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Updated: June 20, 2025
That he were the once loved St. Julian, would but aggravate the distress, and rankle the arrow. It would continually remind me of the dear prospects, and the fond expectations I had once formed, without having the smallest tendency to gratify them. Letter XIII The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino Cosenza My dear lord,
Honorato Gaetani, Count of Fondi, one of the most turbulent barons of the land, demanded of the Pontiff twenty thousand florins advanced on loan to Gregory XI. Urban not only rejected the claim, declaring it a personal debt of the late Pope, not of the holy see, he also deprived Gaetani of his fief, and granted it to his mortal enemy, the Count San Severino.
He now took up his abode in another monastery, that of San Severino, where he was comforted by the visits of his friend Manso, to whom he had lately inscribed a dialogue on Friendship; for he continued writing to the last.
When I last walked through this region in the reverse direction, from Lagonegro over Latronico and San Severino to Castrovillari the ground was still covered with stretches of snow, and many brooks were difficult to cross from the swollen waters. This was in June. It was odd to see the beeches rising, in full leaf, out of the deep snow.
It seemed some months ago more months since that very afternoon. "Have you found out anything?" Langholm hesitated. "Yes." Why should he lie? "Do you mean to say that you have any suspicion who it is?" Severino was on his elbow. "More than a suspicion. I am certain. There can be no doubt about it. A pure fluke gave me the clew, but every mortal thing fits it."
He was rewarded with a slight pressure of the emaciated hand; but for the first time he suspected that all the scrutiny was not upon one side that the sick youth was trying to read him in his turn. "I love her!" at last cried Severino, in rapt whispers. "Do you hear me? I love her! I love her! What does it matter now?" "It would matter to her if you told her," rejoined Langholm.
"That was all." And he sighed. "So I have heard," said Langholm, with sympathy. "I can well believe it, for I might almost say the same of her myself." The 'bus toiled on beside the park. The two long lines of lights rose gently ahead until they almost met, and the two men watched them as they spoke. "Until to-day," continued Severino, "I did not know whether she was dead or alive."
The prices were upon his lips; both had been bargains, a passing happiness and pride. "I must remember to tell them when they come to-morrow," said Severino. "They are the sort of thing a woman likes." "They are," agreed Langholm, his lowered eyes still lingering on the table and the vase "the sort of thing a woman likes ... So these women are coming again to-morrow, are they?"
Not all of these shrines are canonized, but nevertheless they have power over the people. As we were making a trip into the interior of the State of Pernambuco we passed a station called Severino. Near the station we could see a splendid church building which had been constructed in honor of St. Severino.
Severino had been playing for nearly an hour on end, had seemed thoroughly engrossed in his own fascinating performance, and quite oblivious of the dining and smoking going on around him according to the accepted ease and freedom of the club. Yet no sooner was Langholm gone than the pianist broke off abruptly and joined the group which the other had deserted.
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