They embraced fondly, and then sat down upon the sand to partake of their morning repast.
But the thoughts of both were naturally intent upon the recent topic of their discourse; and their conversation, though each endeavored to force it into other channels, reverted to the subject which was now uppermost in their minds.
“What must my poor brother Francisco conjecture to be the cause of my prolonged, and to him mysterious absence?” said Nisida, as her eyes were cast wistfully over the wide expanse of waters. “Methinks that I have already hinted to thee how the foolish passion which he had conceived for a maiden of low degree and obscure birth, compelled me, in accordance with his nearest and best interest, to consign the object of his boyish love to the convent of the Carmelites? Yes, and it was with surprise and dismay incredible that I heard, ere I was torn away from Florence by the villain Stephano, how that convent was sacked and destroyed by unknown marauders——”
“Full intelligence of which terrible sacrilege you communicated to me by signs the second and last time you visited me in my dungeon,” observed Wagner.
“And I heard also, with increased fear,” continued Nisida, “that some of the inmates of that convent had escaped; and, being unable, in consequence of my simulated deafness and dumbness, to set on foot the necessary inquiries, I could not learn whether Flora Francatelli was amongst those who had so escaped the almost general ruin. O! if she should have survived that fatal night—and if she should have again encountered my brother! Alas! thou perceivest, my Fernand, how necessary it is for me to quit the island on the first occasion which may serve for that purpose!”
“And wouldst thou, Nisida,” asked Wagner reproachfully, “place thyself as a barrier between the Count of Riverola and her whom he loves?”
“Yes!” ejaculated Nisida, her countenance suddenly assuming a stern and imperious expression: “for the most important interests are involved in the marriage which he may contract. But enough of this, Fernand,” she added, relapsing into a more tender mood. “And now tell me—canst thou blame me for the longing desire which has seized upon me—the ardent craving to return to Florence?”
“Nay—I do not blame thee, dearest Nisida!” he exclaimed; “but I pity thee—I feel for thee! Because,” he continued, “if I understand rightly, thou wilt be compelled to feign deafness and dumbness once more, in order to work out thy mysterious aims;—thou wilt be compelled to submit to that awful martyrdom—that terrible duplicity which thou wilt find so painful and difficult to resume, after the full enjoyment of the blessed faculties of speech and hearing.”
“Alas! such will be my duty!” murmured Nisida; “and oh! that destiny is a sad one! But,” she exclaimed, after a moment’s pause, and as a reminiscence appeared suddenly to strike her, “dost thou not think that even such a destiny as that becomes tolerable, when it is fulfilled as the only means of carrying out the conditions of a vow breathed to a well-beloved and dying mother? But wearisome—oh! crushingly tedious was that mode of existence;—and the first bright day of real happiness which I enjoyed, was that when I first knew that thou didst love me! And again, Fernand—oh! again was I supremely happy when, one evening—thou may’st remember well,—it was the eve that my brother and the minion Flora exchanged tender words together in the room adjoining that where we were seated—on that evening, Fernand, I besought by signs that thou wouldst breathe the words—I love thee! and thou didst so—and I drank in those words as a person dying with thirst would imbibe pure spring water placed to his lips!”
Fernand pressed Nisida to his heart—for he saw, in spite of her anxiety to return to Italy, that she really loved him.