From Colburn's New Monthly Magazine.

her knees. "Giovanni," she added, looking up

THE PUNISHMENT OF GINA MONTANI. eagerly to her husband's face, "do you think there ever was so lovely a babe sent on earth?" He smiled at her earnestness-men are

I.

ERE was much bustle and commotion

Tin the Castle of Visinara. Servitors ran never so rapturously blind in the worship of

"But it grows late," resumed the young mother, "and I suppose we ought to be going. Take the baby to its nurse, Lucrezia," she continued, kissing it fifty times as she resigned it.

The count had drawn behind the Lady Adelaide, where stood Gina. As his eyes happened to fall upon her, he was struck by the pallid sorrow which sat in her countenance. Ill-fated Gina! and he had been so absorbed these last few weeks in his new happiness! A rush of pity, mingled perhaps with selfreproach, flew to his heart. What compensation could he offer her? In that moment he remembered her last words at the interview in his wife's embroidery-room, and gave her a look. It was not to be mistaken. Love— love, pure and tender-gleamed from his eyes, and she answered him with a smile which told of her thanks, and that he was perfectly understood. Had any one been looking on, they could scarcely fail to become aware of their existing passion, and that there was a secret understanding between them.

hither and thither, the tire-maidens stood in their first-born as women. But he stooped groups to gossip with each other, messengers down, and fondly pressed his lips upon her were dispatched in various directions, and forehead, while he played with the little hand skilful leeches and experienced nurses were of the infant; and she yielded to the temptabrought in. Then came a long silence. Voices | tion of suffering her face to rest close to his. were hushed, and footsteps muffled; the apartments of the countess were darkened, and nought was heard save the issued whisper, or the stealthy tread of the sick chamber. The Lady Adelaide was ill. Hours elapsed-hours of intolerable suspense to the Lord of Visinara; and then were heard deep, heartfelt | congratulations; but they were spoken in a whisper, for the lady was still in danger, and had suffered almost unto death. There was born an heir to Visinara. And as Giovanni, Count of Visinara, bent over his child, and embraced his young wife, he felt repaid for all he had suffered in voluntarily severing himself from Gina Montani; and from that time he forgot her, or something very like it. And for this he could not be condemned, for it was in the line of honor and of duty. Yet it was another proof, if one were wanting, of the fickle nature of man's love. It has been well compared to words written on the sands. Many weeks elapsed ere the Lady Adelaide was convalescent; and some more before she ventured to join in the gayeties and festal meetings of the land. A two days' fete, given at the Capella Palace, was the sig-laide's back was towards them, but in the nal for her reappearance in the world. It was to be of great magnificence, rumor ran, and the Lady Adelaide consented to attend it early on the morning of the second day. She placed herself in front of the large mirror in her dressing-chamber while she was prepared for the visit, the same mirror before which she had sat on the evening of her weddingday. The Signora Lucrezia and Gina were alone present. The former was arranging her rich tresses, whilst Gina handed the signora what things she required-combs, and the like. Whilst thus engaged, the count entered, dressed.

"Giovanni," exclaimed Adelaide, "Lucrezia thinks that I should wear something in my hair—a wreath, or my diamond coronet; but I feel tired already, and wish the dressing was over. Need I be teased with ornaments?" My sweet wife, wear what you best like. You need no superficial adorning."

66

And one was looking on. The Lady Ade

large glass before her she had distinctly seen the reflection of all that took place. Her countenance became white as death, and her anger was terrible. "You may retire for the present," she said, in a calm, subdued tone, to the startled Gina, upon whose mind flashed somewhat of the truth; "and tell the Signora Lucrezia not to return until I call for her."

To describe the scene that ensued would be difficult. The shock to the young wife's feelings had been very great. That her husband was faithless to her, not only in deed but in heart, she doubted not. It was in vain he endeavored to explain all; she listened to him not. She thought he was uttering falsehoods, which but increased his treachery. Gina had once spoken of her fierce jealousy, but what was hers compared with the Lady Adelaide's? In the midst of her explosions of passion, Lucrezia, who had either not received, or "You hear, Lucrezia: make haste and fin- misunderstood, her lady's message by Gina ish my hair. Do not put it in curls to-day; entered. The maiden stood aghast, till, adbraids are less trouble, and sooner done. You monished by a haughty wave of the hand from may put aside the diamond casket, Gina. Oh, the count, she hastened from the room. Lathere's my darling!" continued the countess, ter in the day, the Lord of Visinara quitted hearing the baby pass the door with its nurse. the castle, to pay the promised visit. His "Call him in." The count himself advanced, wife refused to go. Mercy! mercy!" she opened the door, and took his infant. "The exclaimed, in anguish, as she sat alone in her precious, precious child!" exclaimed Adelaide, apartments, "to be thus requited by Giovanni bending over the infant, which he placed on-whom I so loved, my husband! my own hus

VOL. V.-NO. II.-18

as if examining her features. "Never, my | the infinite love and mercy of God keep both daughter, never!" he said, at length, turning you and me from it!"

