Chapter XXV: Not the Last Word (4)

"God bless thee, Celestino! I love thee more than ever;" and, stealing his brother's hand from mine, he gently kissed it, whilst Celestino smiled on us with a heavenly smile.

It was arranged that I should accompany my father to the counting-house of Eugenio Noele and strive to obtain some redress for the widow and orphans, for I had always been a favorite with him, and my mother imagined that my influence would have more power than her own. But the only result of this interview was that Eugenio promised, for my sake, to furnish his sister and her family with sufficient funds to enable them to return to their own country: he also told my father that he should send one of his clerks to accompany them and see that they _did_ go there.

On our way home we called on Dr. Newcastle, our old friend and physician, and after describing the circumstances of the Mortera family, asked him to call and see Celestino in the evening. The doctor was a fine-looking man, with a profusion of silvery white hair and beard, a deep thinker, blunt and sincere of speech, and full of dry wit that made every one laugh but himself. His footman (a colored man) was once overheard to say, "Berry strange man, my massa! berry sing'lar man! I say to him, 'I can't walk fast in dese yere boots, sar--dey's too short.' 'Oh,' he says, ''tis but the cutting off a piece of your toes, Caesar, and de boots will fit well enuff.' Him berry sing'lar man. One day I hear, through de open window of a lady's house, him say to her, 'For what did you send after me, madam?' and she say, 'I feel a leetle 'stericky again dis morning, doctor: what can you pescribe for me?' 'Pescribe!' says my massa with a sort of short laugh: 'why, dat you go to de top of de house wid a brush and dustpan and sweep de stairs all de way down, and make all de beds, and leave off drinking strong coffee;' and a berry fashionable lady too, as dey tell me after. When de doctor get into him carriage he talk to himself, and give him short laugh."

After an introduction to Signora Mortera, the doctor turned his attention to Celestino, who lay on the sofa pale and agitated: "Bless my heart! what a handsome lad! what splendid eyes! Ah! hm! hm! poor fellow! hm!" and he cleared his throat. "Let me feel your pulse."

As Celestino turned and gazed on him with mute surprise the doctor proceeded with his examination in complete silence, and then began discoursing about the weather and politics.

"But, doctor," said my mother, "you have told us nothing about the boy? What is your opinion? what shall we do for him? what do you prescribe?"

"Whirr! whirr! how many questions! I prescribe for him a course of early rising, accompanied by long prayer and fasting. If he shows an inclination for exercise, give him a rosary. Take away juvenile books, and give him the _Lives of the Saints and Martyrs_. Let him remember the days of fasting and abstinence. Why, bless me! the boy is nothing but heart and brain. He must be kept cheerful and well-nourished. Let him be in the open air when it is pleasant. I will prescribe a little something for him, but his case is beyond all medicine."

"Oh, doctor, do you really mean to say that he will die?"

"Die?" and the doctor laughed his little cynical laugh. "Why, we shall all die some day, shall we not?"

"Now, doctor, do be serious. Is there no hope for him?"

"I don't see that there is;" and he continued to gaze at the boy's face as if it had some fascination for him.

Eugenio Noele failed not a week later to send his clerk to make arrangements for the departure of the Morteras. As the time drew nearer Celestino failed rapidly. He would lie for hours without speaking except with his eloquent eyes. Frequently he would kiss a little ring that I had given him, and a few days before his departure I gave him a trinket consisting of a turquoise heart, with a cross set with crystals over red stones, emblematical of the blood and water that flowed from the side of our Redeemer. This he received with great emotion, and as I tied it to his neck with a ribbon he said, "I will wear it as long as I have life."

"Does Celestino fear to die?"

"No, signora, not whilst you are near me; and by dying I shall see my brothers and sisters in heaven, and can come and watch over you all."

"Sweetest child! It will break my heart to lose thee."

"Ah, do not weep;" and the boy's lips paled and his eyelids closed. I gave him water, and called to his mother to come and speak to him.

"Ah, this child of my bosom! my poor Celestino! must he leave me too?"

"Dear signora, he goes to a world free from such sorrows or cares as yours have been. He is like an angel even now."

"Celestino, kiss thy poor afflicted mother." Without a word, but with trembling lips, he stretched forth his arms to embrace her, and I stole away, leaving to her sacred sorrow the poor woman who for the moment, forgetting her self-imposed ascetic restraint, was yielding to every impulse of demonstrative tenderness.

The night before their departure Eugenio wrote an ode addressed to me, and placed it in my hands. I did not then read it through: I felt too dispirited and preoccupied. The next morning his eyes met mine with a questioning expression that I did not comprehend. When the hour for parting had arrived tears and broken exclamations were mingled. Eugenio lingered to kiss me, with a look first of inquiry, then of deep despair. I found afterward that the poem he had presented to me contained a protestation of humble and devoted love, which he entreated me not to neglect with scorn, and thereby add to the cruelties of his situation.

What a sense of loneliness we experienced! I felt restless and unhappy: I was pursued by the imploring face of Eugenio and haunted by the eyes of Celestino. It was long ere our household recovered its old equilibrium. Letters full of gratitude came from the Morteras. They were re-established in their old home; Eugenio had resumed his studies; Virginia was not so well; Celestino was dying. Soon after I received a letter in Eugenio's handwriting informing me that the trinket he enclosed would be to me an evidence that his beloved brother Celestino was dead. He had died with a smile on his lips, and Eugenio with his own hands had unfastened the jewel from his neck. In a letter written some time after to my mother Eugenio implored her by all she loved to rescue him from a position which he felt to be daily more unendurable, by procuring for him some engagement, in however humble a capacity, that would enable him to support himself and assist his family. A priest he _could not, would not_ be. My parents had scarcely time to discuss the matter ere another letter came from Eugenio, telling them that his mother had discovered the subject of his correspondence, and that she and their good old priest had succeeded in convincing him of his wickedness in attempting to relinquish the holy vocation of priest--that it had been a snare of the devil; and he implored Signor and Madama Melville to forgive him for the scandal he had caused concerning his holy religion by such unworthy backslidings, which he now deeply repented.

One day Oswald came in exclaiming, "Aunt, who do you think has failed and left the country?"

"Who?"

"Why, your friend, Eugenio Noele! As I passed the house I saw men carrying away the pictures and things. I could not help stopping to inquire into the matter. One of the workmen, who seemed to know a great deal about it, said that a confidential clerk was at the bottom of it all, and had run off before the great smash came."

The last news we heard of this singular family was that Rugiero, who had gone to Italy with his family, was retrieving his position, that Giuseppe was with him, and that Eugenio was a priest, and beloved by all for his noble qualities and extended usefulness.

CLELIA LEGA WEEKS.

THE MATCHLESS ONE: A TALE OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, IN FOUR CHAPTERS.