I was frightened at the expression which my cousin's face assumed. "Yes!" she said, in a hoarse voice, "he is in the Guarda-Costa. My God! Frank! I saw him a year ago in the streets, toiling as a scavenger."
I saw that there was yet deep feeling under the cold, melancholy exterior. I had but little time to work, and hastened to proceed.
"Cousin Clara," I resumed, "you are mistaken; your brother has escaped from confinement, and is now on board my ship, the Gentile."
"Thank God!" cried the nun, clasping her hands, "now am I willing to die."
"And further," said I, immediately continuing my revelations, "can you repress your feelings?"
"What more can you have to tell me?" whispered Sister Agatha. "Go on, I am not so nearly stone as I thought myself; but I can hear without any dangerous outbreak of emotion whatever you have to say."
"Well," I resumed, "you were mistaken about Mr. Stewart's death—"
I had been too abrupt. The nun turned deadly pale, and clung to the bars of the grate for support; but the emotion was momentary. "Go on," said she, in a hoarse whisper.
"Can you bear it?" I asked, anxiously.
"Yes, no matter what it may be."