“Farewell, Lucy, and you, too, good signora, till we meet again,” said Renzo, not having words to express his feelings at this moment.
“Who knows whether we shall all meet again?” cried Lucy.
“May God ever watch over you and bless you!” said the friar, as he quitted the cabin with Renzo.
As night was not far distant, the capuchin offered the young man a shelter in his humble abode: “I cannot bear you company,” said he, “but you can at least repose yourself, in order to be able to prosecute your journey.”
Renzo, however, felt impatient to be gone; as to the hour or the weather it might be said that, night or day, rain or shine, heat or cold, were equally indifferent to him; the friar pressed his hand as he departed, saying, “If you find, which may God grant! the good Agnes, remember me to her; tell her, as well as all those who remember Friar Christopher, to pray for me.”
“Oh, dear father, shall we never meet again?”
“Above, I hope. Farewell, farewell!”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
As Renzo passed without the walls of the lazaretto, the rain began to fall in torrents. Instead of lamenting, he rejoiced at it: he was delighted with the refreshing air, and with the sound of the falling drops from the plants and foliage which seemed to have new life imparted to them; and breathing more freely in this change of nature, he felt more vividly the change that had occurred in his own destiny.