She hastily crossed the bridge. She entered the fields on the right--the Danube, whose placid stream was scarcely agitated by the wind, reflected her symmetrical form, as, scarcely knowing what direction she pursued, Matilda hastened along its banks. Sudden horror, resistless despair, seized her brain, maddened as it was by hopeless love. “What have I to do in this world, my fairest prospect blighted, my fondest hope rendered futile?” exclaimed the frantic Matilda, as, wound up to the highest pitch of desperation, she attempted to plunge herself into the river. But life fled; for Matilda, caught by a stranger’s arm, was prevented from the desperate act. Overcome by horror, she fainted. Some time did she lie in a state of torpid insensibility, till the stranger, filling his cup with water, and sprinkling her pallid countenance with it, recalled to life the miserable Matilda. What was her surprise, what was her mingled emotion of rapture and doubt, when the moonbeam disclosed to her view the countenance of Verezzi, as in anxious solicitude he bent over her elegantly-proportioned form! “By what chance,” exclaimed the surprised Verezzi, “do I see here La Contessa di Laurentini? Did not I leave you at your Italian castella? I had hoped you would have ceased to persecute me, when I told you that I was irrevocably another’s.” “Oh, Verezzi!” exclaimed Matilda, casting herself at his feet, “I adore you to madness--I love you to distraction. If you have one spark of compassion, let me not sue in vain--reject not one who feels it impossible to overcome the fatal, resistless passion which consumes her.” “Rise, Signora,” returned Verezzi--“rise; this discourse is improper--it is not suiting the dignity of your rank, or the delicacy of your sex: but suffer me to conduct you to yon cottage, where, perhaps, you may deign to refresh yourself, or pass the night.” The moonbeams played upon the tranquil waters of the Danube, as Verezzi silently conducted the beautiful Matilda to the humble dwelling where he resided. Claudine waited at the door, and had begun to fear that some mischance had befallen Verezzi, as, when he arrived at the cottage-door, it was long past his usual hour of return. It was his custom, during those hours when the twilight of evening cools the air, to wander through the adjacent rich scenery, though he seldom prolonged his walks till midnight. He supported the fainting form of Matilda as he advanced towards Claudine. The old woman’s eyes had lately failed her, from extreme age; and it was not until Verezzi called to her that she saw him, accompanied by La Contessa di Laurentini.