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While I was reading this letter with eager interest, Mario remained in the
place where I left him, his face buried in his hands, absorbed in sad
reflections. I approached him. He instantly looked up.
“Well, sister,” said he anxiously, “have you any idea from this letter
where Lorenzo has gone?”
“No.”
“No?... And yet you look calm and relieved. What other good news could
there be in the letter?”
What good news!... I was really embarrassed to know what reply to make to
his question. I was relieved, to be sure. My heart beat with a certain
joy, but it would not do to say so; nor could I have made Mario comprehend
the reason, for nothing, in fact, could be more serious than my position.
“No good news,” I replied. “His letter contains nothing cheering,
assuredly, for it announces the loss of his lawsuit, which your note had
prepared me for. And Lorenzo seems to bid me an eternal fare‐well, as if
he imagined I should allow him to separate my life entirely from his! That
remains to be decided. But in order to know what I ought to do, you must
tell me everything that has happened, Mario, without any restriction.”
Mario had hoped to be able to avoid telling me the whole truth, but at
this appeal made no further attempt at concealment, and was grateful to me
for the courage which lightened so painful a duty.
Lorenzo arrived at Messina, persuaded in advance that my father’s death
was the signal of his ruin. But when the cause was decided against him, he
remained apparently very calm. During the evening he had a long
conversation with Mario, in which he occupied himself in making
arrangements that would secure my comfort, placing at my disposal all he
had left, and accepting the generous offer of my brother, who now refused
to profit by the renunciation of my right to a portion of my father’s
property which I had made at the time of my marriage. Lorenzo, during this
conversation, repeatedly expressed the desire this storm might pass over
my head without affecting me.
The following morning Mario received a package containing the substance of
this conversation, regularly signed and sealed, and a sealed letter
addressed to me, without any other explanation. My brother waited till the
hour appointed by Lorenzo the night before for a meeting, but he did not
make his appearance; and when Mario went in search of him, he learned he
had taken his departure in the night without leaving any trace of the
direction he had taken. Two boats had left Messina during the night, one
for the Levant, and the other for America. But, notwithstanding all the
precautions taken by Lorenzo to prevent any one from knowing which way he
had gone, Mario thought he had embarked on the latter of these two boats.
Lorenzo had ordered the steward that had always been in his employ to aid
my brother in the execution of his wishes and whatever was to be done in
consequence, either in Sicily or Naples. But he had not revealed to him,
any more than to me or my brother, his personal affairs, or the place to
which he was going.
After listening to this account with the utmost attention, I requested
Mario to leave me alone a few hours, that I might reflect on all I had
heard, and consider at my leisure what course I ought to pursue. I felt
indeed the need of collecting my thoughts in solitude and silence; but
above all ... oh! above all! I longed to be alone, that I might fall on my
knees and bless God!
Yes, bless him with transport! The fear, the horrible, intolerable fear,
that had taken hold of my mind, was for ever removed by the contents of
Lorenzo’s letter. Regret, if not repentance, for his faults was betrayed
in every line he wrote. The manly energy of his character, too, was
manifest throughout. As to what related to me, I felt touched, and more
proud of the tender, confiding, respectful interest he expressed, than of
all the passionate fervor of his former language. And I blessed heaven for
not being unworthy of it. Finally, finally, the words, “I will work to
gain my livelihood,” made my heart leap with joy; for I saw it put an end
to the dangerous, indolent, pernicious life of the past, and held out a
hope of regeneration and salvation—a salvation physical, moral, present,
future, eternal! It really seemed impossible to feel such a hope could be
paid for too dearly!
I remembered, however, that I should have to discuss my affairs with
Mario, and perhaps with Lando also, whose heart was extremely moved by
this catastrophe; and I endeavored, before meeting them again, to moderate
a joy that would have appeared inexplicable, and, at the very time when I
was more reasonable than I had ever been in my life, would have rendered
me in their estimation extravagant in my notions, and without any
practical sense as to the things of the world.