when the rings were exchanged, had been uttered precisely at the hour and minute of the poor girl’s death. He was forced also to believe, however unwillingly, that the unknown lady had been his forsaken Clara’s ghost, and this thought deprived him at times of all self-possession. Henceforward, he always carried the letter about with him, and sometimes drew it unconsciously from his pocket, and stared at its agonizing pages. Even Camilla’s presence could not always prevent this,—and as she of course ascribed his agitation to the paper which he thus impolitely and silently perused, she availed herself of an opportunity when he had let it drop on the floor, and seemed quite lost in thought, to examine, without ceremony, what had caused him such distress. Felippo did not awake from his reverie, till she had perused the letter, and was folding it up with her countenance deadly pale, so that she must have fully understood her own painful situation. He then threw himself at her feet in a mood of the sincerest anguish and repentance—conjuring her to tell him what he now ought to do. ‘Only let your affection for me be more constant than it was for this poor unfortunate,’ said Camilla;