"My mother wedded with an Italian," an

soil of England, and reared in its Reformed Faith."

to the countess. "I can take upon myself "Thou art hopeless-hopeless!" ejaculated to assert that this damsel of thine has never the monk, sternly. "Yet, another question once appeared before me to be shriven." ere I send thee forth. Where hast thou imExamine her," was the reply of the lady. bibed these deadly doctrines?" "Daughter," said the priest, turning to Gina, "for so I would fain call thee, until as-swered Gina, "but she was born on the free sured that thou canst have no claim to the title, what faith is it that thou professest." Gina raised her hand to her burning temples. She saw that all was discovered. But when she removed it, the perplexity in her face had cleared away, and her resolution was taken. The truth, the truth," she murmured; "for good, or for ill, I will tell it now."

"Hearest thou not?" inquired the priest, somewhat more sternly. "Art thou a child of the True Faith?"

"I am not a Roman Catholic," she answered, timidly, "if you call that faith the true one."

The Lady Adelaide and the priest crossed themselves simultaneously, whilst Gina grasped the arm of the chair against which she was standing. She was endeavoring to steel her heart to bravery; but in those days, and in that country, such a scene was a terrible ordeal.

"Dost thou not worship the One True God," continued the priest, "and acknowledge his Holiness, our Father at Rome, to be His sole representative here?"

"A benighted land-an accursed land!" screamed the priest, vehemently; "the time will come when it shall be deluged from one end to the other with its apostates' blood."

" and

"It is an enlightened land-a free, blessed land!" retorted Gina, in agitation; God's mercy will rest upon it, and keep it powerful amongst nations, so long as its sons remain true to their Reformed Faith."

"Insanity has fallen upon them," raved the monk, endeavoring to drown the bold words of Gina,-"nothing but insanity. But," he added, dropping his voice, "let them beware. Quem Deus vult perdere, prius dementat."

Gina understood not the tongue; but the Lady Adelaide did, and crossed herself.

"And this mother of thine," sneered the monk, turning again to Gina, "where may she be?"

"She is dead," gasped Gina, bursting into tears.

"Good!" assented the monk; "then she is meeting with her deserts."

"God grant she may be!" aspirated the maiden, "for she died in the faith of Christ." "And who have been thy worthy instruc

"I worship the One True God," replied Gina, solemnly, joining her hands in a reverent attitude; "but for the Pope at Rome, Itors since?" proceeded the priest. know him not."

The Lady Adelaide shrieked with aversion and terror, and the pale face of the monk became glowing with the crimson of indignation. "Knowest thou not," he said, “that to the Pope it is given to mediate between earth and heaven?"

"I know," faltered Gina, shrinking at the monk's looks and tone, yet still courageous for the truth, "that there is One Mediator between God and man."

"And he-?"

"Our Saviour."

"Miserable heretic!" scowled the monk, "hast thou yet to learn that of all the living souls this world contains, not one can enter the fold of Heaven without the sanction of our Holy Father, the Pope?"

"I shall never learn it," whispered Gina, "and to me such doctrines savor of blasphemy. Therefore, I beseech you, dilate not on them."

"Lost, miserable wretch!" cried the priest, lifting his hands in dismay. "Need I tell thee, that in the next world there is a place of torture kept for such as thee-a gulf of burning flames, never to be extinguished.

"We are told there is such a place," she answered, struggling with her tears, for the interview was becoming too painful. "May

"I have had but one guide since," answered Gina.

"Disclose the name."
My Bible."

The monk uttered what seemed very like a scream of passion, and the Lady Adelaide, as she heard the words, half rose from her chair.

"Be calm, my daughter," interrupted the monk, waving his hand towards the countess; "I will guard thee from the harm caused by contact with this heretical being. Desire her, I pray thee, to fetch this Book hither, that I may glance at it."

66

Go," cried the Lady Adelaide, imperiously, to Gina; “bring this Bible instantly!"

Gina obeyed, and the sacred volume was placed in the hands of the monk. The Lady Adelaide shrank from touching it.

"Ha!" cried the monk, perceiving it to be printed in the English tongue, "dost thou speak this language, then?"

"It is familiar to me as my own," replied Gina.

