Signor Geronimo entered.  His face was as pale and fleshless as that of a skeleton.  The wound he had received in his neck appeared like a large spot of clotted blood—­his garments were disordered, soiled, and blood stained.  He seemed really a spectre just arisen from the tomb.

As soon as Turchi recognized his victim, he recoiled, uttering a cry of terror; and imagining that God had permitted a miracle in order to punish his crime, he extended his trembling hands to Geronimo, as if to implore pardon.

The young man cast upon him a look of disgust and contempt, and exclaimed: 

“You here, assassin?  Tremble, for the Supreme Judge will demand of you an account of my blood and of Julio’s death.”

A murmur of surprise and terror ran through the room; all eyes were fixed on Simon Turchi, who seemed crushed by Geronimo’s words.

Having thus addressed Turchi, Geronimo rushed into his uncle’s arms and embraced him in a transport of joy.

“Oh, unexpected happiness!” he exclaimed.  “It is permitted me to see my uncle again in this world!  I know you have suffered; you have suffered as a father deprived of his only child!  No more sorrow now.  I will repay you for your tender affection; I will love you; I will show my gratitude; I will venerate you.  Ah! bless the God of mercy, who has saved me from the fangs of that tiger thirsting for my blood!  But Mary, where is Mary?  Ah! there she is!  My beloved friend, what has happened?”

He ran to the insensible young girl, knelt before her, and endeavored to recall her to consciousness by every endearing epithet.

In the meantime Mr. Van de Werve aided the duenna in her exertions to restore animation.  Taking advantage of this, Simon Turchi walked towards the door with the intention of making his escape; but the bailiff discovering his design, drew his sword and placed himself in the doorway.

Then Simon Turchi understood the fate awaiting him.  He bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.  He trembled in every limb, and his breast heaved with sighs of anguish.  Every expectation of escape by flight, or by making an appeal for pardon, vanished as he beheld the indignant expression of the bailiff.

Mary at last recovered from the faint into which she had fallen.  She looked around her in surprise, as if ignorant of what had happened; but when Geronimo’s voice fell in joyous accents on her ear, a bright smile irradiated her countenance, and she exclaimed: 

“It is not a dream!  He lives!  I see him once more!  Geronimo!  Geronimo!”

The young noble was too overpowered to do more than call the name of his beloved.

Only a few minutes had elapsed since Geronimo’s entrance; all were too much moved to express their surprise in words.  But the bailiff resolved to put an end to this harrowing scene by the performance of a painful duty.

He said, in an imperative manner: