"No, no; go away! for charity!"
"Hear me, Father Christopher----"
"How!"
"He is here."
"Here! where? how do you know?"
"I have just spoken with him; a man like him it appears to me----"
"He is here! to a.s.sist the afflicted, no doubt. Has he had the plague?"
"Ah! Lucy! I fear, I greatly fear----" As Renzo hesitated to utter his fears, she had unconsciously again approached him, with a look of anxious enquiry----"I fear he has it now!"
"Oh! poor man! But what do I say? poor man! he is rich, rich in the favour of G.o.d! How is he? Is he confined to his bed? Has he a.s.sistance?"
"He is, on the contrary, still a.s.sisting others----but if you were to see him! Alas! there can be no mistake!"
"Oh! is he indeed within these walls?" said Lucy.
"Here, and not far off; hardly farther than from your cottage to mine----if you remember----"
"Oh! most holy Virgin!"
"Shall I tell you what he said to me? He said I did well to come in search of you, that G.o.d would approve it, and that he would a.s.sist me to find you----Thus, then, you see----"
"If he spoke thus, it was because he did not know--"
"What use would there be in his knowing a mere imagination of your own?
A man of sense, such as he is, never thinks of things of that sort. But oh! Lucy! Shall I tell you what I have seen?"----And he related his visit to the cabin.
Lucy, although familiarised in this abode of horrors to spectacles of wretchedness and despair, was shocked at the recital.
"And at the side of that bed," said Renzo, "if you could have heard the holy man! He said, that G.o.d has perhaps resolved to look in mercy on this unfortunate--(I can now give him no other name)--that he designs to subdue him to himself, but that he desires that we should pray together for him--together! do you understand?"
"Yes, yes, we will pray each, there where the Lord shall place us. He can unite our prayers."
"But if I tell you his very words----"
"But, Renzo, he does not know----"
"But can you not comprehend, when such a man speaks, it is G.o.d who speaks in him, and that he would not have spoken thus, if it ought not to be exactly so? And the soul of this unfortunate! I have prayed, and will pray for him; I have prayed with all my heart, as if he were my brother. But what, think you, will be his condition in the other world, if we do not repair some of the evil he has done? If you return to reason, all will be set in order. That which has been, has been--he has had his punishment here below----"
"No, Renzo, no! G.o.d would not have us do evil that good may come. Leave to him the care of this unfortunate man; our duty is to pray for him. If I had died that fatal night, would not G.o.d have been able to pardon him?
And if I am not dead, if I have been delivered----"
"And your mother, poor Agnes, who desired so much to see us man and wife, has she not told you it was a foolish imagination?".
"My mother! think you my mother would advise me to break a vow? Would you desire that she should? But, Renzo, you are not in your right mind!"
"Oh! you women cannot be made to comprehend reason! Father Christopher told me to return, and inform him whether I had found you--I will go, and get his advice----"
"Yes, yes, go to the holy man! Tell him I pray for him, and that I desire his prayers! But, for the love of Heaven! for your soul"s sake, and for mine, do not return here, to trouble, to----tempt me! Father Christopher will explain matters to you, and make you return to yourself; he will set your heart at rest."
"My heart at rest! Oh! don"t encourage an idea of that sort! You have, before now, caused such language to be written to me! and the suffering it caused me! and now you have the heart to tell it to me! As for me, I declare to you plainly, that I will never set my heart at rest. Lucy!
you have told me to forget you; forget you! how can I do it? After so many trials! so many promises! Who have I thought of ever since we parted? Is it because I have suffered, that you treat me thus? because I have been unfortunate? because the world has persecuted me? because I have been so long away from you? because the first moment I was able, I came to seek you?"
"Oh! holy Virgin!" exclaimed Lucy, as the tears flowed from her eyes, "come to my help. You have aided me hitherto; aid me now. Since that night such a moment as this have I never pa.s.sed."
"Yes, Lucy, you do well to invoke the Virgin. She is the mother of compa.s.sion, and will take no pleasure in our sufferings. But, if this is an excuse--if I have become odious to you--tell me, speak frankly----"
"For pity, Renzo, for pity, stop--stop. Do not make me die. Go to Father Christopher; commend me to him. Do not return here--do not return here."
"I go, but think not I will not return. I would return from the end of the world; yes, I would return!" and he disappeared.
Lucy threw herself on the floor near the bed, upon which she rested her head, and wept bitterly. The good woman, who had been a silent spectator of the painful scene, demanded the cause of her anguish and her tears?
But, perhaps, the reader will wish to know something of this benevolent person: we will satisfy the desire in a few words.
She was a rich tradeswoman, about thirty years of age: she had beheld her husband and children die of the plague. Attacked by it herself, she had been brought to the lazaretto, and placed in the cabin with Lucy, who was just beginning to recover her senses, which had forsaken her from the commencement of her attack in the house of Don Ferrante. The humble roof could only accommodate two guests, and there grew up, in their affliction, a strict and intimate friendship between them. They derived great consolation from each other"s society, and had pledged themselves not to separate, after quitting the lazaretto. The good woman, whose wealth was now far more ample than were her desires, wished to retain Lucy with her as a daughter: the proposition was received with grat.i.tude, and accepted, on condition of the permission and approval of Agnes. Lucy had, however, never made known to her the circ.u.mstances of her intended marriage, and her other extraordinary adventures; but now she related, as distinctly as tears permitted her to do so, her sad story.
Meanwhile Renzo went in search of Father Christopher: he found him with no small difficulty, and engaged in administering consolation to a dying man. The scene was soon closed. The father remained a short time in silent prayer. He then arose, and seeing Renzo approach, exclaimed, "Well, my son!"
"She is there; I have found her!"
"In what state?"
"Convalescent, and out of danger."
"G.o.d be praised!" said the friar.
"But----" said Renzo, "there is another difficulty!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that----you know how good this poor girl is; but she is sometimes a little fanciful. After so many promises, she tells me now she cannot marry me, because on that night of fear she made a vow to the Virgin! These things signify nothing, do they? Is it not true that they are not binding, at least on people such as we are?"
"Is she far from this?"
"Oh no; a few steps beyond the church."
"Wait a moment," said the friar, "and we will go together."
"Will you give her to understand that----?"
"I know not, my son: I must hear what she will say." And they proceeded to Lucy"s cabin.
The clouds were gathering in the heavens, and a tempest coming on. Rapid lightning, cleaving the increasing darkness, illumined at moments the long roofs and arcades of the building, and the cupola of the little church: loud claps of thunder resounded with prolonged echoes through the heavens. Renzo suppressed his impatience, and accommodated his steps to the strength of the father, who, exhausted by fatigue, oppressed by disease, and breathing in pain, could, with difficulty, drag his failing limbs to the performance of this last act of benevolence.