“In truth it has,” said Boëmo, warmly. “And believe me, brother, you will have as good reason to be proud of him as a kinsman, as I of my pupil. It is my knowledge of his worth that causes me such pain at his loss of health.”
“The wearing of grief, think you?”
“Not wholly. His anxiety for the safety of his wife was set at rest long ago by intelligence of her welfare. He knows well that the only daughter of so proud a house must be dear to her kinsmen—even by their unwearied efforts to discover his retreat. And I have taught him to solace the pains of absence.”
“Fears he still the Bishop’s resentment?”
“Oh, no; these convent walls are secure, and his secret well guarded, since only in your keeping and mine. His enemies may ransack Italy; they will never dream of finding him here.”
“What is the source, then, of his depression?”
“It is a mystery to me. I have marked it growing for weeks. And sure I am, it is not weariness of the solitude of this abode. Since his spirits rose from the sadness of his first misfortunes—since he breathed the air of comparative freedom, and joined in the exercises of our pious brethren, Giuseppe has been a changed man. Sorely hath he been tried in the furnace of affliction, and he hath come forth pure gold. The religious calm of this retreat has taught him reflection and moderation. His past sorrow has chastened his spirit; the holy example of the brethren has nourished in his breast humility and resignation and piety. The ardent aspirations of his nature are now directed to the accomplishment of those great things for which Heaven has destined him. Never have I known so unwearied, so devoted a student.”
“With your training and good counsel, brother, he might well love study,” said the Guardian, with a smile.
“Nay, brother,” replied Boëmo, modestly, “I have but directed him in the cultivation of his surprising genius for music. And you know he excels on the violin. It is for that he seems to have a passion—a passion that I fear is consuming his very life.”
They were interrupted by one of the brethren, who had some business with the Guardian; and Father Boëmo proceeded to the cell of his pupil, whom he was to accompany to vespers.