The two travellers quickly crossed there, and opened into a long lane that was shaded by tall tamarind and sappodilla trees.
An ecclesiastic was seen calmly pacing this umbrageous retreat, while his lips rapidly moved as he pored over the dark and riband-marked breviary, which he held open before.
The father was so wrapped up in what he was reading, that he did not perceive the two strangers until they had almost met face to face.
The priest started back, as he came on Lorenzo. “Mercy on us! the pirate officer!” he cried.
“What, what new deed is it, sir;” he said, after a pause: “which now tarnishes your soul again, and draws you to this peaceful and quiet retreat?”
“Pirate officer no longer, good father,” answered Lorenzo, “and I bring no outrage on your peaceful retreat. My spirit now itself requires too much calm to break it wherever it already exists.”
The priest folded his arms across his breast, and looked silently and sympathisingly on the unhappy man before him.
“My son,” he said, with a countenance that beamed with charity; “my son, there is one above that can relieve our bitterest woes. Seek consolation in the afflictions which, press upon your soul from His hand.”
“I am now in your power, good father,” said Lorenzo. “The schooner is wrecked on these shores; Appadocca is no more.”