A Sicilian Romance

'Pardon me, my lord,' said Julia, blushing, 'suffer me to'--'I am not

easily deceived, madam,' interrupted the duke,--'your conduct can be

attributed only to the influence of a prior attachment; and though for

so young a lady, such a circumstance is somewhat extraordinary, I have

certainly no right to arraign your choice. Permit me to wish you a

good morning.' He bowed low, and quitted the room. Julia now

experienced a new distress; she dreaded the resentment of the marquis,

when he should be informed of her conversation with the duke, of whose

character she now judged too justly not to repent the confidence she

had reposed in him. The duke, on quitting Julia, went to the marquis, with whom he

remained in conversation some hours. When he had left the castle, the

marquis sent for his daughter, and poured forth his resentment with

all the violence of threats, and all the acrimony of contempt. So

severely did he ridicule the idea of her disposing of her heart, and

so dreadfully did he denounce vengeance on her disobedience, that she

scarcely thought herself safe in his presence. She stood trembling

and confused, and heard his reproaches without the power to reply. At

length the marquis informed her, that the nuptials would be solemnized

on the third day from the present; and as he quitted the room, a flood

of tears came to her relief, and saved her from fainting.

Julia passed the remainder of the day in her closet with Emilia. Night

returned, but brought her no peace. She sat long after the departure

of Emilia; and to beguile recollection, she selected a favorite

author, endeavouring to revive those sensations his page had once

excited. She opened to a passage, the tender sorrow of which was

applicable to her own situation, and her tears flowed wean. Her grief

was soon suspended by apprehension. Hitherto a deadly silence had

reigned through the castle, interrupted only by the wind, whose low

sound crept at intervals through the galleries. She now thought she

heard a footstep near her door, but presently all was still, for she

believed she had been deceived by the wind. The succeeding moment,

however, convinced her of her error, for she distinguished the low

whisperings of some persons in the gallery. Her spirits, already

weakened by sorrow, deserted her: she was seized with an universal

terror, and presently afterwards a low voice called her from without,

and the door was opened by Ferdinand. She shrieked, and fainted.

On recovering, she found herself supported

by Ferdinand and Hippolitus, who had stolen this moment of silence and

security to gain admittance to her presence. Hippolitus came to urge a

proposal which despair only could have suggested. 'Fly,' said he,

'from the authority of a father who abuses his power, and assert the

liberty of choice, which nature assigned you. Let the desperate

situation of my hopes plead excuse for the apparent boldness of this

address, and let the man who exists but for you be the means of saving

you from destruction. Alas! madam, you are silent, and perhaps I have

forfeited, by this proposal, the confidence I so lately flattered

myself I possessed. If so, I will submit to my fate in silence, and

will to-morrow quit a scene which presents only images of distress to

my mind.' Julia could speak but with her tears. A variety of strong and

contending emotions struggled at her breast, and suppressed the power

of utterance. Ferdinand seconded the proposal of the count. 'It is

unnecessary,' my sister, said he, 'to point out the misery which

awaits you here. I love you too well tamely to suffer you to be

sacrificed to ambition, and to a passion still more hateful. I now

glory in calling Hippolitus my friend--let me ere long receive him as

a brother. I can give no stronger testimony of my esteem for his

character, than in the wish I now express. Believe me he has a heart

worthy of your acceptance--a heart noble and expansive as your

own.'--