Matilda, fearing that he would awake, again concealed herself. She was mistaken, for, on looking again, he still slept. She still gazed upon his countenance. The visions of his sleep were changed, for tears came fast from under his eyelids, and a deep sigh burst from his bosom. Thus passed several days: Matilda still watched with most affectionate assiduity by the bedside of the unconscious Verezzi. The physician declared that his patient’s mind was yet in too irritable a state to permit him to see Matilda, but that he was convalescent. One evening she sat by his bedside, and gazing upon the features of the sleeping Verezzi, felt unusual softness take possession of her soul--an indefinable and tumultuous emotion shook her bosom--her whole frame thrilled with rapturous ecstasy, and seizing the hand which lay motionless beside her, she imprinted on it a thousand burning kisses. “Ah, Julia! Julia! is it you?” exclaimed Verezzi, as he raised his enfeebled frame; but perceiving his mistake, as he cast his eyes on Matilda, sank back, and fainted. Matilda hastened with restoratives, and soon succeeded in recalling to life Verezzi’s fleeted faculties. CHAPTER VIII. Art thou afraid To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteemest the ornament of life, Or live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting _I dare not_ wait upon _I would_?--Macbeth. For love is heaven, and heaven is love. --_Lay of the Last Minstrel._ The soul of Verezzi was filled with irresistible disgust, as, recovering, he found himself in Matilda’s arms. His whole frame trembled with chilly horror, and he could scarcely withhold himself from again fainting. He fixed his eyes upon the countenance--they met hers--an ardent fire, mingled with a touching softness, filled their orbits. In a hurried and almost inarticulate accent, he reproached Matilda with perfidy, baseness, and even murder. The roseate colour which had tinged Matilda’s cheek, gave place to an ashy hue--the animation which had sparkled in her eye, yielded to a confused expression of apprehension, as the almost delirious Verezzi uttered accusations he knew not the meaning of; for his brain, maddened by the idea of Julia’s death, was whirled round in an ecstasy of terror. Matilda seemed to have composed every passion; a forced serenity overspread her features, as, in a sympathising and tender tone, she entreated him to calm his emotions, and giving him a temporary medicine, left him. She descended to the saloon. “Ah! he yet despises me--he even hates me,” ejaculated Matilda. “An irresistible antipathy--irresistible, I fear, as my love for him is ardent, has taken possession of his soul towards me. Ah! miserable, hapless being that I am! doomed to have my fondest hope, my brightest prospect, blighted.”