"Ah! so little Marie Arbi is going to be married! She was to have been Flora's bride's-maid,—now I suppose it will be the other way. But I must not think of all that now. I shall be in Paris before then at all events; and God grant that it may be as you say, that I who have caused Flora's illness may have the power to cure it!"
Mr. Earnscliffe buried his face in his hands and remained silent for a few minutes; then standing up, he said in a husky voice, "Mr. Blake, you see how unfitted I am for any companionship save that of my own thoughts. To-morrow morning I am to be received into the Church; I suppose I must not ask you to be present at such a ceremony, but I will pray for you then as for one of my greatest benefactors. I may depend upon you, I am sure, not to name me even when you write to your niece; and now good-bye, and may God bless and reward you!"
They pressed each other's hands silently, for neither felt inclined to speak. Great agitation affects even unconcerned bystanders, so Mr. Blake could not witness unmoved that of Mr. Earnscliffe.
There are in the lives of some persons such thrilling extremes of joy and sorrow that it is difficult to write of them without appearing to use extravagant language. One of these extremes Mr. Earnscliffe felt as he repaired on the following morning to the little church of Capri, to enter fully into the communion of the faithful.
In the humble, unpretending sanctuary, adorned only by the natural flowers with which the loving hands of Maria and Anina had decked it, knelt the once proud, scoffing Earnscliffe. Behind him were "poor, ignorant" Italians; but before him, on the altar steps, stood the priest of God, who, having administered to him the sacraments of Baptism and Penance, was now about to admit him to the Divine Feast which our heavenly Father bade His servants to prepare for His children on their return home. To portray worthily even the outward features of the scene in that little church would require the pencil of a Beato Angelico.
"The joy of a faithful people" could now indeed be seen sparkling in the expressive countenances of the humble witnesses of this august ceremony; and at its close there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole church. Almost immediately after it was over Père d'Aubin was obliged to hurry Mr. Earnscliffe into the sacristy in order to save him from their tumultuous congratulations; and as the good père pressed him in his fatherly arms, and called upon God to bless him with all good gifts, Mr. Earnscliffe fairly sobbed like a child.
A gentle knock was heard at the door: Père d'Aubin opened it, and there stood Anina, trembling with eagerness to see her dear Signore, and carrying in her hand the little statue of the Madonna which he had given her long ago.
Père d'Aubin looked round at Mr. Earnscliffe to see if he wished that she should be admitted, but he said aloud, "Vieni figlia mia,—my little guardian angel, I do believe, who gained for me the blessed Madonna's intercession!"
Anina sprang into his arms, saying, "You see, Signore, I have brought her statue with me, because now I know you will not be sorry that you gave it to me."
"Sorry! Ah, no!" he exclaimed, as he reverently took the statue from her and placed it on the table.