Fabiola, who had ever treasured up the dying words of Miriam, eagerly asked, “Where is he?”
“He is gone again,” was the reply.
The lady’s countenance fell. “But how,” she asked again, “do you know it was he?” The excavator replied:
“In the course of the morning I noticed, among the crowd, a man not yet fifty, but worn by mortification and sorrow, to premature old age. His hair was nearly grey, as was his long beard. His dress was eastern, and he wore the cloak which the monks from that country usually do. When he came before the tomb of Agnes, he flung himself upon the pavement with such a passion of tears, such groans, such sobs, as moved all around to compassion. Many approached him, and whispered, ‘Brother, thou art in great distress; weep not so, the saint is merciful.’ Others said to him, ‘We will all pray for thee, fear not.’[236] But he seemed to be beyond comfort. I thought to myself, surely in the presence of so gentle and kind a saint, none ought to be thus disconsolate or heart-broken, except only one man.”
“Go on, go on,” broke in Fabiola; “what did he next?”
“After a long time,” continued the fossor, “he arose, and drawing from his bosom a most beautiful and sparkling ring, he laid it on her tomb. I thought I had seen it before, many years ago.”
“And then?”
“Turning round he saw me, and recognized my dress. He approached me, and I could feel him trembling, as, without looking in my face, he timidly asked me: ‘Brother, knowest thou if there lie buried any where here about a maiden from Syria, called Miriam?’ I pointed silently to the tomb. After a pause of great pain to himself, so agitated now that his voice faltered, he asked me again: ‘Knowest thou, brother, of what she died?’ ‘Of consumption,’ I replied. ‘Thank God!’ he ejaculated, with the sigh of relieved anguish, and fell prostrate on the ground. Here too he moaned and cried for more than an hour, then, approaching the tomb, affectionately kissed its cover, and retired.”
“It is he, Torquatus, it is he!” warmly exclaimed Fabiola; “why did you not detain him?”
“I durst not, lady; after I had once seen his face, I had not courage to meet his eye. But I am sure he will return again; for he went towards the city.”