 have lost an excellent teacher of philosophy."

"Do you think so? Why, the fact is thus, Abellino. I was educated in a monastery; my father was a dignified prelate in Lucca, and my mother a nun of the Ursuline order, greatly respected for her chastity and devotion. Now, Signor, it was thought fitting that I should apply closely to my studies; my father, good man, would fain have made me a light of the Church; but I soon found that I was better qualified for an incendiary's torch. I followed the bent of my genius, yet count I not my studies thrown away, since they taught me more philosophy than to tremble at phantoms created by my own imagination. Follow my example, friend, and so farewell."

CHAPTER V: SOLITUDE.

Abellino had already passed six weeks in Venice, and yet, either from want of opportunity, or of inclination, he had suffered his daggers to remain idle in their sheaths. This proceeded partly from his not being as yet sufficiently acquainted with the windings and turnings, the bye-lanes and private alleys of the town, and partly because he had hitherto found no customers, whose murderous designs stood in need of his helping hand.

This want of occupation was irksome to him in the extreme; he panted for action, and was condemned to indolence.

With a melancholy heart did he roam through Venice, and number every step with a sigh. He frequented the public places, the taverns, the gardens, and every scene which was dedicated to amusement. But nowhere could he find what ho sought—tranquillity.

One evening he had loitered beyond the other visitants in a public garden, situated on one of the most beautiful of the Venetian islands. He strolled from arbour to arbour, threw himself down on the sea-shore, and watched the play of the waves as they sparkled in the moonshine.

"Four years ago," said he, with a sigh, "just such a heavenly evening was it, that I stole from Valeria's lips the first kiss, and heard from Valeria's lips for the first time the avowal that she loved me."

He was silent, and abandoned himself to the melancholy recollections which thronged before his mind's eye.

Everything around him was so calm, so silent! Not a single zephyr sighed among the blades of grass; but a storm raged in the bosom of Abellino.

"Four years ago could I have believed that a time would come when I should play the part of a bravo in Venice! Oh, where
