Chapter XLVIII

THE stillness was all around them and seemed to fold them together as they sat side by side. A deep sigh quivered and paused and was drawn again almost with a gasp that stirred the air. Suddenly Francesca's face was hidden in her hands, and her head was bowed almost to her knees. A moment more, and she sobbed aloud, wordless, as though her soul were breaking from her heart.

In the great gloom there was something unearthly in the sound of her weeping. The man who could neither suffer any more himself nor feel human pity for another's suffering, turned and looked at her with shadowy eyes. He understood, though he could not feel, and he knew that she had borne more than any one had guessed.

She shed many tears, and it was long before her sobbing ceased to call down pitiful, heart-breaking echoes from the unseen heights of darkness. Her head was bent down upon her knees as she sat there, striving with herself.

He could do nothing, and there was nothing that he could say. He could not comfort her, he could not deny her grief. He only knew that there was one more being still alive and bearing the pain of sins done long ago. Truly the judgment upon that man by whom the offence had come, should be heavy and relentless and enduring.

At last all was still again. Francesca did not move, but sat bowed together, her hands pressing her face. Very softly, Griggs rose to his feet, and she did not see that he was no longer seated beside her. He stood up and leaned upon the broad marble of the balustrade. When she at last raised her head, she thought that he was gone.

"Where are you?" she asked, in a startled voice.

Then, looking round, she saw him standing by the rail. She understood why he had moved--that she might not feel that he was watching her and seeing her tears.

"I am not ashamed," she said. "At least you know me, now."

"Yes. I know."

She also rose and stood up, and leaned upon the balustrade and looked into his face.

"I am glad you know," she said, and he saw how pale she was, and that her cheeks were wet. "Now that it is over, I am glad that you know," she said again. "You are beyond sympathy, and beyond pitying any one, though you are not unkind. I am glad, that if any one was to know my secret, it should be you. I could not bear pity. It would hurt me. But you are not unkind."

"Nor kind--nor anything," he said.

"No. It is as though I had spoken to the grave--or to eternity. It is safe with you."

"Yes. Quite safe. Safer than with the dead."

"He never knew it. Thank God! He never knew it! To me he was always the same faithful friend. To you he was an enemy, and cruel. I thought him above cruelty, but he was human, after all. Was it not human, that he should be cruel to you?"

"Yes," answered Griggs, wondering a little at her speech and tone. "It was very human."

"And you forgive him for it?"

"I?" There was surprise in his tone.

"Yes," she answered. "I want your forgiveness for him. He died without your forgiveness. It is the only thing I ask of you--I have not the right to ask anything, I know, but is it so very much?"

"It is nothing," said Griggs. "There is no such thing as forgiveness in my world. How could there be? I resent nothing."

"But then, if you do not resent what he did, you have forgiven him. Have you not?"

"I suppose so." He was puzzled.

"Will you not say it?" she pleaded.

"Willingly," he answered. "I forgive him. I remember nothing against him."

"Thank you. You are a good man."

He shook his head gravely, but he took her outstretched hand and pressed it gently.

"Thank you," she repeated, withdrawing hers. "Do not think it strange that I should ask such a thing. It means a great deal to me. I could not bear to think that he had left an enemy in the world and was gone where he could not ask forgiveness for what he had done. So I asked it of you, for him. I know that he would have wished me to. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Griggs, thoughtfully. "I understand."

Again there was silence for a long time as they stood there. The tears dried upon the woman's sweet pale face, and a soft light came where the tears had been.

"Will you come with me?" she asked at last, looking up.

He did not guess what she meant to do, but he left the step on which he was standing and stood ready.

"It must be late," he said. "Should you like to try and rest? I will arrange a place for you as well as I can."

"Not yet," she answered. "If you will come with me--" she hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I will say a prayer for the dead," she said, in a low voice. "I always do, every night, since he died."

Griggs bent his head, and she came down from the step. He walked beside her, down the silent nave into the darkness. Before the Chapel of the Sacrament they both paused and bent the knee. Then she hesitated.

"I should like to go to the Pieta," she said timidly. "It seems so far. Do you mind?"

He held out his arm silently. She felt it and laid her hand upon it, and they went on. It was very dark. They knew that they were passing the pillars when they could not see the little lights from the chapels in the distance on their left. Then by the echo of their own footsteps they knew that they were near the great door, and at last they saw the single tiny flame in the silver lamp hanging above the altar they sought.

Guided by it, they went forward, and the solitary ray showed them the marble rail. They knelt down side by side.

"Let us pray for them all," said Francesca, very softly.

She looked up to the marble face of Christ's mother, the Addolorata, the mother of sorrows, and she thought of that sinning nun, dead long ago, who had been called Addolorata.

"Let us pray for them all," she repeated. "For Maria Braccio, for Gloria--for Angelo Reanda."

