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He was ignorant of much which was known to the cavaliere. Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with grave curiosity. "What does this mean about Count Marescotti?" he asked, somewhat sternly. "What has Count Marescotti to do with her?" As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong man.
"This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her terrible aunt. "I know she still loves him. The love of a heart like hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust accusations it contains." Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili's letter lying where he had placed it on the table.
He placed it in his pocket, and, while changing his clothes before joining the others at supper, came on it again with a certain surprise. He plunged it into a basin of hot water, and it yielded its secret. It was the outer wrapper of a stick of dynamite; it bore the circular stamp of the manufacturers, the "Sociedad Anonyma de las Costas del Pacifico." This, in itself, meant nothing.
It is the first time Fra Pacifico has stood by and seen another do his work. See, Count Nobili is on the ladder, Enrica in his arms! As his feet touch the ground, again the people shout: "Bravo! Count Nobili! Evviva!" Their hot southern blood is roused by the sight of such noble daring. The people press upon him they fold him in their arms they kiss his hands, his cheeks, even his very feet.
When at last Nobili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action. Spite of his indignation, Count Nobili did not fail duly to make his salutation to the marchesa. The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened the garden.
Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much dignity. To the right of the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, was beside her.
Silvestro was infinitely relieved at the calmness with which the marchesa received his announcement. He could not have believed it. He feels most grateful to her. "But, if madama will speak with Fra Pacifico, he will tell her how bitter the distress must be this winter. The Town Council" Silvestro, deceived by her apparent calmness, has made a mistake in naming the Town Council. It is too late.
Altogether this was a priest different from any he had ever met with Guglielmi hated priests he began to be interested in Fra Pacifico. "Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of intense chagrin, "I had better hopes.
John's College, Cambridge; and there, in 1744, the year in which Pope died, he wrote Musaeus, a monody on that poet; and Il Bellicoso and Il Pacifico, a very juvenile imitation, as he properly calls it, of the Allegro and Penseroso.
His attitude concerning the lady I had mentioned filled me with curiosity. In his coarse brown habit and hood he had always been a mystery to me. He was about forty-five years of age. He knew English, and spoke it as well as he did French, for, though a monk, he was a classical scholar and a keen student of modern science. "Now, Fra Pacifico," I said, as I reseated myself.
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