“Oh, Petronilla!” she exclaimed, in heart-rending tones; “the light of my life is forever extinguished.  Geronimo, so young, so good, so noble, so gifted, the unfortunate victim of a mysterious murderer!  Frightful thought! and no room for hope!  Mercy, my God, mercy!  My heart is breaking; never more will I see him in this world.”

And uttering a cry of anguish, she covered her face with her hands.

“I acknowledge, Mary,” said the duenna, dejectedly, “that Geronimo’s absence is inexplicable; but why look on the worst side and accept it as truth?  You know that during the last four days every possible effort has been made to discover Geronimo.  Mr. Van Schoonhoven, the bailiff, has pledged his honor to find him dead, or alive.”

Mary wept in silence, and heeded not the words of the duenna.

“Perhaps, my child,” the old woman resumed, “this very day the doubt which has caused you so much suffering for five days may be cleared up.  Do not close your heart against all hope.  I remember that once an individual was sought for weeks, and found alive when there seemed almost a certainty of his death.  The bailiff was speaking of it this morning to your father, and I recollect having heard my parents relate it.  It happened to a banker, Liefmans, who was considered very wealthy.”

The young girl regarded the duenna with an air of doubt.

“They found him after several weeks of absence?  Had he gone on a journey without giving notice to any one?”

“No; he was discovered in the cellar of a house in the little by-street of Sureau.  Robbers had laid in wait for him in the darkness of night, and cast him bound into a subterranean cave, in order to obtain a heavy ransom.  The agents of the bailiff discovered him and liberated him unharmed.  If God has so decreed, why may not the same have happened to the Signor Geronimo?  You are silent, Mary.  You cannot deny that a similar train of circumstances may have been the cause of his disappearance.  Is it not so? but you yield to despair, and even in the act of begging consolation from Almighty God, you reject obstinately every motive of consolation.”

“Pity me, dear Petronilla,” answered the young girl; “your kind words are a solace to me, but I dare not open my heart to the whisperings of hope.  If I accepted your explanations, and afterwards heard of Geronimo’s death, it would be double suffering to me.  No, no, rather let me encourage the feeling that there is no room for hope.”

“It is impossible to make any impression upon her,” said the duenna, in a disappointed manner, and as if she were resolved to cease her efforts and to abandon the young girl to her grief.

The silence was broken by the sound of voices in the hall.

“I hear the voice of the Signor Deodati,” said the duenna; “perhaps he brings tidings.”

Mary rose quickly to descend; but Petronilla wished to detain her, saying: