Let us pass over an hour or two. The men had been dispersed to their quarters and the proper guard set; a light meal had been taken, and the country wine tasted; the maids had found lodging, and were amusing themselves in various ways, with which neither the writer nor the reader has aught to do; Signora Mariana, like a discreet dame, was dosing in an upper chamber, and Lorenzo and Leonora were seated together in the little saloon at the back of the house, with the foliage trailing over the window and its verandah, and a small but neat garden stretching out down a little slope. They were alone together; the dream was realised; and what if they gave way to young, passionate love as far as honour and virtue permitted. His arm was round her; the first kiss had been given and repeated; the beautiful head rested on his bosom, and heart had been poured into heart in the words which only passion can dictate and youth supply. Ah! they were very beautiful and very happy! and the attitude into which they had cast themselves was such as painters might copy, but not the most graceful fancy could imagine. It was full of love, and confidence, and nature. As they sat, they were somewhat startled for a moment by the sound of a lute played apparently in the garden; but it was not very near, and the tones were so rich and full, the skill of the player so exquisite, that instead of alarming the timidity of young love, they only added to "the loving languor which is not repose" which before possessed them. After listening for a moment, and gazing forth through the open window, they resumed their previous attitude, and continued their conversation. Leonora's beautiful head again lay on Lorenzo's bosom, with her look turned upward to his face, while he gazed down into her eyes--those wells of living light--with his head bowed over her, as if the next moment his lips would stoop for a kiss: and now and then a grave earnest look would come upon their faces, while the words came sometimes thick and fast, sometimes ceased altogether, in the intensity of happiness and feeling. What made Lorenzo look suddenly up at the end of about a quarter of an hour, he himself could not tell; but the moment he turned his eyes to the window he started and laid his hand upon his sword. But then a voice of extraordinary melody exclaimed, "Do not move! for Heaven's sake, do not move! Alas! you have lost it; you can never assume that pose again; but, thank Heaven, I can remember it, with what I have already done."