“Father,” said Ali, suddenly interrupting himself in his pretended occupation, “look towards the shore.”
“Well, what is it?” said Pascal.
“A number of people?”. replied Ali.
“Where?” asked Pascal.
“Yonder, on the road leading to the church,” replied Ali.
In fact, a considerable crowd of people were passing along the winding road that led to the church. Bruno saw that it was a marriage procession on its way to the chapel of St. Rosalie.
“Direct the boat’s head to the shore, and row quickly,” he cried, starting up and standing in the boat.
The boy obeyed, seized the oars, and the little vessel seemed to fly over the surface of the sea; the nearer they approached the shore the more terrible the features of Bruno became: at length, when they were within half a mile of the land, he cried out, in an accent of deep despair—
“It is Teresa! They have hurried on the ceremony; they would not wait until Sunday for fear I should have carried her off. God knows, I have done all in my power to bring this affair to a happy conclusion—but they would not have it, so woe betide them!”
At these words, Bruno, assisted by Ali, hoisted the sail of his little bark, which, doubling Mount Pellegrino, disappeared at the end of two hours behind Cape Gollo.