“May God bless you! you have saved me from a frightful death.  May Heaven hear my prayer and reward you on the day of judgment for all the good I may have done in my life.  The light blinded me; I could not see.  Are you not Julio?”

This recognition struck Geronimo with terror, and in a feeble and discouraged voice he said: 

“Julio, Julio, you pushed me into the chair!”

Then seeing the dagger in Julio’s hands, he shuddered.

“A dagger in your hand!  Ah! you come to kill me?”

“Yes, signor,” replied Julio, sadly, “I come to take your life; but do not suppose I fulfil this fatal mission without emotion; on the contrary, my heart bleeds for you, and I feel an indescribable repugnance to deal the fatal blow.”

“Ah! you are not merciless; you will have pity on me,” said Geronimo.

“Impossible!” replied Julio.  “Fatality governs us both; it has irrevocably condemned you to death, and me to inhumanity.  All prayer, all supplication is useless; nothing can save your life.  I beg you, signor, not to increase the difficulties of my task; accept with resignation a fate you cannot escape.”

A sharp cry escaped Geronimo, as these unfeeling words convinced him that all hope was lost.

“My God!” he exclaimed, “is it then true that this dungeon is to become my tomb?  Must I die without confession?  Shall my body lie in unconsecrated ground?  Oh, mercy! mercy!”

“Necessity is a merciless law, signor,” replied Julio, “and I have more cause than you to complain of its harshness.  You, at least, will receive in heaven the recompense of your innocent life, while I must commit here a crime from which I recoil with horror, but which is forced upon me by an irresistible power, and for which my poor soul will stand accused before the judgment-seat of God.  But do not cherish a deceitful hope; there is no hope for you.  Before I depart from here, that grave must receive your body.  That I did not immediately on entering fulfil my sad mission is partly owing to the fact that an uncontrollable compassion paralyzed my arm, but still more, to my desire to afford you time to say some prayers.  Therefore prepare your soul for its last passage.  I will wait patiently even for a quarter of an hour.  Pray with a tranquil mind—­I will not strike without giving notice.”

Saying these words, Julio put down the lamp replaced his dagger in its scabbard, and seated himself on a block of wood which was in a corner of the cellar.

Geronimo, overwhelmed by Julio’s insensibility, bowed his head upon his breast.  For some time he neither spoke nor moved, seeming to accept his fate with complete resignation.  But the terror of death again possessed him.

“Impossible!” he exclaimed.  “You will not kill me, Julio?  I conjure you, by your soul’s salvation, not to imbrue your hands in my blood!”

And the unfortunate young man endeavored to drag his feeble body to Julio’s feet; but the latter drew his dagger in a threatening manner.