posites, never congenial, show how little they have in common—the stronger as their final separation approaches.
"I can feel even here," said Guido, raising himself with some difficulty on his weary pillow, "How lovely the day is;" and he gazed on the lattices thrown open to the utmost, and only curtained by the honeysuckle. The casements were in shade themselves, and a cool breeze just waved the ruby tendrils and their veined clusters; but beyond, you could see that sunshine rested on the trees, and that the deep blue sky was without a cloud.
"You are very pale, my own dearest," he continued; "I wish you would go forth, and return with tidings of some of our old haunts. A little colour on those wan cheeks would do me a world of good."
Francesca looked towards the window, and turned sickening from its glad and golden light; while her eyes fixed more fondly upon Guido's face, as if every moment were now precious. Affection has its own true sympathy, and he never again asked her to leave him. He felt that the tender watch which she now kept was her only consolation.
Alas! in this our valley of the shadow of death,
