“It is not that, grandfather,” resumed Ghita, shaking off her doubts and looking up with flushed cheeks and a face radiant with holy feelings—­“Oh! it is not that.  If my life could save thine, gladly would I give it up for such a purpose; but do not—­do not—­at this awful moment mistake the shadow for the substance.  What matters it how death is met when it opens the gates of heaven?  Pain, I am sure, you cannot fear;—­even I, weak and feeble girl that I am, can despise that—­what other honor can there be in the hour of death than to be thought worthy of the mercy and care of God?  Caraccioli or lazzarone—­prince or beggar—­it will matter not two hours hence; and let me reverently beg of you to humble your thoughts to the level which becomes all sinners.”

“Thou say’st thou art my grand-child, Ghita—­the daughter of my son Francesco?”

“Signore, I am, as all tell me—­as my heart tells me—­and as I believe.”

“And thou look’st upon these opinions as unworthy—­unsuited, if thou lik’st that better—­to this solemn moment, and considerest the manner of a death a matter of indifference, even to a soldier?”

“When placed in comparison with his hopes of heaven—­when viewed through his own demerits, and the merits of his Saviour, grandfather.”

“And wilt thou, then, just entering on the stage of life, with the world before thee, and all that its future can offer, accompany me to the scaffold; let it be known to the mocking crowd that thou derivest thy being through the felon, and art not ashamed to own him for a parent?”

“I will, grandfather—­this have I come to do,” answered Ghita, steadily.  “But do not ask me to look upon thy sufferings!  All that can be done to lessen, by sharing thy disgrace, if disgrace it be, will I most gladly do; though I dread to see thy aged form in pain!”

“And this wilt thou do for one thou never beheld’st until this hour?—­one thou canst hardly have been taught to consider just to thyself?”

“If I have never seen thee before this visit, grandfather, I have loved thee and prayed for thee from infancy.  My excellent uncle early taught me this duty; but he never taught me to hate thee or any one.  My own father is taken away; and that which he would have been to thee this day will I endeavor to be for him.  The world is naught to me; and it will console thee to think that one is near whose heart weeps for thee and whose soul is lost in prayers for thy eternal pardon.”

“And this being, father, is made known to me an hour before I die!  God punishes me sufficiently for the wrong I’ve done her, in letting me thus know her worth, when it is too late to profit by it.  No, Ghita—­blessed child, such a sacrifice shall not be asked of thee.  Take this cross—­it was my mother’s; worn on her bosom, and has long been worn on mine—­keep it as a memorial of thy unhappy parent, and pray for me; but quit this