Page:Francesca Carrara 2.pdf/144

Rh Both were there, but neither at first perceived my entrance. The poor old man was leaning over the unhappy girl, who knelt at his feet, her face hidden on his arm, her hands clasped convulsively, and the slender frame trembling with emotion; her strength was exhausted in endurance—none was left to resist. An ancient folio lay open beside them; I saw that it was marked by his tears, as if mechanically he had turned to its familiar pages for consolation, and found none. God of heaven! how could his sorrow not rebuke my inmost soul! But all humanity, all natural pity and affection, had left me. I gazed on Beatrice's beautiful form, writhing in its agony, and felt as if it were but fitting penance for having loved another.

"At this instant Carrara looked round and saw me. I started back as if my heart was visible in my countenance. Misinterpreting my action, which he naturally supposed resulted from fear of intrusion, he beckoned me forward, and said in a broken voice, 'Do not go—I know you are very kind, and will help us if you can. Perhaps you may advise us.'

"As he spoke, Beatrice slowly raised her head, and turned her face towards me. No spectre from the grave could have sent such ice through