"I will summon thy attendants for a light, my daughter," he remarked to the Lady Adelaide. And when one was brought, the priest advanced to a part of the room where the marble floor was uncovered by tapestry, and tearing the leaves from the Book, he set

light to them, till all, both the Old and New Testament, were consumed, and the ashes scattered on the ground. "It is the most dangerous instructor that can be placed in the hands of the people," he observed, complacently watching the black mass smouldering there. And Gina Montani pressed her hands upon her chest, which was throbbing with agitation, but she did not dare to utter a word of remonstrance.

alas! the tongue is an unruly member, and is apt to give utterance in unguarded moments to words against the will."

"Thou hast reason, my child. I but put the question to try thee. I will undertake this business for thee. That evil one's sin has been committed against the Church, and it is fitting that the Church should inflict the punishment."

"Thou wilt cause her to be flung into the moat?" shuddered the Lady Adelaide.

"Oh, father, father!" cried the Lady Adelaide, sinking at his feet, after Gina had been "The moat!" echoed the priest. "Thinkconducted to her chamber, and giving vent est thou, my daughter, that the Church is involuntarily to sobs of agony, "she has dar- wont to carry out her dealings by ordinary ed to come between me and my husband-means? Signal as this woman's sin has been, he has known her long, it seems. If she signal must be her expiation." "Can it be expiated?"

should have tainted him with this black heresy ?"

Never, either in this world or the next. And every moment of delay that we voluntarily make in hurling her to her doom, must draw down wrath on our own heads from the

The Lady Adelaide meekly bowed her head, as if to deprecate any wrath that might just then be falling.

The monk turned as white as the lady's dress at the suggestion. It was enough to make him. That that docile and faithful servant of the Church, the powerful Chief of Visi-saints on high." nara, who was ever ready, at only half a hint, to endow it with valuable offerings and presents entire robes of point lace for the Virgin Mary, and flounces and tuckers for all the female saints in the calendar, not to speak of his donations in hard cash, and his frequent offerings of paintings, most of them representing the popes working miracles, particularly that very pious one, Alexander VI.that he should have had dissent instilled into him, perhaps even been made familiar with the principles of this upstart creed! Had his reverence swooned outright, it would have only been what might be expected.

"It will not be a crime to remove her, father," faltered the Lady Adelaide.

"Crime!" cried the ruffled priest; "canst thou connect the word-in that sense-with so degraded a being?"

แ

To remove her in any way," persisted the lady, in a whisper. "Yet the world might call it MURDER. ""

No punishment in this world is adequate to her sin," answered the monk. "And she must not be suffered to remain in it."

66

Thou wilt then grant me absolution beforehand, holy father," implored the Lady Adelaide.

"And what canst thou do, my child?" resumed the monk, smiling upon the countess. "Thou hast not been used to such work, and wouldst prove a sad novice at it."

"Too true," she uttered; "my heart is trembling now. Indeed, I could think but of one way-the moat. And though the order seems easy enough to give, I fear I should, when the moment came, shrink from issuing it."

And who hast thou in this castle that will do thy bidding in secret and in silence? It were better that this deed were not known: and thou canst not stop tongues, my daughter." "There are many bound to my interests, who would, I believe, lay down their lives for me," deliberated the Lady Adelaide; "yet,

"Thy lady in waiting, Lucrezia, is true, I have reason to believe," continued the monk. "I believe her to be true," answered the Lady Adelaide.

"We may want her co-operation," he concluded, "for I opine that thou, my daughter, wilt not deign to aid in this; neither do I think thou art fitted for it."

III.

THE castle was wrapped in silence, it being past the hour at which the household retired to repose. Gina Montani was in her nightdress, though as yet she had not touched her hair, which remained in long curls, as she had worn it in the day. Suspense and agitation caused her to linger, and she sat at her dressing-table in a musing attitude, her head resting on her hand, wondering what would be the ending to all that the day had brought forth. She had dismissed her attendant some time before. With a deep sigh she rose to continue her preparations for rest, when the door softly opened, and the Signora Lucrezia appeared.

"You need not prepare yourself for bed," she observed, in a low, distinct whisper; "another sort of bed is preparing for you."

"What do you mean?" demanded the startled girl.

"That you are this night to die."
Gina shrieked.

"I may tell you," interrupted the lady, "that screams and resistance will be wholly useless. Your doom is irrevocable, therefore it may save you trouble to be silent."

"You are speaking falsely to me. I have done nothing to deserve death."

་་

Equivocation will be alike unavailing,” repeated Lucrezia. "And if you ask what you have done-you have dared to step with your ill-placed passion between my lord and the Lady Adelaide: you have brought dis