IS IT HIS GHOST?-THE GUILTY EXPOSED.

It was scarcely eight o’clock in the morning when Signor Deodati was on his way to the residence of Mr. Van de Werve.

The old merchant was walking very slowly, with his eyes cast down.  From time to time he shook his head, as if disturbed by painful thoughts.  His countenance expressed dissatisfaction rather than sorrow; indeed, it might even be said to indicate angry and bitter feelings.

The servant who opened the door ushered him into a parlor and went to call his master.  Deodati threw himself into a chair, covered his face with his hands, and was so absorbed in thought that he was not aware of Mr. Van de Werve’s entrance.

“Good morning, signor,” said the Flemish noble, saluting him.  “Your early visit encourages me to hope that you have news of our poor Geronimo.”

“Bad news, Mr. 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.  Day before yesterday Signor Turchi asserted in your presence that Geronimo had lost a considerable sum at play, and that he had fled the country to escape my just indignation.  Great as was my confidence in Turchi, I could not credit the truth of this revelation.  I determined to seek in my nephew’s accounts the marks of his ingratitude, or rather the proofs of his innocence.  I passed a portion of the night in calculating over and over again; for the invariable result was so frightful that my mind and heart refused to accept the evidence of my senses.  The sum lost in gambling by my nephew is incredible.”

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, “then the Signor Turchi was not mistaken in his suspicions?”

“Ten thousand crowns!” said Deodati sighing.

“Ten thousand crowns!” replied Mr. Van de Werve.  “Impossible!  That is a fortune of itself.”

“And yet it is true.  There is a deficit of ten thousand crowns in the money vault of the house, and there are exactly ten thousand crowns unaccounted for on the books.  Not a line, not a mark refers in any manner to the employment or destination of this sum.  Evidently it must have been used otherwise than in the business transactions of the house, and as Geronimo himself told the Signor Turchi that he had lost a considerable amount at play, I am forced in spite of myself to admit the painful truth.  Ten thousand crowns!  Can neither virtue nor fidelity be found upon earth?  A child whom I treated as my own son, whom I loved with blind affection, and over whose welfare I would have watched as long as I lived.  And this is the return for all my love!  Ah! signor, this ingratitude is like a dagger in my heart.”

Mr. Van de Werve gazed abstractedly as if in deep thought.  Then he said, seriously: 

“You are truly unhappy, signor, and I commiserate your sorrow.  How can it be possible?  All is deceit and perfidy.  Geronimo seemed the soul of virtue and loyalty; he lived with so much economy and conducted himself so honorably, that to those who knew him not he might have appeared either a poor man or a precocious miser.  And this tranquil, modest, prudent young man loses at the gaming-table ten thousand crowns, the property of his benefactor!  His laudable course of conduct was but a base hypocrisy!”

“And nevertheless,” murmured the old Deodati, “my unfortunate nephew had a pure and loving heart!  Might not his blindness have been the effect of one solitary and momentary error?  Perhaps so.  Man sometimes meets fatal temptations which attract him irresistibly, but to which he yields only once in his life.”

“Why then did he fly, and thus acknowledge his guilt?  No, signor, no excuse can palliate such misdeeds.  I burn with indignation at the thought that such signal favors have met with such cold and base ingratitude.  The idea of your affliction restrains me from speaking of the outrage done my daughter.  Fortunately, the reputation and social position of my family is such as to screen it from the consequences of such an act.  But, signor, I hope you will agree with me that there can no longer be a question of an alliance between my daughter and your nephew.  He may return and obtain your pardon, but that will not change my determination.  From this day forward the Signor Geronimo is as a stranger whom we have never known.”

Deodati regarded the irritated nobleman with tearful eyes, and seemed to deprecate the inflexible decree.

Mr. Van de Werve took his hand, and said in a calmer manner: 

“Be reasonable, signor, and do not let yourself be blinded by affection.  What a dishonor to my name, were I to permit a man with so tarnished a reputation to enter my family!  Could I confide the happiness of my good and noble child to one who was not withdrawn from a culpable love of play by life-long benefits?  Could I accept as my son a man whom I could not esteem, whom on the contrary I would despise for his ingratitude to you?  Acknowledge with me that such a union is impossible, and let us talk no more of it.  Be still my friend, however, as long as you remain at Antwerp.”

