If the slight and occasional notice which we have taken of Clara Rivolta’s character and circumstances have conveyed to the minds of our readers those impressions which we have designed that it should convey; they will see that the poor girl, from circumstances over which she had no control, and from a natural timidity and diffidence, had been painfully and severely tried. They will also readily imagine that she had experienced no slight inconvenience from the difference between the religion of her birthplace and the religion of her present home. They will easily imagine that her mind could not be so passionately and fervently devoted to the old religion as was the mind of her mother; and they will also be able to apprehend that she could not be very hostile to the faith which Markham professed. Now, though Signora Rivolta was a woman of good natural understanding, of great discernment, and of strong mind; and though she could reason well and talk liberally, yet she had by constitutional temperament a strong tincture of fanaticism. Her mind was naturally enthusiastic; and though fanaticism and enthusiasm may be managed with a better grace in minds of an exalted character than in those of inferior powers, yet where these feelings do exist in strong and superior minds they are exceedingly obstinate and unchangeable. It was therefore with no agreeable feelings that Signora Rivolta had contemplated the possibility, and indeed the great probability, that her daughter would give her hand to a Protestant. A conversation which the mother of Clara once had with Lady Woodstock on this subject by no means reconciled her to the anticipation. The substance of the conversation was as follows: Lady Woodstock had prevailed with Clara for two or three successive Sundays to attend with her at Mr. Henderson’s chapel; and on their return from the chapel one morning, Lady Woodstock observing that Signora Rivolta looked unusually morose, addressed her as if her ill looks were from mere bodily indisposition. “My dear Signora, I am afraid you are not well this morning.” “Lady Woodstock, I am unwell; but it is the malady of mind. I am not pleased that my daughter should forsake the religion in which she was educated. I have not seen in this country sufficient proofs that the Protestant religion is so superior to the Catholic, as to make me wish that my daughter should renounce the faith of her native land.” Lady Woodstock was not one of those good-humored people who are never out of humor except when they are displeased: her good-humor was perpetual; and it was by no means her habit to snatch eagerly at an opportunity of being affronted. With the greatest cheerfulness of manner, therefore, she replied to this pettish speech of Signora Rivolta.