She opened her eyes, and on lifting up her head, the quantity of fair hair fell back which till then had obscured her features.
'God Almighty! It is Antonia!' Such was Lorenzo's exclamation, while He snatched her from the Attendant's arms, and clasped her in his own.
Though aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but too well the purpose of its Employer.

The wounds were mortal, and Antonia was conscious that She never could recover.

Yet the few moments which remained for her were moments of happiness.

The concern exprest upon Lorenzo's countenance, the frantic fondness of his complaints, and his earnest enquiries respecting her wounds, convinced her beyond a doubt that his affections were her own.

She would not be removed from the Vaults, fearing lest motion should only hasten her death; and She was unwilling to lose those moments which She past in receiving proofs of Lorenzo's love, and assuring him of her own.