“I am almost too weak to speak, dear father. Lay thy hand upon my head, and bless me. If I may always think of thee, I will. Near my mother, I will pray for thee--near my mother.” What is this with which he is suddenly stricken; what conviction is growing on his mind as his eyes grow yet wilder, and he grasps his throat with his trembling hand? “My child, do not leave me. Have pity on me, tarry yet a little longer--leave me not in the world alone--oh I--and I am thy father--bid thee stay!” She does not answer. He bends over her, as the dread conviction forces itself upon him. “DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!” He wraps his hands round his head, looks wildly to the lowering sky, and cries:-- “THE CURSE--THE UNDYING CURSE!” Then he speaks no more. Mercy for him as--his breath grows thick--mercy for him as he clasps his helpless hands together prayerfully. Mercy--mercy! His faults are not all his own. He hath but mocked the world as it hath mocked him! Who would not hate where he is scorned? Oh--many are forgiven who have sinned more deeply. See the clasped hands--the bloodless lips. Mercy--mercy! So at last it hath fallen on him--the grace of forgiveness. I PURITANI. (BELLINI.) THE PURITANS. CHAPTER I. Immediately succeeding the execution of Charles I., General Walton was in command of a fortress, then standing not far from Plymouth. One of his officers was his brother, Colonel George Walton. This man loved his brother’s daughter, as many an unmarried uncle will love nephews and nieces, and with an affection almost equal to that of the best of fathers! And it is also true that this daughter, Elvira, loved her uncle even more than she loved her own father, the general. This young lady was promised in marriage, to a puritan officer, Captain Richard Forth, but it may be stated that she herself had favored the pretentions of Lord Arthur Talbot, a strong, unyielding royalist. Just after the death of Charles the First, a lady arrived at the fortress, and was received by General Walton as the friend of his daughter--the friend of his daughter only in this, that a dear friend had recommended the unknown lady to his care. She called herself Madame Henrietta, and no more. They thought her a French lady--and indeed her slightly imperfect English proved her to be a foreigner. But they asked no questions. She was franked by the dear friend, and so she was made welcome. She soon became the companion of Elvira, who, young and light-headed, would kiss, torment, and delight this unknown lady, all within a minute. And thus things were when the General gave way to the united entreaties of his brother and Madame Henrietta, and recalled the promise of his daughter’s hand to the Puritan Colonel. Imagine the curtain of our story drawn up, and what do you see? A platform of the fortress, the solemn sentries walking to and fro. The sun rises, and then these honest, straightforward religious puritans, sing their usual morning hymn.