nearer to the shrub. ‘It has qualities that you little dream of But I, dearest Giovanni—I grew up and blossomed with the plant and was nourished with its breath. It was my sister, and I loved it with a human affection, for, alas!—hast thou not suspected it?—there was an awful doom.’

Here Giovanni frowned so darkly upon her that Beatrice paused and trembled. But her faith in his tenderness reassured her, and made her blush that she had doubted for an instant.

‘There was an awful doom,’ she continued, ‘the effect of my father’s fatal love of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind. Until Heaven sent thee, dearest Giovanni, oh, how lonely was thy poor Beatrice!’

‘Was it a hard doom?’ asked Giovanni, fixing his eyes upon her.

‘Only of late have I known how hard it was,’ answered she, tenderly. ‘Oh yes; but my heart was torpid, and therefore quiet.’

Giovanni’s rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightning flash out of a dark cloud.

‘Accursed one!’ cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. ‘And, finding thy solitude wearisome, thou hast severed me likewise from all the warmth of life and enticed me into thy region of unspeakable horror!’

‘Giovanni!’ exclaimed Beatrice, turning her large bright eyes upon his face. The force of his words had not found its way into her mind; she was merely thunderstruck.

‘Yes, poisonous thing!’ repeated Giovanni, beside himself with passion. ‘Thou hast done it! Thou hast blasted me! Thou hast filled my veins with poison! Thou hast made me as hateful, as ugly, as loathsome and deadly a creature as thyself—a world’s wonder of hideous monstrosity! Now, if our breath be happily as fatal to ourselves as to all others, let us join our lips in one kiss of unutterable hatred, and so die!’

‘What has befallen me?’ murmured Beatrice, with a low moan out of her heart. ‘Holy Virgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken child!’

‘Thou—dost thou pray?’ cried Giovanni, still with the same fiendish scorn. ‘Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips, taint the atmosphere with death. Yes, yes; let us pray! Let us to church and dip our fingers in the holy water at the portal! They that come after us will perish as by a pestilence! Let us sign crosses in the air! It will be scattering curses abroad in the likeness of holy symbols!’

‘Giovanni,’ said Beatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond passion, ‘why dost thou join thyself with me thus in those terrible words? I, it is true, am the horrible thing thou namest me. But thou—what hast thou to do, save with one other shudder at my hideous misery to go forth out of the garden and mingle with thy race, and forget that there ever crawled on earth such a monster as poor Beatrice?’

‘Dost thou pretend ignorance?’ asked Giovanni, scowling upon her. ‘Behold! this power have I gained from the pure daughter of Rappaccini.’

There was a swarm of summer insects flitting through the air in search of the food promised by the flower-odours of the fatal garden. They circled round Giovanni’s head, and were evidently attracted towards him by the same influence which had drawn them for an instant within the sphere of several of the shrubs. He sent forth a breath among them, and smiled bitterly at Beatrice as at least a score of the insects fell dead upon the ground.

‘I see it! I see it!’ shrieked Beatrice. ‘It is my father’s fatal science! No, no, Giovanni; it was not I! Never! never! I dreamed only to love thee and be with thee a little time, and so to let thee pass away, leaving but thine image in mine heart; for, Giovanni, believe it, though my body be nourished with poison, my spirit is God’s creature, and craves love as its daily food. But my father—he has united us in this fearful