stances were, for certain reasons, kept as private as possible. Besides, it happened about a year ago, when you had already set out on your travels.’
“Now for my story.—The son of a very rich nobleman, whom I shall now designate only by his Christian name Felippo, had, during his residence at Leghorn, which town he had visited on account of some inheritance that devolved on him, paid his addresses to a beautiful young girl—obtained the consent of her relations—and, being for the present under the necessity of revisiting Venice, he promised that he would, in a very short time, come again to Leghorn, in order to celebrate a marriage with his beloved Clara. Their attachment seemed mutual, and their parting was even frightfully solemn. After they had exhausted the power of words in reciprocal protestations and vows, Felippo invoked the avenging powers of darkness to bring destruction on his own head if he should be unfaithful, and wished that his intended bride should not even find rest in the grave if he deserted her, but follow him still to claim his love, and extort it from him in another world. When these words were uttered, Clara’s parents