The merchant shook his head, and after a few moments’ silence, he replied: 

“Alas!  I ought to admit that there is no hope of realizing this honorable alliance.  What happiness Geronimo has staked on the cast of a die!  I thank you, Mr. Van de Werve, for your proffered friendship, but I shall not remain at Antwerp.  To-day I shall beg Signor Turchi to settle up the affairs of the house in this city.  Now that I have no one in the world to care for, none for whom to work and amass money, I shall retire from commerce.  I have ordered the Il Salvatore to be provisioned, and I shall set sail by the first favorable wind.”

“You are right, signor.  By returning to your own beautiful country, you will the sooner forget this misfortune.”

“God knows when I will revisit my country!” replied the old man.

“Are you not going to Italy?” demanded Mr. Van de Werve.

“No, sir; but to England.”

“In search of your nephew?  Signor Turchi led us to suppose that he had sought refuge in that island.  I admire your unbounded love for a man so little deserving of it; but, signor, you require rest.  Follow my advice:  go to Italy, and do not shorten your life by the sorrows which may await you in England.”

“The advice is no doubt good,” replied Deodati; “but I cannot follow it.  However guilty he may be, Geronimo is the only son of my deceased brother, whom I promised on his death-bed to watch over his child as if he were my own.  Were I to abandon Geronimo entirely, he might be pushed by want and misery into the path of vice, perhaps of infamy.  I will fulfil my duty to the last.  If I love him less than formerly, at least I will save him from utter ruin.”

“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.  Should I find him, or should he return to me, I will give him an income sufficient to keep him from want; that being done, I shall renounce the world and retire into a cloister, to await there in solitude and peace the time when it may please God to call me to himself.”

Mr. Van de Werve heard the street-door open, and said eagerly to the old merchant: 

“Signor, my daughter is at church and may return at any moment.  I beg you not to speak of these things in her presence.  Since the disappearance of Geronimo, she does nothing but weep and pray; no consideration alleviates her sorrow, nothing consoles her.  If she were suddenly to lose all hope, it might cause her death.  Heavens!  Signor Turchi, what has happened to him?”

He arose hastily and regarded in astonishment Simon Turchi, who entered and attempted to speak, but the words seemed to die upon his lips; for he stood trembling in the centre of the room, uttering unintelligible sounds.  He was pale as death.

Deodati arose also, and looked inquiringly at Turchi.

The latter said, hurriedly: 

“I went to the house of the bailiff; he was not at home.  He has been sent for, and he will be here immediately with his officers to accompany me to my garden.  Oh!  I have terrible news to communicate; but my mind wanders, I am losing my senses.  I can tell nothing, particularly to you, Signor Deodati.  Unhappy old man!  Why did God reserve such a trial for your old age?”

“Another misfortune?  Speak, Simon, speak,” said Deodati, in suppliant tones, and trembling from anxiety.

Turchi fell, as if from exhaustion, upon a chair, and said, in a voice broken by sobs: 

“No, signor, ask me nothing; I could not break your heart by such stunning tidings.  Alas! alas! who anticipated such a misfortune?  My unhappy friend! my poor Geronimo!”

A torrent of tears fell from his eyes, and while Deodati and Mr. Van de Werve begged him to tell the cause of big extraordinary emotion, he stammered: 

“Oh! let me be silent; despair tortures my heart.  I can tell no one but the bailiff; he will soon be here.  If I could but doubt!  But no, it is too true; there is no more hope!  May the God of mercy receive his poor soul into heaven!”

“Of whom do you speak?” exclaimed Deodati.  “His soul?  Whose soul?  Geronimo’s?”

Steps were heard in the vestibule.  Simon Turchi went to the door, and said: 

“Here is the bailiff!  He will know the secret which is breaking my heart.”

