“I shall be once more permitted to enter your prison,” resumed Charney, repeating the last sentence. “Are you not happy in such a prospect? Are you not overjoyed?” continued Teresa. “Pause a moment, to consider the good tidings I have thus announced! Do not hurry on towards the conclusion of my letter. Violent emotions are sometimes dangerous. Have I not already said enough? Were an angel to descend from heaven, charged with the accomplishment of our wishes, you would not presume to require more; but I, your child, might venture, ere he reascended to his native skies, _I_ might be tempted to implore your liberation from captivity. At _your_ age, father, it is a cruel thing to be denied the sight of your native country. The banks of our beloved Doria are so beautiful; and in our gardens on the Collina, the trees planted by my poor mother and brother have acquired surprising growth during your absence. There, more than on any other spot, survives the precious memory of those we have lost. “Then, father, there are your friends—the friends who have supported, by their generous efforts, my applications to government. I am sure you regret your absence from them; I am sure you would delight in seeing them again. Oh! father, father! the pen seems to burn in my hand! My secret is about to escape me! It has, probably, already escaped me! You have, doubtless, summoned all your courage to learn definitively that, in a few days, I am about to rejoin you, _not_ to lend my aid in softening your captivity, but to announce its termination; _not_ to be with you at stated hours, and within the walls of a prison; but to carry you away with me in triumph from Fenestrella—free, proud—ay, proud—for you have now a right to resume your pride. Your faithful friends, Cotenna and Delarue, did not rest till they obtained, _not_ your pardon, but your justification. Yes, your innocence is fully recognised by the imperial government. “Farewell, dearest and best of fathers. How I love you! how happy do I feel at this moment! and how much happier shall I be when again folded in your arms! Your own “TERESA.” The letter did not contain a single word in reference to Charney. That word—that hoped-for word—how eagerly did he seek for it in every page and line—how eagerly, and how vainly! Yet, notwithstanding his disappointment, it was a cry of joy that burst from the lips of the Count, when he concluded the letter. “You will soon be free!” cried he; “soon able to rest under the shadow of green trees, and behold the rising of the sun!” “Yes!” replied the old man. “But I am also about to _leave you_! Such is the shadow which precedes my happiness to-day, to prevent my joy from falling into excess.”