y,
the other burst into tears.

"Jacopo, I will hear thee--I will hear thee, poor Jacopo!" cried Don
Camillo, shocked at this exhibition of distress in one so stern by
nature. A wave from the hand of the Bravo silenced him, and Jacopo,
struggling with himself for a moment, spoke.

"You have saved a soul from perdition, Signore," he said, smothering his
emotion. "If the happy knew how much power belongs to a single word of
kindness--a glance of feeling, when given to the despised, they would
not look so coldly on the miserable. This night must have been my last,
had you cast me off without pity--but you will hear my tale,
Signore--you will not scorn the confession of a Bravo?"

"I have promised. Be brief, for at this moment I have great care of my
own."

"Signore, I know not the whole of your wrongs, but they will not be less
likely to be redressed for this grace."

Jacopo made an effort to command himself, when he commenced his tale.

The course of the narrative does not require that we should accompany
this extraordinary man though the relation of the secrets he imparted to
Don Camillo. It is enough for our present purposes to say, that, as he
proceeded, the young Calabrian noble drew nearer to his side, and
listened with growing interest. The Duke of Sant' Agata scarcely
breathed, while his companion, with that energy of language and feeling
which marks Italian character, recounted his secret sorrows, and the
scenes in which he had been an actor. Long before he was done, Don
Camillo had forgotten his own private causes of concern, and, by the
time the tale was finished, every shade of disgust had given place to an
ungovernable expression of pity. In short, so eloquent was the speaker,
and so interesting the facts with which he dealt, that he seemed to play
with the sympathies of the listener, as the improvisatore of that region
is known to lead captive the passions of the admiring crowd.

During the time Jacopo was speaking, he and his wondering auditor had
passed the limits of the despised cemetery; and as the voice of the
former ceased, they stood on the outer beach of the Lido. When the low
tones of the Bravo were no longer audible, they were succeeded by the
sullen wash of the Adriatic.

"This surpasseth belief!" Don Camillo exclaimed after a long pause,
which had only been disturbed by the rush and retreat of the waters.

"Signore, as holy Maria is kind! it is true."

"I doubt you not, Jacopo--poor Ja