Mary Van De Werve was in her own apartment, kneeling before a silver
crucifix; she seemed bowed down by a weight of woe. Her head rested upon
her clasped hands. She had been weeping bitterly; for there were traces of
tears upon the prie-Dieu.
Had a stranger surprised the young girl in this attitude, he might have
thought that sleep had overpowered her during prayer; but the gasping
breath and heaving chest sufficiently attested that she had not sunk in
sleep, but that she was plunged in an expressible sorrow.
Behind her was seated an old woman, her duenna, with a rosary in her hand.
She gazed upon the young girl with deep compassion; from time to time she
shook her head, and wiped away the tears which dimmed her eyes whenever
Mary's sighs became heavier.
For some time the silence was unbroken; Mary even appeared somewhat
calmer, when suddenly, influenced by some peculiarly painful thought, she
extended her arms to heaven and cried out; "My God and my Saviour! through thy precious blood spare his life! Have
mercy on him! reject not the prayer of my broken heart!"
Again her head fell on her hands, as if this burning petition had
exhausted her strength. The duenna approached her, took her arm,
endeavored to lift her, and said, authoritatively: "My lady, you must rise and cease your prayer. God may be displeased with
you for thus deliberately endangering your health. Come, obey me."
Mary arose without reply, and took the seat offered her by the duenna. She
was very pale, and her eyes were swollen from weeping.
The duenna looked upon her with an eye of pity; she took her hand, and
said, gently: "Mary, my child, you cannot continue this; such an excess of sorrow would
shorten your days. And what pain to the poor Geronimo on his return, to
find you condemned to a short and suffering life! Through love for him, I
beg you to control yourself."
"On his return?" repeated Mary, raising her tearful eyes to heaven.
"Why not?" replied the duenna. "Why despair before being certain of the
evil you dread? More extraordinary things have happened."
"Already five days--five centuries of suspense and fear! Ah! Petronilla,
what a frightful night I passed! I saw Geronimo extended on the ground,
the pallor of death on his face, a large wound was in his breast, and his
lifeless eyes were fixed on me as if with his last breath he had bade me
adieu."
"These are illusions caused by grief, Mary."