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The Sculptor's Triumph.
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His agony could not be compressed into speech, or even find vent in groans; he was stunned, petrified! His brain was on fire! A thousand frightful phantoms passed before his dazzled eyes! The statue lived, and talked to him; upbraided him, mocked him, cursed him for its creation! Myriads of tongues shouted "Shame!" "Shame!" "Shame!" in his ears.

That night was one of unbroken horror. The morning sun found him in a state of semi-stupefaction, which had succeeded his excess of phrenzy. Hardly had the amethyst light of dawn touched the statue, when three soft taps sounded on the door; but he stirred not. They were repeated again and again, but he did not hear. The door, which had not been fastened after the Judge passed out, gently opened. Constanza's airy step gave no sound, but Bettina's heavy tread aroused Andrea. The young maiden uttered a cry as she glanced at his haggard face, drawn into sharp lines; his wildly glaring eyes, his dishevelled hair, and look of hopeless wretchedness.

"Oh! Andrea, has your master-piece been refused?"

With almost maniacal vehemence, Andrea related what had occurred.

"Your disgrace, Constanza!" he added, wildly; "that shall never be! I have vowed that it should not! Love conquers ambition, and the hope of glory! Love is stronger than all else! See! see! thus I put an end to temptation!"

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