The merchant shook his head, and after a few moments’ silence, he replied: 

“Alas!  I ought to admit that there is no hope of realizing this honorable alliance.  What happiness Geronimo has staked on the cast of a die!  I thank you, Mr. Van de Werve, for your proffered friendship, but I shall not remain at Antwerp.  To-day I shall beg Signor Turchi to settle up the affairs of the house in this city.  Now that I have no one in the world to care for, none for whom to work and amass money, I shall retire from commerce.  I have ordered the Il Salvatore to be provisioned, and I shall set sail by the first favorable wind.”

“You are right, signor.  By returning to your own beautiful country, you will the sooner forget this misfortune.”

“God knows when I will revisit my country!” replied the old man.

“Are you not going to Italy?” demanded Mr. Van de Werve.

“No, sir; but to England.”

“In search of your nephew?  Signor Turchi led us to suppose that he had sought refuge in that island.  I admire your unbounded love for a man so little deserving of it; but, signor, you require rest.  Follow my advice:  go to Italy, and do not shorten your life by the sorrows which may await you in England.”

“The advice is no doubt good,” replied Deodati; “but I cannot follow it.  However guilty he may be, Geronimo is the only son of my deceased brother, whom I promised on his death-bed to watch over his child as if he were my own.  Were I to abandon Geronimo entirely, he might be pushed by want and misery into the path of vice, perhaps of infamy.  I will fulfil my duty to the last.  If I love him less than formerly, at least I will save him from utter ruin.”

“What generosity!” exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, in admiration.  “You travel about in search of your nephew; you endanger your health.  I foresee that he has but to speak to obtain pardon.  And this great sacrifice, this magnanimous affection meets with such a return!  It is frightful!”

“No, sir,” replied Deodati, “I will not pardon Geronimo.  He will never be the same to me.  Should I find him, or should he return to me, I will give him an income sufficient to keep him from want; that being done, I shall renounce the world and retire into a cloister, to await there in solitude and peace the time when it may please God to call me to himself.”

Mr. Van de Werve heard the street-door open, and said eagerly to the old merchant: 

“Signor, my daughter is at church and may return at any moment.  I beg you not to speak of these things in her presence.  Since the disappearance of Geronimo, she does nothing but weep and pray; no consideration alleviates her sorrow, nothing consoles her.  If she were suddenly to lose all hope, it might cause her death.  Heavens!  Signor Turchi, what has happened to him?”

He arose hastily and regarded in astonishment Simon Turchi, who entered and attempted to speak, but the words seemed to die upon his lips; for he stood trembling in the centre of the room, uttering unintelligible sounds.  He was pale as death.