TIDINGS.
Horace was awakened very early on the following morning by the sound of voices speaking in earnest whispers near him. His rocky recess, as the reader is aware, was shared by the brothers Goldoni. The struggling light of dawn was too dim to enable Horace to discern their figures, but the tones of Raphael's voice in their peculiar sweetness were distinguishable from all others even in the lowest whisper.
"So young—his poor mother," these were the only words that reached the captive's ear, but he felt assured that they related to himself. Enrico seemed to be resisting some urgent entreaty, the nature of which, however, could not be gathered from his hurried, murmured reply.
"You are to me as a chain—a fetter," said Raphael, still speaking below his breath.
"It is well that you have one, or you would be using freedom to throw away your life upon some insane venture," exclaimed Enrico, his impatience causing him slightly to raise his voice.
Again there was the sound of pleading, low, fervent, as from one who was wrestling for something dearer than life. It was an entreaty to a brother, a brother beloved, to have mercy upon his own soul, to break from the bondage which held him, to grapple with the foe who was dragging him downwards towards the abyss of destruction.
"To-day may be the turning-point of your existence. As you decide for good or for evil now, so may the long, endless hereafter be to you an eternity of bliss or of anguish. There will be some dark deed done to-day. Those who are watched for will not yield without resistance. You may have the stain of murder on your soul. Oh, while there is yet time flee—save yourself—the door of mercy is open to you yet!"
More followed, which Horace could not hear. The tone of Enrico's replies was agitated; but it seemed as if he lacked resolution to take some decided step that his brother was urging upon him. The result of the conversation, and it was a long one, Horace could only guess by Raphael's closing words:
"Then no resource is left to me but prayer."
The tone in which they were uttered was not desponding, but solemn, as if, when all earthly hope had failed, he was enabled yet more firmly to grasp the promise of his God.