"We have no time to lose," said Jeronimo sullenly; "we have stayed too long already, as you will find, perhaps."
"Farewel, dear Ellena!" said Olivia, "may the protection of heaven never leave you!"
The fears of Ellena now gave way to affectionate sorrow, as, weeping on the bosom of the nun, she said "farewel! O farewel, my dear, my tender friend! I must never, never see you more, but I shall always love you; and you have promised, that I shall hear from you; remember the convent della Pieta!"
"You should have settled this matter within," said Jeronimo, "we have been here these two hours already."
"Ah Ellena!" said Vivaldi, as he gently disengaged her from the nun, "do I then hold only the second place in your heart?"
Ellena, as she dismissed her tears, replied with a smile more eloquent than words; and when she had again and again bade adieu to Olivia, she gave him her hand, and quitted the gate.
"It is moonlight," observed Vivaldi to Jeronimo, "your lamp is useless, and may betray us."
"It will be necessary in the church," replied Jeronimo, "and in some circuitous avenues we must pass, for I dare not lead you out through the great gates, Signor, as you well know."
"Lead on, then," replied Vivaldi, and they reached one of the cypress walks, that extended to the church; but, before they entered it, Ellena paused and looked back to the garden gate, that she might see Olivia once again. The nun was still there, and Ellena perceived her faintly in the moonlight, waving her hand in signal of a last adieu. Ellena's heart was full; she wept, and lingered, and returned the signal, till the gentle violence of Vivaldi withdrew her from the spot.
"I envy your friend those tears," said he, "and feel jealous of the tenderness that excites them. Weep no more, my Ellena."