Lando was present when this note arrived, and I read it aloud.
“O heavens!” he exclaimed, “you have lost your cause! That is evident. He tells you so plainly enough!... And I cannot see what he can have worse to tell you.”
He kept on talking for some time, but I did not listen to him. I read the note over and over again. Why had not Lorenzo written? Why was Mario coming, and why did he not say Lorenzo was to accompany him? Why did he not even mention his name?... I did not dare acknowledge to myself the terrible fear that passed through my mind; but I recalled his mysterious words, his look, his voice, and his whole manner when he bade me farewell, and everything assumed an ominous look. A possibility flashed across my mind which I did not dare dwell on for fear of losing my reason, and, with it, the blessed remembrance that was the only support of my life! I suffered that night as I had not suffered since the hours of grief and remorse that followed the death of my mother!
The next day, at a late hour, I at last perceived the boat from Sicily slowly coming up the bay, struggling against a violent out-wind; for, after a long continuation of fine weather, now came a succession of dismal, stormy days, such as often cast a gloom over the end of spring at Naples. My first impulse was to go to meet Mario at the landing; but I changed my mind, and concluded to remain at home, that I might be alone when I should receive the news he was bringing me.
I found it difficult, however, to control my impatience, for I had to wait nearly an hour longer. But at last I heard his step on the stairs; then my door opened, and he made his appearance. What I experienced when I saw he was really alone showed to what an extent I had flattered myself Lorenzo would return with him. I gazed at him without stirring from my seat, without the strength to ask a single question. He came to me, took me in his arms with more tenderness than he had ever shown in his life, and when he kissed me I saw his eyes were filled with tears.
“Lorenzo! Where is Lorenzo?” I exclaimed as soon as I could speak.
“Be calm, sister,” said he—“be calm, I beg of you.... I will tell you the whole truth without the slightest evasion.”
“But before anything else, tell me where Lorenzo is, and why he did not come with you.”
“Ginevra, I cannot tell you, for I do not know yet. I am quite as ignorant as you what has become of him.”
At this reply the beating of my heart became so violent that I thought I should faint away; but I struggled to overcome the anguish that seized me, and said in a hoarse voice: