Pere bowed again and withdrew. As he turned his steps homeward his
thoughts had but one subject. 'What was the game his Eminence was bent
on? What scheme was he then revolving in his mind?'

Once more beside the sick-bed of young Gerald, all Massoni's fears for
the future came back. What stuff was there in that poor, broken-spirited
youth, whose meaningless stare now met him, of which to make the leader
in a perilous enterprise? Every look, every gesture, but indicated a
temperament soft, gentle, and compliant; and if by chance he uttered a
stray word, it was spoken timidly and distrustfully, like one who feared
to give trouble. Never did there seem a case where the material was less
suited for the purpose for which it was meant; and the Pere gazed
down at him as he lay in deep and utter despondency. In the immense
difficulty of the case all its interest reposed; and he felt what a
triumph it would be could he only resuscitate that dying youth, and make
him the head of a great achievement. It was a task that might try all
his resources, and he resolved to attempt it.

We will not weary our reader with the uneventful story of that recovery:
the progress so painfully slow that its steps were imperceptible, and
the change which gradually converted the state of fatuity to one
of speculation, and finally brought the youth out of sickness and
suffering, and made him--weak and delicate, of course--able to feel
enjoyment in life and eager for its pleasures. If Gerald could never
fathom the mystery of all the care bestowed upon him, nor guess why he
was thus tended and watched, as little could the Pere Massoni comprehend
the strange features of that intellect which each day's experience
continued to reveal to him. Through all the womanly tenderness of
his character there ran a vein of romantic aspiration, undirected and
unguided, it is true, but which gave promise of an ambitious spirit.
That some great enterprise had been the dream of his early youth--some
adventurous career--seemed a fixed notion with himself; and why, and
how, and wherefore its accomplishment had been interrupted, was the
difficulty that often occupied his thoughts for hours. In his vain
endeavours to trace back events, snatches of his early life would rise
to his memory: his sick-bed at the Tana; his wanderings in the Maremma;
the simple songs of Marietta; the spirit-stirring verses of Alfieri;
and through these, as dark clouds lowering over a sunny landsca