The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1850-02-14

ne looked upon the lovely creature before
him, that made an involuntary shudder
pass over her frame; and when he took her
by the hand, and, as her uncle kissed her
cheek, the warm blood rose up in it, and
she thought of the warning she had receiv-
ed, and of him who Ihad given it.
The Duke was not long ere he spoke
upon that theme which she most dreaded
to hear; but he spoke not in terms which
might have been most painful to her. He
traced 1t as but matter of court necessity;
he talked of his marriage with her as a
thing that would benefit the state. Prin-
ces, he said, must be the slaves of their du-
ties, and though he doubted not that TO one
so young and beautiful as herself it must
be somewhat painful to unite herself to
a man in the decline of life, yet he was
sure she would make no opposition to
that which would set at rest forever, all
the contending claims on Mantua and
Montlerret --
So well and wisely had her unknown
counsellor hitherto advised her, that Mary
followed his directions in this also to a
letter. She showed no repugnance, but
! bending down her head with the ingenious
blush of modesty upon her cheeks she re-
pleased; perhaps it was more than he ex-
pected, and he replied with sanguine ex-
pectation that his divorce would not be
long delayed, after which a dispensation
would be easily obtained. There was
but one thing which Mary besought
him earnestly to grant, which was, that
she might return on the morrow to the
convent where she passed her early
days.
The Duke consented; but while he spoke
| the old attendant, who had ever remained
attached to her, was admitted by page,
and bending low he related TO the Duke
| the adventure which had befalIen them on
the way, and commented bitterly on the
! treachery of their driver. The Duke sent
for his secretary and whispered word in
his ear; and as he was leading Mary to the
hall where supper waited them, there came
through the windows the sound of a loud
volley and one shrill piercing cry. The
Duke moved gracefully on by her side
without change countenance, but Ma
ry turned deadly pale, and on the follow
ing morning another servant drove the
vehicle that contained her, back 10 the
convent.
1t was about noon when she arrived,
and the busy nuns surrounded her like
swarm of bees. They were all eager
to hear tidings from without, but they
were soon satisfied; and at the same even
ing hour at which on the day bsfore she
had watched the fair prospect of the
Mantua plains, she again stood by the
table of stone in the convent garden, and
the stranger was by her side. She
thanked him eagerly and often, gazed up
on the bright and glowing countenance
:hat gazed with tender admiration upon her
again.
"Have | not won my reward!' he said.
Mary replied not, but cast down her
eyes with blush. The stranger bent
over her and with the tenderness of love
chastened by respect, he pressed his lips
to hers.
MARY he said, "Mary, l will win
thee or die. Three more evenings will |
stand by yon old shrine, in the dear hope
of seeing you again, and then my footsteps
must wander from thee far. But [ leave
thee not unmatched, unguarded. My spirit
shall hover round thee though my body
be absent; and | promise, swear in three
months more, even to day, to stand again
in your presence and win YOU for my
bride or die"
There might have been many in Mary's
state and station who would have thought
the stranger bold to believe she might be
so won oy an unknown, and inferior per-
son, and talk as if he were born Eto con-
tend for her hand with princes. But Ma
ry thought not so; feelings that she had
never known before were busiIy possess
ing themselves Of her heart, and though to
feel them they made her thrill with some
thing like apprehension, yet they were
so sweet she would do nothing to Danish |
them. She fingered with him long, and |
he with her, and for three nights more
they met and passed happy hour, GIL /
ded with the dawning brightness of young |
love.
lie left her on the third night with |
painful and anxious farewell; and Ma /
ry now felt how lonely was her state of
being.
The hours flew heavily, the day rolled
on IN care and anxiety-bu: she forgot not
the absent; and every rumor that she heard
of movements at the court Of Rome regar-
ding her uncle's divorce, made her heart
sick. But Vim cenzo himself seemed to
press matters but feebly, and when at
ength the appalling news reached her that
he was free, he showed no inclination 10
profit by that freedom. She then heard