ours; as we are about to grasp felicity, or to sink under evil, we awake, and either sigh to sleep and be again deceived, or rejoice to find that "it was but a dream!"

Teresa was painfully aroused from this halfwakeful reverie by a sense of suffocation, and on throwing open her curtains she perceived that the room was filled with a dense smoke which almost deprived her of respiration. The fearful idea of fire rushed on her mind, and hastily donning her dressing-gown, she opened her door with the intention of flying to her father's apartment; but what was her horror on discovering that the whole opposite side of the gallery was in flames, so as completely to envelope the entrance to Antonio's room.