You shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work.

-Hamlet.

NIGHT came, and Florinda counted the moments as they passed,
anxiously awaiting the time at which she must leave the palace to
meet Carlton, according to his last directions. The time so
anxiously anticipated at length arrived, and stealing from a private
entrance to the Palazzo, accompanied by a faithful female servant,
who had been her attendant for years, she hurried on foot to the
designated spot. She had shrewdly avoided the employment of a
vehicle, deeming it more safe and expeditious thus to make the
passage to the spot on foot.

There was one of the most delicate and high-born beauties of all
Tuscany wending her way through the dark and deserted streets,
attended by a single female as helpless as herself. She was doing
this for the love she bore to Carlton; she was risking thus her
character, and perhaps even her life, to be united to him she loved,
the gallant Americano. On she sped, now half-running, and now
retiring within the deep shade of some projecting angle of the
palaces that lined the route, thus to screen herself from the
observation of some passer-by.

The gate was reached at the precise moment. There stood, wrapped