“’Twill be useless,” he said; “it is the pleasure of the Three that I should suffer for old Antonio’s death.”

“Then wilt thou die unjustly!  I am a witness that he fell by other hands.”

“Father!” shrieked Gelsomina, “oh! repeat the words; say that Carlo could not do the cruel deed!”

“Of that murder, at least, he is innocent.”

“Gelsomina!” said Jacopo, struggling to stretch forth his arms towards her, and yielding to a full heart, “and of every other!”

A cry of wild delight burst from the lips of the girl, who in the next instant lay senseless on his bosom.

We draw the veil before the scene that followed.  Near an hour must pass before we can again remove it.  The cell then exhibited a group in its centre, over which the lamp shed its feeble light, marking the countenances of the different personages with strong tints and deep shadows, in a manner to bring forth all the force of Italian expression.  The Carmelite was seated on the stool, while Jacopo and Gelsomina knelt beside him.  The former of the two last was speaking earnestly, while his auditors caught each syllable that issued from his lips, as if interest in his innocence were still stronger than curiosity.

“I have told you, father,” he continued, “that a false accusation of having wronged the customs brought my unhappy parent under the Senate’s displeasure, and that he was many years an innocent inhabitant of one of these accursed cells, while we believed him in exile among the islands.  At length we succeeded in getting such proof before the Council, as ought to have satisfied the patricians of their own injustice.  I am afraid that when men pretend that the chosen of the earth exercise authority, they are not ready to admit their errors, for it would be proof against the merit of their system.  The Council delayed a weary time to do us justice—­so long, that my poor mother sank under her sufferings.  My sister, a girl of Gelsomina’s years, followed her soon—­for the only reason given by the state, when pressed for proof, was the suspicion that one who sought her love was guilty of the crime for which my unhappy father perished.”

“And did they refuse to repair their injustice?” exclaimed the Carmelite.

“They could not do it, father, without publishing their fallibility.  The credit of certain great patricians was concerned, and I fear there is a morality in these Councils which separates the deed of the man from those of the senators, putting policy before justice.”

“This may be true, son; for when a community is grounded on false principles, its interests must, of necessity, be maintained by sophisms.  God will view this act with a different eye!”

“Else would the world be hopeless, father!  After years of prayers and interest, I was, under a solemn oath of secresy, admitted to my father’s cell.  There was happiness in being able to administer to his wants—­in hearing his voice—­in kneeling for his blessing.  Gelsomina was then a child approaching womanhood.  I knew not their motive, though after thoughts left it no secret, and I was permitted to see my father through her means.  When they believed that I was sufficiently caught in their toils, I was led into that fatal error which has destroyed my hopes, and brought me to this condition.”