Deeply musing on schemes of future delight--delight established by the gratification of most diabolical revenge, her eyes fixed upon the ground, heedless what path she pursued, Matilda advanced along the forest. A voice aroused her from her reverie--it was Verezzi’s--the well-known, the tenderly-adored tone, struck upon her senses forcibly; she started, and hastening towards him, soon allayed those fears which her absence had excited in the fond heart of her spouse, and on which account he had anxiously quitted the castella to search for her. Joy, rapturous, ecstatic happiness, untainted by fear, unpolluted by reflection, reigned for six days in Matilda’s bosom. Five days passed away, the sixth arrived, and, when the evening came, Matilda, with eager and impatient steps, sought the forest. The evening was gloomy, dense vapours overspread the air; the wind, low and hollow, sighed mournfully in the gigantic pine-trees, and whispered in low hissings among the withered shrubs which grew on the rocky prominences. Matilda waited impatiently for the arrival of Zastrozzi. At last his towering form emerged from an interstice in the rocks. He advanced towards her. “Success! Victory! my Matilda,” exclaimed Zastrozzi, in an accent of exultation--“Julia is----” “You need add no more,” interrupted Matilda: “kind, excellent Zastrozzi, I thank thee; but yet do say how you destroyed her--tell me by what racking, horrible torments you launched her soul into eternity. Did she perish by the dagger’s point? or did the torments of poison send her, writhing in agony, to the tomb?” “Yes,” replied Zastrozzi; “she fell at my feet, overpowered by resistless convulsions. Who more ready than myself to restore the Marchesa’s fleeted senses--who more ready than myself to account for her fainting, by observing, that the heat of the assembly had momentarily overpowered her? But Julia’s senses were fled for ever; and it was not until the swiftest gondola in Venice had borne me far towards your castella, that _il consiglio di dieci_ searched for, without discovering the offender. “Here I must remain; for, were I discovered, the fatal consequences to us both are obvious. Farewell for the present,” added he; “meanwhile, happiness attend you; but go not to Venice.” “Where have you been so late, my love?” tenderly inquired Verezzi as she returned. “I fear lest the night air, particularly that of so damp an evening as this, might affect your health.” “No, no, my dearest Verezzi, it has not,” hesitatingly answered Matilda. “You seem pensive, you seem melancholy, my Matilda,” said Verezzi; “lay open your heart to me. I am afraid something, of which I am ignorant, presses upon your bosom. Is it the solitude of this remote castella which represses the natural gaiety of your soul? Shall we go to Venice?” “Oh! no, no!” hastily and eagerly interrupted Matilda: “not to Venice--we must not go to Venice.”