"You are right, signor. By returning to your own beautiful country, you
will the sooner forget this misfortune."
"God knows when I will revisit my country!" replied the old man.
"Are you not going to Italy?" demanded Mr. Van de Werve.
"No, sir; but to England."
"In search of your nephew? Signor Turchi led us to suppose that he had
sought refuge in that island. I admire your unbounded love for a man so
little deserving of it; but, signor, you require rest. Follow my advice:
go to Italy, and do not shorten your life by the sorrows which may await
you in England."
"The advice is no doubt good," replied Deodati; "but I cannot follow it.
However guilty he may be, Geronimo is the only son of my deceased brother,
whom I promised on his death-bed to watch over his child as if he were my
own. Were I to abandon Geronimo entirely, he might be pushed by want and
misery into the path of vice, perhaps of infamy. I will fulfil my duty to
the last. If I love him less than formerly, at least I will save him from
utter ruin."
"What generosity!" exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, in admiration. "You travel
about in search of your nephew; you endanger your health. I foresee that
he has but to speak to obtain pardon. And this great sacrifice, this
magnanimous affection meets with such a return! It is frightful!"
"No, sir," replied Deodati, "I will not pardon Geronimo. He will never be
the same to me. Should I find him, or should he return to me, I will give
him an income sufficient to keep him from want; that being done, I shall
renounce the world and retire into a cloister, to await there in solitude
and peace the time when it may please God to call me to himself."
Mr. Van de Werve heard the street-door open, and said eagerly to the old
merchant: "Signor, my daughter is at church and may return at any moment. I beg you
not to speak of these things in her presence. Since the disappearance of
Geronimo, she does nothing but weep and pray; no consideration alleviates
her sorrow, nothing consoles her. If she were suddenly to lose all hope,
it might cause her death. Heavens! Signor Turchi, what has happened to
him?"
He arose hastily and regarded in astonishment Simon Turchi, who entered
and attempted to speak, but the words seemed to die upon his lips; for he
stood trembling in the centre of the room, uttering unintelligible sounds.
He was pale as death.