Bursts of frantic joy, rapturous embraces again and again repeated, succeeded to the silent anguish with which they had awaited their doom. The venerable father endeavored to calm this exhausting excitement, and then left to go pay the Moors the sum stipulated. Father Sainte Foi remained behind to help remove the fetters whose iron verily entered into his soul.
"To-morrow!" he cried, as he knocked off the heavy chains, "to-morrow, we shall quit this land of slavery and death!"
"To-morrow!" echoed the pale victims, "to-morrow! Thanks, O Lord God! Thanks, O well-named Lady of Mercy! Thanks Redemptorist Fathers! We are going home to-morrow!"
"Retire now, dear brethren," said Father Antoine, returning, "the Moors are satisfied, and to-morrow at break of day we shall meet again!"
The now happy crowd left the chapel to seek repose in the dormitories of the hospital until the wished-for morning light, and the two monks prostrated themselves before the altar in humble, hearty thanksgiving.
At dawn, the next day, the ransomed slaves were already marshalled on the open space before the hospital gate, waiting the signal for embarking. Father Sainte Foi was in the midst of them, full of ardor and energy, and as impatient for the happy moment when they should quit the land of the infidel as the unfortunate men he had saved. Father Antoine was there also, but, more reserved in the expression of his joy, he could scarcely repress a smile as he remarked the excitement and triumph of his young companion.
"But I was also once young," said he, "nay, to-day I could almost fancy myself so again! And now, my son, see that all is ready, that no one is missing; it is time to begin our march to the ship."
At this moment a cry arose from the assembled Christians. "Slaves! more slaves! O God! they come too late—they have just arrived from the desert with their master—there are two of them—they are too late!"
"There are two of them," repeated Father Sainte Foi, and his cheek turned pale, "oh! if there had been but one!"