Verezzi’s whole frame was agitated by unwonted and ardent emotions. He called Matilda his wife--in the delirium of sudden fondness, he clasped her to his bosom--“and though love like ours,” exclaimed the infatuated Verezzi, “wants not the vain ties of human laws, yet, that our love may want not any sanction which could possibly be given to it, let immediate orders be given for the celebration of our union.” Matilda exultingly consented; never had she experienced sensations of delight like these: the feelings of her soul flushed in exulting glances from her fiery eyes. Fierce, transporting triumph filled her soul as she gazed on her victim, whose mildly-beaming eyes were now characterised by a voluptuous expression. Her heart beat high with transport: and as they entered the castella, the swelling emotions of her bosom were too tumultuous for utterance. Wild with passion, she clasped Verezzi to her beating breast; and, overcome by an ecstasy of delirious passion, her senses were whirled round in confused and inexpressible delight. A new and fierce passion raged likewise in Verezzi’s breast; he returned her embrace with ardour, and clasped her in fierce transports. But the adoration with which he now regarded Matilda, was a different sentiment from that chaste and mild emotion which had characterised his love for Julia: that passion, which he had fondly supposed would end but with his existence, was effaced by the arts of another. Now was Matilda’s purpose attained--the next day would behold her his bride--the next day would behold her fondest purpose accomplished. With the most eager impatience, the fiercest anticipation of transport, did she wait for its arrival. Slowly passed the day, and slowly did the clock toll each lingering hour as it rolled away. The following morning at last arrived: Matilda arose from a sleepless couch--fierce, transporting triumph flashed from her eyes as she embraced her victim. He returned it--he called her his dear and ever-beloved spouse; and, in all the transports of maddening love, declared his impatience for the arrival of the monk who was to unite them. Every blandishment--every thing which might dispel reflection, was this day put in practice by Matilda. The monk at last arrived: the fatal ceremony--fatal to the peace of Verezzi--was performed. A magnificent feast had been previously arranged: every luxurious viand, every expensive wine, which might contribute to heighten Matilda’s triumph, was present in profusion. Matilda’s joy, her soul-felt triumph, was too great for utterance--too great for concealment. The exultation of her inmost soul flashed in expressive glances from her scintillating eyes, expressive of joy intense--unutterable. Animated with excessive delight, she started from the table, and seizing Verezzi’s hand, in a transport of inconceivable bliss, dragged him in wild sport and varied movements to the sound of swelling and soul touching melody.