On the early morning of the
last, as she watched over her uncle's pillow, she perceived that there
was a slight moisture on his skin, and that his sleep was sound and
untroubled. His slumbers were long and refreshing; and when he awoke
it was with perfect consciousness. Dreading the effect of agitation,
Giulietta drew her veil over her face, and to his inquiry of "was any
one there?" she answered in a low and feigned voice.
"I am faint and want food; but who, daughter, are you, who thus
venture into the chamber of sickness and death?"
"A stranger; but one whose vow is atonement."
"Giulietta!" exclaimed the cardinal, and the next moment she was at
his side; and both wept the sweetest tears ever shed by affection and
forgiveness. Eagerly she prepared for him a small portion of food, and
then, exerting the authority of a nurse, forbade all further
discourse, and, soon exhausted, he slept again.
The cool shadows of the coming evening fell on the casement, when
Giulietta first ventured to propose that she should send a letter by
the gardener to Lorenzo, and desire that a litter might be sent to
convey her uncle to their villa.
"My sweet child, do with me as you will," said the cardinal; "take me
even to the house of a Carrara."
"And nowhere could you be so welcome," said a stranger entering, and
Giulietta, springing from her knees, found herself in the arms of her
husband.
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