She lowered her head upon her hands. Then, presently, she looked up again, and Griggs heard her sweet voice in the darkness repeating the ancient Commemoration for the Dead, from the Canon of the Mass.

"Remember also, O Lord, thy servants who are gone before us with the sign of faith, and sleep the sleep of peace. Give them, O Lord, and to all who rest in Christ, a place of refreshment, light, and peace, for that Christ's sake, who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Once more she bent her head and was silent for a time. Then as she knelt, her hands moved silently along the marble and pressed the two folded hands of the man beside her, and she looked at him.

"Let us be friends," she said simply.

"Such as I am, I am yours."

Then their hands clasped. They both started and looked down, for the fingers were cold and wet and dark.

It was the blood of Angus Dalrymple that had sealed their friendship.

The swift sure blade had struck him as he stood there, repeating the name of his dead wife. There had been no one near the door and none to see the quick, black deed. Strong hands had thrown his falling body within the marble balustrade, that was still wet with his heart's blood.

There Paul Griggs found him, lying on his back, stretched to his length in the dim shadow between the rail and the altar. He had paid the price at last, a loving, sinning, suffering, faithful, faultful man.

But the friendship that was so grimly consecrated on that night, was the truest that ever was between man and woman.

END OF VOL. II.

THE RALSTONS.

BY

F. MARION CRAWFORD.

2 vols. 16mo. Cloth. $2.00.

PRESS COMMENTS.

"The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has
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"As a picture of a certain kind of New York life,
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"The whole group of character studies is strong
and vivid."--_The Literary World._

"There is a long succession of exceedingly strong
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KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.

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"Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and
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"A most admirable novel, excellent in style,
flashing with humor, and full of the ripest and
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"'Katharine Lauderdale' is a tale of New York, and
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PIETRO GHISLERI.

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WITH THE IMMORTALS.

"Altogether an admirable piece of art worked in
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"The strange central idea of the story could have
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MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.

"We take the liberty of saying that this work
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character-painting in words."--_Churchman._

"We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr.
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KHALED.

A Story of Arabia.

"Throughout the fascinating story runs the
subtlest analysis, suggested rather than
elaborately worked out, of human passion and
motive, the building out and development of the
character of the woman who becomes the hero's wife
and whose love he finally wins, being an
especially acute and highly finished example of
the story-teller's art. . . . That it is beautifully
written and holds the interest of the reader,
fanciful as it all is, to the very end, none who
know the depth and artistic finish of Mr.
Crawford's work need be told."--_The Chicago
Times._

PAUL PATOFF.

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ZOROASTER.

"The field of Mr. Crawford's imagination appears
to be unbounded. . . . In 'Zoroaster' Mr. Crawford's
winged fancy ventures a daring flight. . . . Yet
'Zoroaster' is a novel rather than a drama. It is
a drama in the force of its situations and in the
poetry and dignity of its language; but its men
and women are not men and women of a play. By the
naturalness of their conversation and behavior
they seem to live and lay hold of our human
sympathy more than the same characters on a stage
could possibly do."--_The Times._

A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.

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its kind as this brief and vivid story. . . . It is
doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as
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tragedy, simplicity and intrigue."--_Critic._

"Of all the stories Mr. Crawford has written, it
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compact. . . . The taste which is left in one's mind
after the story is finished is exactly what the
fine reader desires and the novelist intends. . . .
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perfect."--_Boston Beacon._

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Saturday Evening Gazette._

"The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has
Mr. Crawford done more brilliant realistic work
than here. But his realism is only the case and
cover for those intense feelings which, placed
under no matter what humble conditions, produce the
most dramatic and the most tragic situations. . . .
This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse
and common material, the meanest surroundings, the
most sordid material prospects, and out of the
vehement passions which sometimes dominate all
human beings to build up with these poor elements
scenes and passages, the dramatic and emotional
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the profoundest interest."--_New York Tribune._

GREIFENSTEIN.

"'Greifenstein' is a remarkable novel, and while
it illustrates once more the author's unusual
versatility, it also shows that he has not been
tempted into careless writing by the vogue of his
earlier books. . . . There is nothing weak or small
or frivolous in the story. The author deals with
tremendous passions working at the height of their
energy. His characters are stern, rugged,
determined men and women, governed by powerful
prejudices and iron conventions, types of a
military people, in whom the sense of duty has
been cultivated until it dominates all other
motives, and in whom the principle of 'noblesse
oblige' is, so far as the aristocratic class is
concerned, the fundamental rule of conduct. What
such people may be capable of is startlingly
shown."--_New York Tribune._

A ROMAN SINGER.

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love romance pure and simple."--_Boston Home
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MR. ISAACS.

A Tale of Modern India.

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characters are original, and one does not recognize
any of the hackneyed personages who are so apt to
be considered indispensable to novelists, and
which, dressed in one guise or another, are but the
marionettes, which are all dominated by the same
mind, moved by the same motive force. The men are
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greatest charms."--_Boston Transcript._

"No story of human experience that we have met
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DR. CLAUDIUS.

