As she thought of the events of the day, her heart was dilated by tumultuous, yet pleasurable emotions. She conjectured that were Verezzi to recover, of which she now entertained but little doubt, she might easily erase from his heart the boyish passion which before had possessed it; might convince him of the folly of supposing that a first attachment is fated to endure for ever; and, by unremitting assiduity in pleasing him--by soft, quiet attentions, and an affected sensibility, might at last acquire the attainment of that object for which her bosom had so long and so ardently panted. Soothed by these ideas, and willing to hear from the physician’s mouth a more explicit affirmation of Verezzi’s safety than his looks had given, Matilda rose, for the first time since his illness, and, unseen by Verezzi, approached the physician--“Follow me to the saloon,” said Matilda. The physician obeyed, and, by his fervent assurances of Verezzi’s safety and speedy recovery, confirmed Matilda’s fluctuating hopes. “But,” added the physician, “though my patient will recover if his mind be unruffled, I will not answer for his re-establishment should he see you, as his disorder, being wholly on the mind, may be possibly augmented by----” The physician paused, and left Matilda to finish the sentence; for he was a man of penetration and judgment, and conjectured that some sudden and violent emotion, of which she was the cause, occasioned his patient’s illness. This conjecture became certainty, as, when he concluded, he observed Matilda’s face change to an ashy paleness. “May I not watch him--attend him?” inquired Matilda, imploringly. “No,” answered the physician; “in the weakened state in which he now is, the sight of you might cause immediate dissolution.” Matilda started, as if overcome by horror at the bare idea, and promised to obey his commands. The morning came--Matilda arose from a sleepless couch, and with hopes yet unconfirmed, sought Verezzi’s apartment. She stood near the door listening. Her heart palpitated with tremendous violence as she listened to Verezzi’s breathing--every sound from within alarmed her. At last she slowly opened the door, and, though adhering to the physician’s directions in not suffering Verezzi to see her, she could not deny herself the pleasure of watching him, and busying herself in little offices about his apartment. She could hear Verezzi question the attendant collectedly, yet as a person who was ignorant where he was, and knew not the events which had immediately preceded his present state. At last he sank into a deep sleep. Matilda now dared to gaze on him: the hectic colour which had flushed his cheek was fled, but the ashy hue of his lips had given place to a brilliant vermilion. She gazed intently on his countenance. A heavenly, yet faint smile diffused itself over his countenance--his hand slightly moved.