“Viola-my long sought love-where, where is she?”

“She stands before you!” said a thrilling voice, while Teresa, now divested of her disguise, stood with clasped hands, eagerly gazing at Da Vinci, her long, bright golden curls enveloping her as with a veil.  In an instant Da Vinci, recovering from his overwhelming surprise, had folded her to his heart.  Viola, as we must now call her, after an instant’s silence, disengaged herself, saying;

“We must not forget that we can never be more than friends, Leonarde.”

“Never more than friends, Viola!  Why do you not know that you are free?”

“Free!  What is it you mean?”

“Is it possible you still believe yourself Brandini’s wife?”

“Believe myself!  Am I not?”

“No, my own dearest Viola!  It was no priest who performed that ceremony.  Two years since, a dying man confessed that for a large sum he had assumed the character of a minister of God, and performed a mock marriage between Brandini and yourself.  Your father and I have been seeking you ever since your flight, and at last our dearest wish is granted.”

“You are sure he will forgive me?”

“Forgive you!  He has sought for you with the blessed hope of clasping you once more in his arms before he died-for years, O Viola, we have all suffered deeply.”

“We have, indeed, but now—­” a shudder passed over her as she clung closer to Da Vinci, on hearing a quick footstep in the hall.  Another moment and Brandini was face to face with Leonarde.  We leave the scene that followed to the reader’s imagination; the torrent of rage which Villani poured forth, together with the fatigue she had lately undergone, caused Teresa to faint in Da Vinci’s arms, when Brandini, finding his villany was discovered, made a hasty retreat.  A message was despatched for the Duke di Castiglioni, and in an hour Viola was in his arms, and receiving his fall and free pardon.

A week afterward the now united family were leaving Havana, the scene of so much grief and joy.  Teresa stood on the steamer’s deck, with her husband gazing at the city, when the pilot came on board.

“Quite an affair came off last night,” he said to the captain; “an Italian gentleman, Signor Brandini, who ran through a splendid property in his own country and was a spendthrift here was found dead-blew out his brains-it was supposed to be some love affair that caused it.”

Teresa’s cheek turned very pale, as she hid her face on Da Vinci’s shoulder, who whispered: 

“So ends the last scene in the dark drama of thy past.  Look up, my Viola!  The clouds are passed, and sunshine is over all.”

[From “The flag of our union.”]

The artist of Florence.

By James de Mille.