portion of the money sent me by my uncle for the purchase of merchandise,
and I was convinced that my uncle, who was inflexible in exacting fidelity
to commercial regulations, would overwhelm me with his anger, but my heart
gained the ascendency over my reason, and Christian charity triumphed.
Listening only to my compassion, I ransomed the unfortunate woman, and
with my own hands I unbound her chains. That was the happiest moment of my
life."

Mary and her father were both touched by the recital of the young man.

"Oh, Geronimo," exclaimed Mary, "may God bless you for having been so
compassionate to the poor Christian slave!"

"You did well, Geronimo," said Mr. Van de Werve, "and I esteem and love
you more for your generosity to the unfortunate blind woman. How happy her
unexpected liberation must have made her!"

"When I told her she was free, and that she could accompany me to her
native land, she was almost wild with joy; she laughed and wept by turns;
she cast herself upon the ground, and raising her hands to heaven, thanked
God; she embraced my knees and watered my feet with her tears. Not knowing
how to testify her gratitude, she drew this strange amulet from her bosom
and presented it to me, conjuring me to wear it always. She told me that
it possessed the power of protecting and saving the one who carried it on
his person, when all human aid failed or was insufficient. As to the
origin of the amulet, she only knew that it had been brought back from
Jerusalem by one of her ancestors, who had made a pilgrimage thither in
expiation of an involuntary homicide, and from that time it had been,
religiously guarded in their family as a precious relic. She had no doubt
of its power, and related many strange things to justify her faith. She
maintained that she owed to the amulet her unexpected return to Italy."

"Does she still live?" asked Mary.

"When in sight of Italy, I put her on board of a boat bound to Porto
Fiero; I gave her a small sum of money, and begged the boatman to attend
to her comforts. Poor Teresa Mostajo--that is her name--I doubt not, is
living peacefully in her native village, and prays much for me. This is
the only reason why I attribute any virtue to the amulet; I believe in the
protection of this sign because it has been sanctified by an act of
Christian charity, and by the grateful prayers of the poor blind woman
tormented by the pagans for the name of Christ."

The old cavalier remained a