"Carmela! Carmela!" shouted Nino, following close in breathless haste; a gust of wind swung open the door of the deserted sanctuary; like a child seeking its father's protection, Carmela sprang within; close behind her followed Nino, and at the same moment, propelled by a powerful hand, the door fell to with a loud bang; a hasty rattling followed, and from the fast-made lock some one drew out the key.
Don Cesare it was who stood before the chapel, motionless, the key in his hand, his eyes fastened on the door. Convulsively his hand sought his knife, and he muttered a few half-stifled words. He stood there a long time, seemingly in violent conflict with himself, and as if he strove in vain for a decision. At last he seemed to find what he sought.
"You won't escape me," he said to himself, and shoved the key into his pocket; and after another pause he added: "Herein I recognize thy hand, holy Pancrazio."
He clambered hurriedly down the path to the cliff once more, and a very grim smile indeed passed over his face, for a saying which Father Atanasio loved to bring into his sermons came suddenly, he could not tell how, into his head--about ancient Saul, and how he went forth to seek his she ass. Had he not also, like Saul, found something better than he sought? The bold Nino was in his power. The blood shot up into his head. He almost turned back to the chapel, but he was master of his own will, and let the knife go again. The thieving villain! He had taken advantage of his absence to chatter, Heaven knew what, misleading nonsense in his favorite sister's ears, and had enticed her out of the house onto that lonely path. She had fled before him, but yet she had followed him. And now the two were sitting up there, caught, behind lock and bolt, and he, Don Cesare, held the key in his hand, and, except as true and honorable husband of Carmela, that rascal should never come out of the chapel. And now Don Cesare laughed aloud, and said:
"Whom have you to thank for this, Don Cesare? Whom but the good, dear Evolino, whom you drew out of the water with your own hand--to whom you will go now, this moment, and, throwing yourself on your knees, will"--
Hold! what was that? Evolino was no longer standing in the rocky niche, and what did he see? Yonder he lay across the path; and, holy Madonna! without a head! and in his breast a gaping wound, as if something had crushed in poor Evolino's worm-eaten side. Don Cesare looked all around. There lay the stone. Now he understood it all. Nino must have thrown it at the saint when Carmela's scream startled him; yes, yes, and now Evolino was revenging himself. He had hunted the two into his chapel, and delivered the key into Don Cesare's hand! And see! there lay the head. It had rolled close to the shore; but ah! in what a condition it was, and what a change in Evolino's countenance! There was the strangest mixture of godlike, cheerful youth, and shrivelled old age, the shape, the forehead, the crown, the chin, were those of a youth, but there were painted wrinkles on them, and scars had engraved themselves deep in the old wood, and close beside these deep seams which time had made in the once youthful face, the gaudy new varnished colors showed like rouge on the face of a dead boy. Don Cesare felt quite overcome by the sight. "Evolino! San Pancrazio!" said he, half aloud to the head, which he held in his trembling hand. "Evolino, is it you? or, is it not you? I don't know you any longer--and yet I know you well, poor old friend!"
And with great fervor, as if he were carrying something very sacred, he bore the head of San Pancrazio to where his body lay, raised the latter from the ground, set it once more in the rocky niche, and carefully laid the mutilated, unrecognizable head in the crossed arms, then he kneeled on the sharp stones, folded his hands, and thanked his patron in a prayer of much devoutness, for the favor which he had shown him that day. He prayed a long time, and did not mark how the clouds lowered ever nearer on land and sea--did not mark how the wind swept cooler and cooler over the rocks. Not until the soft raindrops wet his arms and shoulders did he arouse from his pious devotion.
"Evolino--dear Evolino!" said he silently to himself. "It is you who put this into my head; you who led me hither, and in your hands I leave the fortunes of my house. Rule it as seems best to you. To-morrow you will find me at your chapel, ready for anything; for atonement, and bridal rejoicing, or for a bloody avenging of my injured honor."
As he said this, he drew the key slowly out of his pocket, hung it on one of the saint's hands, as if it were a hook, kissed Evolino's robe once more in humble confidence, and departed with strong, rapid steps through the night.