Ch. 5 - Antonina - Page 2

Christian determined to abandon his inheritance, and
to sell it to another; but, at the repeated entreaties of his daughter,
he at length consented to change his purpose, and sacrifice his
antipathy to his luxurious neighbours to his child's youthful attachment
to the beauties of Nature as displayed in his legacy on the Pincian
Mount. In this instance only did the natural affection of the father
prevail over the acquired severity of the reformer. Here he
condescended, for the first and the last time, to the sweet trivialities
of youth. Here, indulgent in spite of himself, he fixed his little
household, and permitted to his daughter her sole recreations of tending
the flowers in the garden and luxuriating in the loveliness of the
distant view.

******

The night has advanced an hour since the occurrence mentioned in the
preceding chapter. The clear and brilliant moonlight of Italy now
pervades every district of the glorious city, and bathes in its pure
effulgence the groves and palaces on the Pincian Mount. From the garden
of Numerian the irregular buildings of the great suburbs of Rome, the
rich undulating country beyond, and the long ranges of mountains in the
distance, are now all visible in the soft and luxurious light. Near the
spot which commands this view, not a living creature is to be seen on a
first examination; but on a more industrious and patient observation,
you are subsequently able to detect at one of the windows of Numerian's
house, half hidden by a curtain, the figure of a young girl.

Soon this solitary form approaches nearer to the eye. The moonbeams,
that have hitherto shone only upon the window, now illuminate other
objects. First they display a small, white arm; then a light, simple
robe; then a fair, graceful neck; and finally a bright, youthful,
innocent face, directed steadfastly towards the wide moon-brightened
prospect of the distant mountains.

For some time the girl remains in contemplation at her window. Then she
leaves her post, and almost immediately reappears at a door leading into
the garden. Her figure, as she advances towards the lawn before her, is
light and small--a natural grace and propriety appear in her movements--
she holds pressed to her bosom and half concealed by her robe, a gilt
lute. When she reaches a turf bank commanding the same view as the
window, she arranges her instrument upon her knees, and with something
of restraint in her manner gently touches the chords. Then, as if
alarmed at the sound she has produced, she glances anxiously around her,
apparently fearful of being overheard. Her large, dark, lustrous eyes
have in them an expression of apprehension; her delicate lips are half
parted; a sudden flush rises in her soft, olive complexion as