The bailiff entered the room, looked around in surprise, and at last said to Simon Turchi, who continued to talk confusedly: 

“You have sent for me in all haste, in order to make a terrible revelation; I am here with my officers.  Have you discovered Geronimo’s assassins?  Speak, Simon, and tell us what you know.”

“So horrible is this secret, messire, that my tongue refuses to tell it.  Ah! if I could forever-”

“Calm yourself, signor,” said the bailiff, with perfect self-possession.  “What have you learned?”

“But-but I must be alone with you.  The news I have to communicate must not be revealed before Signor Deodati.”

The old man said, with tearful eyes: 

“You are cruel, Signor Simon!  What could you say more terrible?  You speak of Geronimo’s soul; you announce his death, and yet you leave me in this horrible doubt.  Speak, I conjure you.”

All that Simon Turchi had said was only a deception practised upon his auditors, in order to make them believe that grief had affected his mind, and to prepare the way for his revelation.

At last he appeared to yield to necessity, and said: 

“God grant that the frightful news may not afflict you as it did me!  Listen! you know that two days ago my servant Julio left my service because I severely reproved his irregularities.  This disquieted me, because I had noticed that he was pursued by some secret remorse.  Just now, hardly a half hour ago, I left my residence, and was going towards the Dominican church to pray for my poor friend.  On the way I thought of my servant Julio, and feared that in his despair he might have taken his life.  When I was near the bridge, I heard my own name timidly pronounced.  I turned and saw Julio.  I commenced to reproach him with his absence, but putting his finger on his lips, he whispered: 

“‘Signor, I beg you to follow me; I have a secret to reveal to you.’

“His manner and tone of voice were so peculiar that I accompanied him to a retired spot.  His revelation caused me such intense grief that I could hardly stand, and I was obliged to support myself against the wall as I received the confession of the penitent assassin.”

A cry of horror escaped Deodati.  Eager to hear the remainder, Mr. Van de Werve gazed fixedly upon the narrator.  The bailiff was more calm-he listened attentively and nodded his head, as if he foresaw the conclusion of Turchi’s narrative.

“I hardly dare continue,” he said.  “My soul revolts-but I must disregard my feelings,” and in a more tranquil manner, he resumed: 

“Shuddering with horror, I heard Julio say: 

“’Master, I have committed a frightful murder.  Remorse pursues me as a malediction from God.  I shall put an end to my guilty life.  In an hour I shall be in eternal torments, but I wish the body of my victim to be buried in holy ground.  Go to your pavilion.  In the lowest cellar, at the extremity of the subterranean passage, you will find the corpse of Signor Geronimo buried.’”

Tears fell fast from the eyes of Signor Deodati, and sobs convulsed his frame.

Turchi continued: 

“‘Signor Geronimo!’ I exclaimed, in terror.  ’Have you killed my poor friend?’

“’Yes, I put to death Signor Geronimo.  I needed money to spend at the taverns, and you would not give it to me.  I killed him in order to get the money he might have about him.  Adieu!  This very day all will be over with me.’  Before I had sufficiently recovered from the shock to think of seizing Julio, he had disappeared.  Probably, to-day-”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Simon Turchi, “I hear Miss Van de Werve.”

“For the love of God, not a word in her presence,” said Mr. Van de Werve.

Mary entered the room, looking around anxiously.  She had seen the officers at the door, and she seemed to inquire of her father the cause of their presence.

She remarked her father’s pallor and embarrassment.  Simon Turchi looked down, as if in despair.  Deodati covered his face with his hands.

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 young girl, struck by these evidences of some misfortune, ran to her father and exclaimed, joining her hands: 

“Speak, father, and tell me what has happened.  Leave me not in this terrible suspense.  Tell me that they have not found Geronimo’s dead body.  Alas! he is dead!  Is it not so?”

Throwing her arms around her father’s neck, she wept bitterly, conjuring him to tell her the cause of their emotion.

Without giving her any explanation, Mr. Van de Werve attempted to lead his daughter out of the room; but she, like one crazed by grief, released her hand from her father’s, fell upon her knees before Turchi, and exclaimed: 

“By the love you bore him, signor, take pity on me and tell me what has happened to him.  Let me not leave the room under the frightful conviction that he is dead!”

