a pleasure in once more, after lengthened solitude,
being the subject of that sweet, reverent adoration ;
and she had inspired him with an unspeakable com-
passion for her fate, which could not let him muse
without anxiety upon that fate's inevitable future.
There had been a time when the lavishness of his
gifts and the influence of his word could have lifted
her into happiness as easily as a flower is transplanted
into sunlight from the shade ; but that time was far
away. He felt the hardest pang of poverty to those
of generous nature : he had nothing to give.
He had offered the promise, and he would redeem it, because she was motherless and defenceless, and therefore sacred to him ; but he stood and looked at the flower-crowned painting w^ith a pang of regret.
"It is a harsh mercy that he asks of me," he thought ; " and yet what else should be the end ? Love is no toy for me now ; and she is worthier of a happier fate than to be the passing fancy, the consola- tion of an horn', to a worn and wearied life."
On the morrow, ere the sun was high, he was far from Vallombrosa.
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON :
PniXTKU BY C. IVHITING, LKACFORT HOUSE, STKAND.
