Astonished and indignant, Valeria was about to tear this insulting epistle to atoms, when the door gently opened; and Signora Almeda glided in. “Ah! my charming guest,” she whispered, with forced friendship, “what now? Mercy, you seem like one who had just caught sight of an apparition! Dear me! what’s the matter?” “Matter!” cried Valeria, fired with shame and indignation, “read!—but no—the insult must not be known!” “Heavens! a letter—Ah, I guess the contents!” She snatched it playfully, and read with apparent surprise—what she had herself written! The result was such as might be expected. Valeria was peremptorily forbidden the house. Her character was blasted—her happiness destroyed! In this melancholy situation, Marco Da Vinci found her, when after a long and indefatigable search, he succeeded in tracing her to the residence of Signora Almeda. With all the ardor and sincerity of his character, Da Vinci had determined on bringing his fate to a speedy close, either by wedding the object of his affection, or by bidding her farewell forever. The critical situation in which he found her, immediately determined him to adopt the former course, if possible. He had, since his triumph at the Academy of Arts, attained some eminence; and his circumstances were now in a favorable condition. Valeria had many objections to the course proposed; but on the one hand poverty—perhaps beggary would be her lot; while on the other the importunities of Da Vinci were so urgent as to remove most of the remaining obstacles. After much hesitation she consented to acquiesce in his wishes. The young and loving couple were immediately united. I now return to my own narrative. Nearly a year had elapsed since I was left alone and desolate; when one evening I was astonished to see a female, closely muffled, enter my house. My mind had that day been peculiarly embittered against my daughter, and she was even now the subject of my thoughts. Great, indeed, was my astonishment, when the apparent stranger flung herself in a kneeling posture before me, and casting off her disguise revealed to my sight the faded lineaments of Valeria! “Father!” she cried, “forgive me!—forgive the partner of my misery! We are ruined by a reverse of fortune—we are beggars! Distress has deprived us of pride! We seek your pardon!” “Curse you!” I shouted, spurning her with my foot, “you demand pardon do you? Begone! Pardon, eh? Begone!” I thundered; and I pushed her violently toward the door. She fell. Her head struck a bureau; and the warm blood spouted from the gash. Had I reflected on the delicacy of her situation, it is probable I might have felt compassion enough to let her pass unmolested; but the deed was done. I did not regret it. My vengeance for the series of disappointments she had caused me was satiated. (To be Continued.) Louisville, Kentucky, February, 1841. * * * * *