passing day were to her companions everything, they were to her little
and unsatisfying. For the last few years of her mother's life, whose
habits were meditative and devotional, she had daily listened to the
gracious lessons of divine truth, and the closet of Beatrice Adony was
hallowed by the Eye that seeth in secret, and that often saw her there
upon her knees.

It was on a fine day, in the early spring of 1796, that orders reached
Salzburgh for the march of these Hungarian hussars. They were to
traverse the Tyrol, and to join the army of Italy. They were to march at
sunrise on the following morning; and Count Adony, collecting all the
acquaintances of the corps in the town and neighbourhood, gave the
Hungarian officers a farewell banquet and ball; preparations for which,
in anticipation of their early departure, Beatrice had already directed.

Beatrice was the radiant queen of this fair festival; and it was strange
to think, that from the presence of such a being so many men were going
to part without one lover's pang. Amiable, affable, natural, and full of
grace, she presided over this little court of love--serene, unmoved,
herself. Yet any thoughtful and suspicious observer would have said,
that her heart was not quite at ease; for every now and then, as the
night wore on, her eyes gave less attention to those who spoke with her,
and her thoughts were evidently turning inwards with trouble. The supper
was over--the tastefully decorated table was deserted--and the guests
were again assembled in the ball-room. Fond partners that might never
dance with each other again, stood side by side--hand locked in
hand--and waited for the rising swell of the tender music, to which they
were to dance their last waltz. Beatrice stood up with her cousin Count
Zichy, and deadly pale she looked. The Count and all others thought she
had a headach, and would have had her sit down; but she persisted, with