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A cry of anguish escaped the young girl, and she glanced in turns at her father, Deodati, Turchi, and the bailiff; but they each seemed anxious to avoid her eye. "Go to your room, Mary," said Mr. Van de Werve. "Give me this proof of affection. Ask nothing."
The Il Salvatore weighed anchor; the sails caught the wind, and the vessel floated majestically down the river with the tide. Mr. Van de Werve, Deodati, and their two happy children, entered the bark which awaited them. Petronilla seated herself beside her mistress. They exchanged a last adieu, and the eight oars fell simultaneously in the water.
"For the love of God, abandon these useless evasions!" said Signor Deodati, roused to a high pitch of excitement by his impatience. "Why should not Mr. Van de Werve know that which, in your opinion, would give us a clue to my nephew?" "Since I am forced to speak," said Turchi, with a sigh, "approach and listen." As soon as Deodati and Mr.
"What generosity!" exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, in admiration. "You travel about in search of your nephew; you endanger your health. I foresee that he has but to speak to obtain pardon. And this great sacrifice, this magnanimous affection meets with such a return! It is frightful!" "No, sir," replied Deodati, "I will not pardon Geronimo. He will never be the same to me.
He had a daughter of extraordinary beauty, so lovely, so modest, notwithstanding the homage offered to her charms, that her admirers had surnamed her la bionda maraviglia, "the wonderful blonde." One morning in the year 1550 the beautiful Mary Van de Werve was seated in her father's house in a richly sculptured arm-chair.
Keep my secret even from your father; remember that the least indiscretion might cause the ruin of an honorable merchant." "Make haste, Geronimo; Mary, prepare for a drive," exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, as he entered the hall. "Signor Deodati has arrived; the Il Salvatore is in sight. Don Pezoa has just sent me information to that effect, and he has placed his gondola and boatmen at our service.
Van de Werve, bad news," said the old man, with tearful eyes. "Sit down near me, for I have not power to raise my voice." "I notice, signor, that you are very pale. Are you ill?" "My emotion has its origin in something worse than illness.
"And Mr. Van de Werve?" "He agrees to it also. O Simon! pardon me my happiness. I know, my poor friend, that this news is most painful to you; but did we not loyally promise each other, that were one of us to succeed in our suit, it should not break our long-tried friendship?" "Fool! God has abandoned me!" muttered the other between his teeth. "There is my uncle with Mr.
In the Hipdorp, not far from the Church of St. James, stood an elegant mansion, which was the favorite resort of the élité of the Italian merchants. It was the residence of William Van de Werve, lord of Schilde.
Van de Werve betrayed the bitterness of his feelings, as the Signor Deodati in a decided manner counted on his fingers. They were discussing the great affair the dowry and inheritance. Their only thought was money! Geronimo turned pale as he saw his uncle shake his head with evident dissatisfaction; and Mary trembled as she noticed the displeased expression of her father.
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