Exhausting as this suffering and exertion must have been, he seemed to gain strength as he proceeded; as if all his powers returned to accomplish this last effort: so the flame of the expiring lamp burns bright for a moment ere it is extinguished. *CHAPTER XIII.* *THE HERMIT’S CONFESSION.* Of all the nobles of Venice, none enjoyed a more general and deserved popularity than Giulio Count della Torre di Fana. The gayest and most gallant of cavaliers, loved by his friends and respected by his enemies, he was the star of the senate, and idol of the people. His wife was beautiful and virtuous; his estates were among the richest, his palaces the most superb, his stud the most fleet and graceful, his assemblies and gondolas the most elegant, and his galleries the most magnificent in Venice! What more was wanting to make him the happiest man in Italy? At the age of twenty Count Giulio espoused Diomida, the niece of John di Cornaro the venerable Doge, then in the 84th year of his age; preferring her to an heiress of the powerful house of Strazoldi, to whom he had been in childhood betrothed. Diomida was then in her seventeenth year, and her beauty not less than|her exalted rank, made her the first lady in Venice. Her mind was not inferior to her charms, which were such as man rarely looks on. O Diomida! even at this distant time, when the silent tomb has so long closed over thee—aye, even now, when looking back through the long dark vista of years of horror, I can recall to memory thy lovely sweetness and majestic beauty: true attributes of thy blood and high descent, which made thee the noble glory of Venetians! For a time after his marriage no man was happier than Count Giulio, and no woman more loving or beloved than Diomida. Proud of each other, their mutual tenderness and devotion appeared to increase every day, and their happiness became a proverb among their friends. If the count returned ruffled in temper by losses at the gaming table, by debates in the senate, by any obstruction opposed to the passage of his gondola on the canal or his train on the steps of the Rialto, the soft voice and gentle smile of Diomida were sure to soothe his fiery spirit; which was easily chafed by trifles into a fury. At the sound of her voice or the pressure of her little hand, the gloom vanished from his haughty brow, and the annoyance was forgotten: Diomida was formed for love and delight, and anger fled from her presence. The count doted on the noble girl whom he had taken to his bosom, and enthroned in his palace: his affection had no equal save her own. His innocent bride was supremely happy; giddy with joys that were too bright to last. She saw not the storm that was gathering in the distance, and which, urged by the power of her evil genius, was so soon to overwhelm her.