“I have promised you,” said Lucy, with an accent of timid reproach, “but you have also promised me to refer it to Father Christopher.”
“Ha! will you now draw back?” said Renzo.
“No, no,” said Lucy, again alarmed, “no, no, I have promised, and will perform. But you have compelled me to it by your own impetuosity. God forbid that——”
“Why will you prognosticate evil, Lucy? God knows we wrong no person.”
“Well, well,” said Lucy, “I will hope for the best.”
Renzo would have wished to prolong the conversation, in order to allot to each their several parts for the morrow, but the night drew on, and he reluctantly felt himself compelled to depart.
The night was passed, by all three, in that state of agitation and trouble which always precedes an important enterprise whose issue is uncertain. Renzo returned early in the morning, and Agnes and he busied themselves in concerting the operations of the evening. Lucy was a mere spectator; but although she disapproved these measures in her heart, she still promised to do the best she could.
“Will you go to the convent, to speak to Father Christopher, as he desired you last night?” said Agnes to Renzo.
“Oh! no,” replied he, “the father would soon read in my countenance that there was something on foot; and if he interrogated me, I should be obliged to tell him. You had better send some one.”
“I will send Menico.”