There is something fearful in returning to those we love,
while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence may have effected. The
turbulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my horse to
redoubled speed; he was covered with foam when we both arrived panting
at the gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my
horse at a cottage and walked through the grounds, that I might regain
tranquillity for the approaching interview. I chid myself for having
suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me; but I
was always prone to be carried away by these gusts of the feelings.
On entering the garden everything bore the same look as when I had left
it; and this unchanged aspect of things reassured me. There were the
alleys in which I had so often walked with Bianca; the same shades
under which we had so often sat during the noontide. There were the
same flowers of which she was fond; and which appeared still to be
under the ministry of her hand. Everything around looked and breathed
of Bianca; hope and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a
little bower in which we had often sat and read together. A book and a
glove lay on the bench. It was Bianca's glove; it was a volume of the
Metestasio I had given her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I
clasped them to my heart. "All is safe!" exclaimed I, with rapture,
"she loves me! she is still my own!"
I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had faltered so slowly
at my departure.
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