"They are not here now?"
"No."
"They did not kill me," murmured the old woman in a stifled voice.
"No; you are safe," said Ferruccio, in a weak voice. "You are safe, dear
grandmother. They carried off the money. But daddy had taken nearly all
of it with him."
His grandmother drew a deep breath.
"Grandmother," said Ferruccio, still kneeling, and pressing her close to
him, "dear grandmother, you love me, don't you?"
"O Ferruccio! my poor little son!" she replied, placing her hands on his
head; "what a fright you must have had!--O Lord God of mercy!--Light the
lamp. No; let us still remain in the dark! I am still afraid."
"Grandmother," resumed the boy, "I have always caused you grief."
"No, Ferruccio, you must not say such things; I shall never think of
that again; I have forgotten everything, I love you so dearly!"
"I have always caused you grief," pursued Ferruccio, with difficulty,
and his voice quivered; "but I have always loved you. Do you forgive
me?--Forgive me, grandmother."
"Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. Think, how could I help
forgiving you! Rise from your knees, my child. I will never scold you
again. You are so good, so good! Let us light the lamp. Let us take
courage a little. Rise, Ferruccio."
"Thanks, grandmother," said the boy, and his voice was still weaker.
"Now--I am content. You will remember me, grandmother--will you not? You
will always remember me--your Ferruccio?"
"My Ferruccio!" exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as she
laid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look him
in his face.
"Remember me," murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like a
breath. "Give a kiss to my mother--to my father--to Luigina.--Good by,
grandmother."
"In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?" shrieked the old
woman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; and
then with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and in
desperation: "Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angels
of Paradise, come to my aid!"
But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the saviour of the mother
of his mother, stabbed by a blow from a knife in the back, had rendered
up his beautiful and daring soul to God.