Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 046.djvu/240

232 during a lull in the tempest. "From whence come you, young man?"

"From Padua this evening."

"That is a long way," cried the old woman; "twenty good miles from hence. What business have you here, in a place to which no high-road leads?"

"I know not," replied the youth.

"The miserable are incapable of forming plans, or of taking thought for the future. Well would it be if there were no futurity at all in reserve for me."

"Badly said, badly said, young man; you must not speak so. What!" exclaimed she, rising up and scrutinizing him by the light of the lamp—"A Florentine! by all that's wonderful. It is long since I have t eyes on the garb of fair Florence. This visit must betoken me some good-luck. Truly this storm has sent me a welcome guest; for know, my young sir, that I myself come from that blessed country—from Florence. Ah! what would I give to tread thy soil once more, and to behold thy beloved mountains and gardens! But your name, my dear young master?"

"Antonio Cavalcanti," answered the youth, who felt his heart somewhat warmed towards the old hag, because she was his countrywoman.

"Oh, glorious name!" exclaimed she enthusiastically, "Cavalcanti! years ago I knew a man of that name, Guido Cavalcanti."

"He was my father," said Antonio.

"And he is dead?"

"He is dead," said the young man; "and my mother, too, has long since been taken from me."

"I know it, my beautiful youth," cried the old woman. " It is now fifteen years since she died. Alas! she yielded up her spirit in an unhappy time. And your dear good father, I have to thank him that I was not condemned some years afterwards to the fagot. The judges had taken it into their heads that I was a witch, and would not be convinced to the contrary. But, by his threats and entreaties, my Lord Guido bore me through, and they at length consented merely to banish me from my native land. And now the storm has driven the son of my benefactor into my poor little hut! Give me your hand, my young master."

Antonio gave her his hand, and, although inwardly repelled by her forbidding appearance, he constrained himself to appear gay, and listened attentively to the tattling of the old dame, who, on account of her former acquaintance with his family, seemed inclined to exert a sort of authority over him. But what was his astonishment and consternation when she suddenly cried out—"Crescentia?"

"For Godsake!" cried the youth, trembling all over, "do you know her? —do you behold her? Do you know any thing at all about her?"

"What ails you?" shrieked the old woman. "I think I ought to know something about her, seeing that she is my own daughter. Look yourself how the lazy wench sits yonder fast asleep, allowing the fire to go out, and our supper to grow cold."

She took the lamp. and approached the hearth. And now the youth's bewilderment may be conceived, when he beheld Crescentia before him, just as he had seen her that very evening, lying in her coffin, in Padua. The pale countenance, the closed eyes, the heavy tresses, and all the features, were those of his bride elect; her small hands, also, were folded, and between them lay an image of our Saviour on the cross. Her white robe heightened the illusion.

"She is dead!" cried he, gazing upon her, and rooted to the spot.

"She is lazy, the idle huzzy!" croaked the hag, shaking the fair sleeper. "The useless baggage can do nothing but pray and sleep."

Crescentia aroused herself, and her confusion heightened her charms. Antonio was wellnigh distracted when he saw before him her whom be thought he had lost for ever.

"Old sorceress!" cried he with vehemence—"Where am I? And what image is that which you have placed before my wandering senses? Speak! —who is that blessed being? Crescentia, is it really thou! Dost thou still know thine own Antonio? Tell me how comest thou to be here?"

"Hollo! my young gallant," cried the old woman, "really you rave, as if you had lost your judgment. Is the storm still raging in your brain? —has the lightning blasted your reason? This girl is my daughter, and has ever been so as far as I know."

"I know you not," said Crescentia blushing deeply and addressing Antonio. "I have never been in Padua."