"She, too, is well, father."
"Has she ceased to blame herself for being the innocent cause of my sufferings?"
"She has."
"Then she pines no longer over a blow that cannot be helped."
The Bravo seemed to search for relief in the sympathizing eye of the pale and speechless Gelsomina.
"She has ceased to pine, father," he uttered with compelled calmness.
"Thou hast ever loved thy sister, boy, with manly tenderness. Thy heart is kind, as I have reason to know. If G.o.d has given me grief, he has blessed me in my children!"
A long pause followed, during which the parent seemed to muse on the past, while the child rejoiced in the suspension of questions which harrowed his soul, since those of whom the other spoke had long been the victims of family misfortune. The old man, for the prisoner was aged as well as feeble, turned his look on the still kneeling Bravo, thoughtfully, and continued.
"There is little hope of thy sister marrying, for none are fond of tying themselves to the proscribed."
"She wishes it not--she wishes it not--she is happy, with my mother!"
"It is a happiness the Republic will not begrudge. Is there no hope of our being able to meet soon?"
"Thou wilt meet my mother--yes, that pleasure will come at last!"
"It is a weary time since any of my blood, but thee, have stood in my sight. Kneel, that I may bless thee."
Jacopo, who had risen under his mental torture, obeyed, and bowed his head in reverence to receive the paternal benediction. The lips of the old man moved, and his eyes were turned to Heaven, but his language was of the heart, rather than that of the tongue. Gelsomina bent her head to her bosom, and seemed to unite her prayers to those of the prisoner.
When the silent but solemn ceremony was ended, each made the customary sign of the cross, and Jacopo kissed the wrinkled hand of the captive.
"Hast thou hope for me?" the old man asked, this pious and grateful duty done. "Do they still promise to let me look upon the sun again?"
"They do. They promise fair."
"Would that their words were true! I have lived on hope for a weary time--I have now been within these walls more than four years, methinks."
Jacopo did not answer, for he knew that his father named the period only that he himself had been permitted to see him.
"I built upon the expectation that the Doge would remember his ancient servant, and open my prison-doors."
Still Jacopo was silent, for the Doge, of whom the other spoke, had long been dead.
"And yet I should be grateful, for Maria and the saints have not forgotten me. I am not without my pleasures in captivity."
"G.o.d be praised!" returned the Bravo. "In what manner dost thou ease thy sorrows, father?"
"Look hither, boy," exclaimed the old man, whose eye betrayed a mixture of feverish excitement, caused by the recent change in his prison, and the growing imbecility of a mind that was gradually losing its powers for want of use; "dost thou see the rent in that bit of wood? It opens with the heat, from time to time, and since I have been an inhabitant here, that fissure has doubled in length--I sometimes fancy, that when it reaches the knot, the hearts of the senators will soften, and that my doors will open. There is a satisfaction in watching its increase, as it lengthens, inch by inch, year after year!"
"Is this all?"
"Nay, I have other pleasures. There was a spider the past year, that wove his web from yonder beam, and he was a companion, too, that I loved to see; wilt thou look, boy, if there is hope of his coming back?"
"I see him not," whispered the Bravo.
"Well, there is always the hope of his return. The flies will enter soon, and then he will be looking for his prey. They may shut me up on a false charge, and keep me weary years from my wife and daughter, but they cannot rob me of all my happiness!"
The aged captive was mute and thoughtful. A childish impatience glowed in his eye, and he gazed from the rent, the companion of so many solitary summers, to the face of his son, like one who began to distrust his enjoyments.
"Well, let them take it away," he said, burying his head beneath the covering of his bed: "I will not curse them!"
"Father!"
The prisoner made no reply.
"Father!"
"Jacopo!"
In his turn the Bravo was speechless. He did not venture, even, to steal a glance towards the breathless and attentive Gelsomina, though his bosom heaved with longing to examine her guileless features.
"Dost thou hear me, son?" continued the prisoner, uncovering his head: "dost thou really think they will have the heart to chase the spider from my cell?"
"They will leave thee this pleasure, father, for it touches neither their power nor their fame. So long as the Senate can keep its foot on the neck of the people, and so long as it can keep the seemliness of a good name, it will not envy thee this."
"Blessed Maria make me thankful!--I had my fears, child; for it is not pleasant to lose any friend in a cell!"
Jacopo then proceeded to soothe the mind of the prisoner, and he gradually led his thoughts to other subjects. He laid by the bed-side a few articles of food, that he was allowed to bring with him, and again holding out the hope of eventual liberation, he proposed to take his leave.
"I will try to believe thee, son," said the old man, who had good reason to distrust a.s.surances so often made. "I will do all I can to believe it. Thou wilt tell thy mother, that I never cease to think of her, and to pray for her; and thou wilt bless thy sister, in the name of her poor imprisoned parent."
The Bravo bowed in acquiescence, glad of any means to escape speech. At a sign from the old man he again bent his knee, and received the parting benediction. After busying himself in arranging the scanty furniture of the cell, and in trying to open one or two small fissures, with a view to admit more light and air, he quitted the place.
Neither Gelsomina nor Jacopo spoke, as they returned by the intricate pa.s.sages through which they had ascended to the attic, until they were again on the Bridge of Sighs. It was seldom that human foot trod this gallery, and the former, with female quickness, selected it as a place suited to their further conference.
"Dost thou find him changed?" she asked, lingering on the arch.
"Much."
"Thou speakest with a frightful meaning!"
"I have not taught my countenance to lie to thee, Gelsomina."
"But there is hope.--- Thou told"st him there was hope, thyself."
"Blessed Maria forgive the fraud! I could not rob the little life he has of its only comfort."
"Carlo!--Carlo!--Why art thou so calm? I have never heard thee speak so calmly of thy father"s wrongs and imprisonment."
"It is because his liberation is near."
"But this moment he was without hope, and thou speakest now of liberation!"