advance and maintain objections to which we cannot yield. What passes in conversation with you, father, is sacred; it goes no farther." "Sacred as a confession," said Schedoni, crossing himself.

"I know not," resumed the Marchesa, and hesitated; "I know not,” she repeated in a yet lower voice, "how this girl may be disposed of; and this it is which distracts my mind."

"With opinions so singularly

"I marvel much at that," said Schedoni. just, with a mind so accurate, yet so bold, as you have displayed, is it possible that you can hesitate as to what is to be done? You, my daughter, will not prove yourself one of those ineffectual declaimers, who can think vigorously but cannot act so. One way only remains for you to pursue in the present instance; it is the same which your superior sagacity pointed out and taught me to approve. Is it necessary for me to persuade her by whom I am convinced? There is only one way."

"And on that I have long been meditating," replied the Marchesa; "and-shall I own my weakness?—I cannot yet decide."

"My daughter, can it be possible that you should want courage to soar above vulgar prejudice in action, though not in opinion ?" said Schedoni. "This girl is put out of the way of committing more mischief, of injuring the peace and dignity of a noble family; she is sent to an eternal sleep before her time. Where is the crime, where is the evil of this? On the contrary, you perceive, and you have convinced me, that it is only strict justice, only self defence."

The Marchesa was attentive; and the confessor added, "She is not immortal; and the few years more that might have been allotted to her, she deserves to forfeit, since she would have employed them in cankering the honour of an illustrious house."

"Speak low, father," said the Marchesa, though he spoke almost in a whisper; "the aisles appear solitary, yet some person may lurk behind those pillars. Advise me how this business may be managed; I am ignorant of the particular means."

"There is some hazard in the accomplishment of it, I grant," replied Schedoni; "I know not whom you may confide in. The men who make a trade of blood'

"Hush!" said the Marchesa, looking round through the twilight-" a step!"

"It is the chanting-priest yonder, crossing to the tomb of Bishop Ugo; this is his hour of service," replied Schedoni.

They were watchful for a few moments, and then he resumed the subject. "Mercenaries ought not to be trusted "

"Yet who but mercenaries ?" interrupted the Marchesa, and instantly checked herself. But the question thus implied did not escape the

confessor.

"Pardon my astonishment," said he, "at the inconsistency-or what shall I venture to call it ?—of your opinions. After the acuteness you have displayed on some points, is it possible you can doubt that principle may both prompt and perform the deed? Why should we hesitate to do what we judge to be right?"

"Ah, reverend father," said the Marchesa, with emotion, "but where shall we find another like yourself—another, who not only can perceive with justness, but will act with energy?"

Schedoni was silent.

"This confidence with which you have thought proper to honour me," said he, at length, and paused; "this affair, so momentous

"Ay, this affair," interrupted the Marchesa, in a hurried manner; "but when, and where, good father? Being once convinced, I am anxious to have it settled."

"That must be as occasion offers," replied the monk, thoughtfully. "On the shore of the Adriatic, in the province of Apulia, not far from Manfredonia, is a house that might suit the purpose. It is a lone dwelling on the beach, and concealed from travellers among the forests, which spread for many miles along the coast."

"And the people?" said the Marchesa.

'Ay, daughter, or why travel so far as Apulia? It is inhabited by one poor man, who sustains a miserable existence by fishing; I know him, and could unfold the reasons of his solitary life ;—but no matter, it is sufficient that I know him."

"And would trust him, father?"

"Ay, lady, with the life of this girl, though scarcely with my own."

"How! If he is such a villain, he may not be trusted; think further. But now you objected to a mercenary, yet this man is one!"

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Daughter, he may be trusted, when it is such a case; he is safe and sure. I have reasons to know him."

"Name your reasons, father."

The confessor was silent, and his countenance assumed a very peculiar character; it was more terrible than usual, and overspread with a dark, cadaverous hue of mingled anger and guilt. The Marchesa started involuntarily, as, passing beneath a window, the evening gleam that fell there discovered it; and for the first time she wished that she had not committed herself so wholly to his power. But the die was now cast; it was too late to be prudent; and she again demanded his reason.

"No matter," said Schedoni, in a stifled voice-" she dies."

By his hands?" asked the Marchesa, with strong emotion. "Think once more, father."

They were both once again silent and thoughtful. The Marchesa at length said, "Father, I rely upon your prudence and integrity,"—and she laid a very flattering emphasis on the word "integrity,"-" and I conjure you to let this business be finished quickly-suspense is to me the purgatory of this world-but not to trust the accomplishment of it to a second person." She paused, and then added, "I would not willingly owe so vast a debt of obligation to any other than yourself."

Schedoni, while he detected her meaning, and persuaded himself that he despised the flattery with which she so thinly veiled it, unconsciously suffered his self-love to be soothed by the compliment. He bowed his head in signal of consent to her wish.

"Avoid violence, if that be possible," she added, immediately comprehending him; "but let her die quickly! The punishment is due to the crime." The Marchesa happened, as she said this, to cast her eyes upon the inscription over a confessional; there appeared, in letters of white, these awful words, "GOD HEARS THEE!" It appeared an awful warning. Her countenance changed; it had struck upon her heart. Schedoni was too much engaged by his own thoughts to observe or understand her silence. She soon recovered herself; and, considering that this was a common inscription for confessionals, disregarded what she had at first considered as a peculiar admonition; yet some moments elapsed before she could renew the subject. "You were speaking of a place, father," resumed the Marchesa; “you mentioned a ".