A True Story.

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public favor."--_St. Louis Spectator._

"To our mind it by no means belies the promises of
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improbable and romantic one, is told with much
skill; the characters are strongly marked without
any suspicion of caricature, and the author's
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brilliant and always striking. It is no
exaggeration to say that there is not a dull page
in the book, which is peculiarly adapted for the
recreation of student or thinker."--_Living
Church._

TO LEEWARD.

"A story of remarkable power."--_Review of
Reviews._

"Mr. Crawford has written many strange and
powerful stories of Italian life, but none can be
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with its mixture of comedy and tragedy, innocence
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SARACINESCA.

"His highest achievement, as yet, in the realms of
fiction. The work has two distinct merits, either
of which would serve to make it great,--that of
telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of
giving a graphic picture of Roman society in the
last days of the pope's temporal power. . . . The
story is exquisitely told."--_Boston Traveler._

"One of the most engrossing novels we have ever
read."--_Boston Times._

SANT' ILARIO.

A sequel to "Saracinesca."

"The author shows steady and constant improvement
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chronicles of the Saracinesca family. . . . A
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Admirably developed, with a naturalness beyond
praise. . . . It must rank with 'Greifenstein' as
the best work the author has produced. It fulfils
every requirement of artistic fiction. It brings
out what is most impressive in human action,
without owing any of its effectiveness to
sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent
in evolution, accordant with experience, graphic in
description, penetrating in analysis, and absorbing
in interest."--_New York Tribune._

DON ORSINO.

A continuation of "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario."

"The third in a rather remarkable series of novels
dealing with three generations of the Saracinesca
family, entitled respectively 'Saracinesca,'
'Sant' Ilario,' and 'Don Orsino,' and these novels
present an important study of Italian life,
customs, and conditions during the present
century. Each one of these novels is worthy of
very careful reading, and offers exceptional
enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating
absorption of good fiction, in interest of
faithful historic accuracy, and in charm of style.
The 'new Italy' is strikingly revealed in 'Don
Orsino.'"--_Boston Budget._

"We are inclined to regard the book as the most
ingenious of all Mr. Crawford's fictions.
Certainly it is the best novel of the
season."--_Evening Bulletin._

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THE THREE FATES.

"The strength of the story lies in its portrayal
of the aspirations, disciplinary efforts, trials,
and triumphs of the man who is a born writer, and
who, by long and painful experiences, learns the
good that is in him and the way in which to give
it effectual expression. The analytical quality of
the book is excellent, and the individuality of
each one of the very dissimilar three fates is set
forth in an entirely satisfactory manner. . . . Mr.
Crawford has manifestly brought his best qualities
as a student of human nature and his finest
resources as a master of an original and
picturesque style to bear upon this story. Taken
for all in all it is one of the most pleasing of
all his productions in fiction, and it affords a
view of certain phases of American, or perhaps we
should say of New York, life that have not
hitherto been treated with anything like the same
adequacy and felicity."--_Boston Beacon._

CHILDREN OF THE KING.

A Tale of Southern Italy.

"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed
with the dramatic power of this story. The
simplicity of nature, the uncorrupted truth of a
soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The
suddenness of the unforeseen tragedy at the last
renders the incident of the story powerful beyond
description. One can only feel such sensations as
the last scene of the story incites. It may be
added that if Mr. Crawford has written some
stories unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the
stories of Italian life. A reader of them cannot
fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with
the Italians and the artistic spirit that pervades
the country."--M. L. B. in _Syracuse Journal_.

THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.

A Fantastic Tale.

ILLUSTRATED BY W. J. HENNESSY.

"'The Witch of Prague' is so remarkable a book as
to be certain of as wide a popularity as any of
its predecessors. The keenest interest for most
readers will lie in its demonstration of the
latest revelations of hypnotic science. . . . It is
a romance of singular daring and power."--_London
Academy._

"Mr. Crawford has written in many keys, but never
in so strange a one as that which dominates 'The
Witch of Prague.' . . . The artistic skill with
which this extraordinary story is constructed and
carried out is admirable and delightful. . . . Mr.
Crawford has scored a decided triumph, for the
interest of the tale is sustained throughout. . . .
A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting
story."--_New York Tribune._

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Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Vol. 1

Page 50, "retractation" changed to "retraction" (of a general retraction)

Page 83, "baiscchi" changed to "baiocchi" (ten baiocchi for)

Vol. 2

Page 27, "premiss" changed to "premise" (a false premise)

Page 29, "premisses" changed to "premises" (assumed premises)

Page 118, "np" changed to "up" (paused, looked up)

Page 152, "orf" changed to "or" (or the letter was)

Page 219, "Calpasta" changed to "Calpesta" (Calpesta il mio)

Page xvi, letter "i" missing in "generations" replaced (generations of the Saracinesca)