“Oh, speak,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, following him—“Speak—does my child live? my child Beatrice?”
“Thy child liveth not,” murmured the monk, in a deep sepulchral tone; “’tis of her death I would tell thee.”
“Alas, alas! I did indeed fear so,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, deeply affected. “I had indeed ceased to hope that she might be yet alive. Yet even to know her fate were something amid the sad obscurity which hath so long oppressed us. What canst thou tell me of her, holy father?”
“Thou hadst a brother,” said the Franciscan, slowly and solemnly.
“Alas! I had. I had indeed a brother,” cried De Vaux. “Then are my fears but too just. It was he then who reft me of mine infant. Oh, wretch, wretch, how couldst thou be so cruel!”
“It was he,” cried the monk, with a peculiar energy of manner, whilst his eyes glared strangely from beneath his cowl as he spake; “it was thy brother, who, in revenge for the blow he received from thine hand, tore thine infant daughter from her nurse, and fled with her.”
“Then may God in His infinite mercy forgive him!” cried De Vaux, clasping his hands together with strong agitation of manner; and, dropping on his knees before the shrine of the Virgin, he buried his face in his mantle, and gave way to his emotions.
“What! canst thou in truth forgive him, then?” cried the monk; “canst thou in sincerity pray for his forgiveness in Heaven? Wouldst thou not rather seek revenge against him—revenge, the which may ere long be put within thy power—revenge, to which even I might peradventure help thee?”
“And dost thou, the servant of Christ—thou who shouldst be the messenger of peace—dost thou become a tempter?” cried De Vaux, looking upwards at the monk with astonishment; “dost thou counsel revenge?—dost thou become a pander to the most malignant of human passions, so as to offer thyself to be the instrument who shall drag up my sinful, yet perchance ere this, repentant brother, to dree my vengeance?”
“’Tis well,” replied the Franciscan coolly; “I did so speak but to prove thy virtue, the which I do find to be great. Forgiveness is the badge of our Christian faith, which it well becometh thee to wear; and thou hast the jewel of its highest [[354]]perfection, sith thou canst bring thy mind to forgive him who was the murderer of thy first-born child.”