were the Bardi behind in proper feelings of hatred. What was to be
done? There was but one Dianora--but one Hyppolito in the world; so
have many wise young people thought of each other both before and
since the days of the Ghibelines; but these two might be excused for
thinking so, for many who saw them were of the same opinion. To
part--what was the world to them if they were parted? Their station,
their years, their tastes--so removed from noisy and frivolous
pleasures--their virtuous characters, seemed to point out that they
were born for each other. What divided them? One only point--the
adverse political feelings of their families. Shall they sacrifice
themselves to these? No. Thus reasoned Hyppolito; but we think the
chronicles exaggerate the virtues of Dianora's character; for how many
a girl unchronicled by fame has, before the still tribunal of her own
sense of duty to God and her parents, sacrificed her dearest hopes
rather than offend them; and this, with all her heroism, Dianora did
not, but gave up all these dear early claims for her new love.

Delays were needless, for time could do nothing to smooth their path;
so it was determined that Hyppolito should bring a ladder to Dianora's
window, and, aided by their friend, they should find their way to a
priest prepared to give them his blessing. The night appointed
came--still and beautiful as heart could wish; the stars sparkling in
the deep blue sky, bright as they may now be seen in that fair clime.
Hyppolito has reached the house; he has fixed the ladder of ropes;
there is no moon to betray him; in a minute, his light step will have
reached the balcony. But there is a noise in the street, and lights
approaching; the night-guard is passing; they have seen the ladder,
for the street is narrow. Hyppolito is down, and tries to escape--in
vain. They seize and drag him to prison. What was he doing there? What
can he reply? That he meant to enter the house, to carry something