“The priest is here, and will unite us immediately.”

“But why this haste, dear Carlton?” said Florinda, for it was her.

“There is no time to lose,” was the whispered response.

“But should not—­”

“Hush, Florinda!”

“But Carlton—­”

“He is here,” was the whispered interruption.

And in a moment more a priest made his appearance, and, without giving either time to unrobe themselves, had they been so inclined, commenced the marriage service.  The ring was given in that dark room-so dark that the features even of the minister of the church could not be discerned-the prayer was made, and the two were solemnly declared to be husband and wife.  The lady had essayed several times to speak aloud, as we have seen, to express some feeling or wish, and she seemed as if anticipating some encouragement from him she was about to wed; but she was each time hushed by the speed with which everything was done, or by a gentle whisper from her companion.  The ceremony completed, the signora drew back to a chair, overcome by her swift ride, and the emotions that crowded themselves upon her throbbing and trembling heart.

At this moment there entered the apartment the tall figure of a man apparently advanced is years, who, turning his back upon Florinda, conversed for a moment with the bridegroom, then both turning towards Florinda at the moment a couple of lamps were introduced into the room, when lo! she beheld before her Signor Latrezzi, her uncle, and her husband, Petro Giampetti!  With a scream of horror and affright, she fell fainting upon the floor.

The uncle and nephew were both filled with horror, for both believed that they had killed her, as they gazed upon her pale and lifeless form.  Either would lave sacrificed everything to have taken all back again, and restored her to life and happiness.  Can this be thee, Petro Giampetti, trembling like a child-nay, a tear actually wetting that swarthy check, as you chafe the pulse, and bathe the temples of that insensible girl?  And hast thou really so tender a heart, and yet couldst enter into so hard-hearted a conspiracy?  And thou, Signor Latrezzi, well mayst thou hide thy face in thy hands, for thou art the greatest sinner here; thine has been the hand that hath done this; that hath triumphed over this poor girl, whom thou shouldst have protected.

“Holy virgin,” cried Petro, “she’s dead!”

“Say not so,” eagerly exclaimed her uncle.

“God forgive us!” answered Petro.

“Ay, we have need of forgiveness, if we have brought on such extremity,” said the uncle, trying to raise the lifeless head of their inanimate victim.

Leaving the guilty, nephew and uncle for a while, we will take the reader back for a moment in the thread of our story.

CHAPTER XI.

The intercepted letter.