“This only—the Bishop revealed what he knew to my father; I was summoned to his presence scarce an hour since. He reproached me with what he called the infamy I had brought upon his house. I could not bear his agony—Giuseppe! I confessed myself thy wedded wife!”
“Thou wast right—my Leonora! and then?”
“He refused to believe me! I called Beatrice, who witnessed our marriage, with her husband. My father softened; I knelt at his feet, and implored forgiveness.”
“And he?” asked Tartini, breathlessly.
“He pardoned me—he embraced me as his daughter; but required me to renounce thee forever.”
The young man dropped the hand he had held clasped in his.
“Wilt thou—Leonora?” he asked.
“Never—Giuseppe!”
“Beloved! let us go forth; I will claim thee in the face of the world.”
“Nay, my husband—listen to me! I have seen our friend, the good Father Antonio—and appealed to him in my distress. He counsels wisely. Thou must leave Padua, and that instantly! My father’s anger is not to be dreaded so much as that of my haughty uncle, who would urge him to all that is fearful. They would sacrifice thee—Giuseppe! Oh, thou knowest not the pride of our house! They would shrink from no deed—”