“Dear Florinda:-I am more and more convinced of the propriety of the course I have urged upon you.  You say that such a plan may jeopardize your largo property.  This is a mistake, I am fully convinced; and even were it otherwise, what need we care for wealth, if we are sure for a sufficiency for life, and of each other’s love?  I am highly gratified, dearest, that you have at length consented to this arrangement.  I will, in the meantime, make all necessary arrangements for our journey.  I count the moments until we shall meet again.  Guard your health, dear Florinda, and believe me, Devotedly yours, Carlton.”

Carlton then proceeded immediately to perfect his plan, and to make all necessary arrangements for the proposed elopement, and in another letter to Signora Florinda, he made all preliminary arrangements with her also, so that there might be no misunderstanding in the case.

It was night, and the pale moon, as if in a fickle mood, was smiling and scowling by turns, as the fleecy clouds hurried swiftly past her.  The fitful and sudden glances of light appeared doubly bright from the transient shadows made by the officious clouds.  They, deeming that the moon took too much credit to herself as queen’ of light for the hour, designed apparently to let her know that she reigned only at their will and pleasure.

Now bursting through their veiling power, the moon would for a moment cast long deep shadows down the narrow streets, and here and there would light up for an instant some antique palace front with dazzling richness, and as quickly die away again, as though it were at play with the earth.  It was difficult in this alternating of light and darkness to use the eye so as to discern objects with certainty; and an individual could with difficulty be recognized between the changes, however near he might be to the observer.  The character of the night was wild and threatening-a night for evil deeds.

The gates of the city of Florence were just closing, and the gathering clouds had entirely obscured the light of the moon, as a caleche-and-four, with an extra postilion, dashed off from the Borg’ ognisanti, on the mountain-road towards Bologna.  The inmates of the vehicle exchanged not a word.  The female seemed to be affrighted at the headlong speed with which the double team drew the light caleche up the mountain’s side, while a postilion sat so near, and the attendant at the lady’s side, together seemed an excuse for the silence, even if they were that which any one would have pronounced them, a runaway couple.

Anon the gentleman would offer some polite attention to his companion, but without the exchange of a syllable; and, indeed, words could hardly have been heard at the rate they were driving through the dark, on account of the loud noise of the wheels and horses’ feet among the stones and uneven soil of the rising ground.  On rolled the vehicle with the speed of the wind—­every one knows how Florentine horses can go when they have a mind to-until at length it pulled up at a highland roadside inn of most uninviting character.  The lady was immediately assisted in silence from the vehicle, and scarcely had they entered the low, dark parlor of the inn before the gentleman whispered to her: