“But wherefore do you say, ‘Let us forgive each other?’” demanded Agnes, scarcely knowing whether to rejoice or weep at the marvelous transformation of her grandsire.
“Did I not ere now inform thee that thou wast forgotten until accident threw thee in my way to-night?” exclaimed Fernand. “I have wandered about the earth and beheld all the scenes which are represented in those pictures—ay, and many others equally remarkable. For eighteen months I was the servant—and slave of him who conferred upon me this fatal boon——”
“At what price, then, have you purchased it?” asked Agnes, with a cold shudder.
“Seek not to learn my secret, girl!” cried Wagner, almost sternly; then, in a milder tone, he added, “By all you deem holy and sacred, I conjure you, Agnes, never again to question me on that head! I have told thee as much as it is necessary for thee to know——”
“One word—only one word!” exclaimed Agnes in an imploring voice. “Hast thou bartered thine immortal soul——”
“No—no!” responded Wagner, emphatically. “My fate is terrible indeed—but I am not beyond the pale of salvation. See! Agnes—I kiss the crucifix—the symbol of faith and hope!”
And, as he uttered these words, he pressed to his lips an ivory crucifix of exquisite workmanship, which he took from the table.
“The Virgin be thanked that my fearful suspicion should prove unfounded!” ejaculated Agnes.
“Yes—I am not altogether lost,” answered Wagner. “But he—the unhappy man who made me what I am—— And yet I dare not say more,” he added, suddenly checking himself. “For one year and a half did I follow him as his servitor—profiting by his knowledge—gaining varied information from his experience—passing with the rapidity of thought from clime to clime—surveying scenes of ineffable bliss, and studying all the varieties of misery that fall to the lot of human nature. When he—my master—passed away——”
“On the 1st of August, 1517,” observed Agnes, quoting from the inscription beneath the portrait of the individual alluded to.