A Sicilian Romance

'I am dying,' said he, in a faultering accent; 'send instantly for the

marchioness and my son.'

Ferdinand, in escaping from the hands of the banditti, it was now

seen, had fallen into the power of his father. He had been since

confined in an apartment of the castle, and was now liberated to obey

the summons. The countenance of the marquis exhibited a ghastly image;

Ferdinand, when he drew near the bed, suddenly shrunk back, overcome

with horror. The marquis now beckoned his attendants to quit the room,

and they were preparing to obey, when a violent noise was heard from

without; almost in the same instant the door of the apartment was

thrown open, and the servant, who had been sent for the marchioness,

rushed in. His look alone declared the horror of his mind, for words

he had none to utter. He stared wildly, and pointed to the gallery he

had quitted. Ferdinand, seized with new terror, rushed the way he

pointed to the apartment of the marchioness. A spectacle of horror

presented itself. Maria lay on a couch lifeless, and bathed in blood.

A poignard, the instrument of her destruction, was on the floor; and

it appeared from a letter which was found on the couch beside her,

that she had died by her own hand.

The paper contained these words:

TO THE MARQUIS DE MAZZINI

Your words have stabbed my heart. No power on earth could

restore the peace you have destroyed. I will escape from my

torture. When you read this, I shall be no more. But the

triumph shall no longer be yours--the draught you have drank

was given by the hand of the injured

MARIA DE MAZZINI.

It now appeared that the marquis was poisoned by the vengeance of the

woman to whom he had resigned his conscience. The consternation and

distress of Ferdinand cannot easily be conceived: he hastened back to

his father's chamber, but determined to conceal the dreadful

catastrophe of Maria de Vellorno. This precaution, however, was

useless; for the servants, in the consternation of terror, had

revealed it, and the marquis had fainted.

Returning pains recalled his senses, and the agonies he suffered were

too shocking for the beholders. Medical endeavours were applied, but

the poison was too powerful for antidote. The marquis's pains at

length subsided; the poison had exhausted most of its rage, and he

became tolerably easy. He waved his hand for the attendants to leave

the room; and beckoning to Ferdinand, whose senses were almost stunned

by this accumulation of horror, bade him sit down beside him. 'The

hand of death is now upon me,' said he; 'I would employ these last

moments in revealing a deed, which is more dreadful to me than all the

bodily agonies I suffer. It will be some relief to me to discover it.'

Ferdinand grasped the hand of the marquis in speechless terror. 'The

retribution of heaven is upon me,' resumed the marquis. 'My punishment

is the immediate consequence of my guilt. Heaven has made that woman

the instrument of its justice, whom I made the instrument of my

crimes;----that woman, for whose sake I forgot conscience, and braved

vice--for whom I imprisoned an innocent wife, and afterwards murdered

her.'