Suddenly they heard steps in the adjoining chamber, and a knock at the door. The old woman demanded, “Who is there?”
“Open,” replied the well-known voice.
The old woman drew the bolt, and holding the door open, the Unknown let Don Abbondio and the good woman pass in; then closing the door, and remaining outside himself, he sent away the old woman to a distant part of the castle. The first appearance of other persons increased the agitation of Lucy, to whom any change brought an accession of alarm. She looked, and beholding a priest and a female, felt somewhat reassured; she looked again! Can it be? Recognising Don Abbondio, her eyes remained fixed as by the wand of an enchanter. The kind woman bent over her, and with an affectionate and anxious countenance, said, “Alas! my poor child! come, come with us.”
“Who are you?” said Lucy,—but, without waiting her reply, she turned again to Don Abbondio, exclaiming, “Is it you? Is it you indeed, Signor Curate? Where are we? Oh! unhappy girl! I am no longer in my right mind!”
“No, no, it is I, in truth; take courage. We have come to take you away. I am indeed your curate, come for this purpose——”
As if restored to strength in an instant, Lucy stood up, and fixing her eyes again on their faces, she said, “The Virgin has sent you, then!”
“I have no doubt of it,” said the good lady.
“But is it true, that we may go away? Is it true indeed?” resumed Lucy, lowering her voice to a timid and fearful tone. “And all these people,” continued she, with her lips compressed, and trembling from alarm and horror; “and this lord—this man—he promised me indeed.”
“He is here also in person with us,” said Don Abbondio. “He is without, expecting us; let us go at once; we must not make such a man wait.”
At this moment the Unknown appeared at the door. Lucy, who, a few moments before, had desired earnestly to see him—nay, having no other hope in the world, had desired to see none but him—now that she was so unexpectedly in the presence of friends, was, for a moment, overcome with terror. Shuddering with horror, she hid her face on the shoulder of the good dame. Beholding the innocent girl, on whom the evening before he had not had resolution to fix his eyes; beholding her countenance, pale, and changed, from fasting and prolonged suffering, the Unknown hesitated; but perceiving her impulse of terror, he cast down his eyes, and, after a moment’s silence, exclaimed, “It is true! forgive me!”