Anger is said to be a revolution of the blood about the heart, which warms up at sight of the object which inflamed it, and sometimes with the bare recollection of the offence. It hath for its final goal and resting place, vengeance, which, when it is taken upon the offender with or without reason, calms the ire. This would lead us to suppose the beautiful Ruperta passionate and vindictive, and with so strong a desire to be revenged upon her enemy, that even if she knew that he was dead, her hatred would extend to his descendants, of whom she would not wish to leave one alive, for the wrath of a woman is boundless.

The hour came when the pilgrims were to see her, themselves unseen. They saw her extremely lovely, with a long and flowing white veil, which reached from her head to her feet, as she was seated before a table, on which was placed the head of her murdered lord in its silver case, the sword that had deprived him of life, and a shirt, which was all stained with his blood.

All these melancholy memorials reawakened her anger, which needed no arousing, for it never slept; she arose from her seat, and putting her right hand upon the head, she began to renew the vow of which the mourning squire had told them; showers of tears rained from her eyes, enough to have bathed the sad relics in, sighs burst from her heart, which filled the air far and near; to the usual form of her vow she added words of more intense hatred, so that at times it almost seemed as if fire instead of tears sparkled in her eyes, and from her mouth proceeded smoke instead of sighs, such a slave was she to her passionate desire for revenge—see her weep, see her sigh, see her beside herself, see her brandish the murderous steel, see her kiss the bloodstained shirt, and hear the sobs that impede her words; but, wait only till the morrow, and you will see things that would give you something to talk of for a thousand years, if you were to live so long.

Ruperta was still in the midst of her passionate grief, when one of her attendants entered like a dark phantom, for he was clad in deep mourning vestments, and, in trembling accents, he said,

"Lady, the son of your enemy has just alighted with several servants at the door of this inn, Croriano, the gallant, as he is called. Think whether it is your pleasure to discover your being here to him, and if you wish he should know it, or what you like to do, whilst you have time to consider it."

"Let him know nothing about my being here," answered Ruperta; "and warn all my servants that they take care not to mention my name, nor discover me to him."

So saying, she gathered up her tokens, and commanded the room to be closed, and that no one should enter it.

The pilgrims returned to theirs; she remained alone and very thoughtful. I cannot tell how it came to be known that she spoke aloud to the following effect, but so it was, in these, or very nearly these, words:—

"Behold now, O Ruperta, how Heaven in its justice has brought hither, like a victim to the sacrifice, the very soul of thine enemy; for sons, and most of all, an only son, are like a part of their father's self. Forget, O Ruperta, that thou art a woman, and if thou canst not forget that, then think that thou art a justly incensed one, and that thy husband's blood cries to thee for vengeance; and this poor speechless head is saying, 'Revenge me, sweet wife, on him who murdered me, guiltless as I was of all offence! Remember Judith who was not afraid of the brave Holofernes.' It is true that my case is different from hers; she chastised an enemy of her God, and I would punish one who is not even mine own enemy; love of her country placed in her hands the steel, and love of a dead husband places it in mine; but why do I delay, making these senseless comparisons? What have I to do but to shut my eyes and bury the steel deep in this boy's heart; the more innocent he, the greater will my vengeance be. Let me then exalt the avenger's name, and let come what may, I must accomplish my task, and do the deed, even though it should be my own death."

Having thus resolved, she took measures to get admittance into the chamber where Croriano slept. She easily gained this by means of one of his servants, who was won over by her gold, thinking also that he was not doing any very ill office to his master in bringing so beautiful a lady into his apartment. She concealed herself in a part where she could not be seen, and committing her fate to Heaven, buried in the profoundest silence, she awaited the moment of her long desired revenge.

She had taken, as the instrument whereby to effect this, a sharp knife, which she thought would be the least embarrassing and most handy weapon she could choose: she also had with her a small lamp, in which burned a wax light. She hardly dared to breathe. What will not a furious woman dare to do? what heaps of difficulties will she not trample under foot? what enormous cruelties will not seem to her like the gentlest deeds?

At length the hour arrived;—Croriano entered his room, and fatigued with his journey, went immediately to bed, giving himself up (little dreaming of death so near) to repose.

Ruperta listened attentively to ascertain whether Croriano slept or no, and having satisfied herself that he slept, both from the length of time that he had been in bed, and from certain long-drawn breaths, which none but sleepers give, she opened her lamp to find her way across the room, and without either crossing herself, or invoking any Saint to assist her, she made her way to the bedside. Ah, beauteous murderess, lovely fury, charming executioner, now satisfy thy fierce wrath: strike the blow and blot out thy injury for............