om, looking around anxiously. She had seen the officers
at the door, and she seemed to inquire of her father the cause of their
presence.

She remarked her father's pallor and embarrassment. Simon Turchi looked
down, as if in despair. Deodati covered his face with his hands.

A cry of anguish escaped the young girl, and she glanced in turns at her
father, Deodati, Turchi, and the bailiff; but they each seemed anxious to
avoid her eye.

"Go to your room, Mary," said Mr. Van de Werve.

"Give me this proof of affection. Ask nothing."

The young girl, struck by these evidences of some misfortune, ran to her
father and exclaimed, joining her hands:

"Speak, father, and tell me what has happened. Leave me not in this
terrible suspense. Tell me that they have not found Geronimo's dead body.
Alas! he is dead! Is it not so?"

Throwing her arms around her father's neck, she wept bitterly, conjuring
him to tell her the cause of their emotion.

Without giving her any explanation, Mr. Van de Werve attempted to lead his
daughter out of the room; but she, like one crazed by grief, released her
hand from her father's, fell upon her knees before Turchi, and exclaimed:

"By the love you bore him, signor, take pity on me and tell me what has
happened to him. Let me not leave the room under the frightful conviction
that he is dead!"

Turchi remained silent, gazing upon her with an expression of profound
sadness.

"You, too, are implacable, inexorable!" she said, rising.

"But you, at least--his uncle, his father--will be more merciful."

She ran to the weeping merchant, gently forced his hands from his face,
and conjured him, in piteous accents, to give her some information which
would relieve the torturing suspense.

The old Deodati, still weeping, threw his arms around her neck, and
murmured:

"God bless you, my child, for your love. Let us pray for him!"

Mr. Van de Werve had left the room to call Petronilla. He returned with
her, and said to his daughter:

"Mary, go with your duenna. You must not remain here longer."

The young girl seemed not to hear her father's words, for she was
immovable as if petrified by grief.

He added, in an impatient, severe tone:

"Mary, leave the room. I wish it; I command it. Obey me."

She arose and walked slowly towards the door. Tears flowed down her
cheeks; she supported her trembling limbs by leaning on the arm of her
duenna. Mr. Van de Werve feared she would lose consciousn