Turchi remained silent, gazing upon her with an expression of profound sadness.

“You, too, are implacable, inexorable!” she said, rising.

“But you, at least-his uncle, his father-will be more merciful.”

She ran to the weeping merchant, gently forced his hands from his face, and conjured him, in piteous accents, to give her some information which would relieve the torturing suspense.

The old Deodati, still weeping, threw his arms around her neck, and murmured: 

“God bless you, my child, for your love.  Let us pray for him!”

Mr. Van de Werve had left the room to call Petronilla.  He returned with her, and said to his daughter: 

“Mary, go with your duenna.  You must not remain here longer.”

The young girl seemed not to hear her father’s words, for she was immovable as if petrified by grief.

He added, in an impatient, severe tone: 

“Mary, leave the room.  I wish it; I command it.  Obey me.”

She arose and walked slowly towards the door.  Tears flowed down her cheeks; she supported her trembling limbs by leaning on the arm of her duenna.  Mr. Van de Werve feared she would lose consciousness before reaching her own apartment.

All, with the exception of the perfidious Turchi, were moved by compassion for the unhappy young girl.

As the duenna opened the door to let her mistress pass out, strange sounds were heard in the vestibule.

Mary started, and stepped back into the room, as though in presence of some apparition.

“It is his ghost, his spirit,” she exclaimed, “arisen from the grave to demand vengeance upon his murderers!”

She gazed with intense emotion, then added, in accents of the wildest joy: 

“He smiles upon me; it is himself!  He lives!  It is Geronimo!”

Pronouncing this cherished name, she fell insensible in the arms of her attendant, who, assisted by the bailiff, carried her to an armchair.

Signor Geronimo entered.  His face was as pale and fleshless as that of a skeleton.  The wound he had received in his neck appeared like a large spot of clotted blood-his garments were disordered, soiled, and blood stained.  He seemed really a spectre just arisen from the tomb.

As soon as Turchi recognized his victim, he recoiled, uttering a cry of terror; and imagining that God had permitted a miracle in order to punish his crime, he extended his trembling hands to Geronimo, as if to implore pardon.

The young man cast upon him a look of disgust and contempt, and exclaimed: 

“You here, assassin?  Tremble, for the Supreme Judge will demand of you an account of my blood and of Julio’s death.”

A murmur of surprise and terror ran through the room; all eyes were fixed on Simon Turchi, who seemed crushed by Geronimo’s words.

Having thus addressed Turchi, Geronimo rushed into his uncle’s arms and embraced him in a transport of joy.

“Oh, unexpected happiness!” he exclaimed.  “It is permitted me to see my uncle again in this world!  I know you have suffered; you have suffered as a father deprived of his only child!  No more sorrow now.  I will repay you for your tender affection; I will love you; I will show my gratitude; I will venerate you.  Ah! bless the God of mercy, who has saved me from the fangs of that tiger thirsting for my blood!  But Mary, where is Mary?  Ah! there she is!  My beloved friend, what has happened?”

He ran to the insensible young girl, knelt before her, and endeavored to recall her to consciousness by every endearing epithet.

In the meantime Mr. Van de Werve aided the duenna in her exertions to restore animation.  Taking advantage of this, Simon Turchi walked towards the door with the intention of making his escape; but the bailiff discovering his design, drew his sword and placed himself in the doorway.

Then Simon Turchi understood the fate awaiting him.  He bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.  He trembled in every limb, and his breast heaved with sighs of anguish.  Every expectation of escape by flight, or by making an appeal for pardon, vanished as he beheld the indignant expression of the bailiff.

Mary at last recovered from the faint into which she had fallen.  She looked around her in surprise, as if ignorant of what had happened; but when Geronimo’s voice fell in joyous accents on her ear, a bright smile irradiated her countenance, and she exclaimed: 

“It is not a dream!  He lives!  I see him once more!  Geronimo!  Geronimo!”

The young noble was too overpowered to do more than call the name of his beloved.

Only a few minutes had elapsed since Geronimo’s entrance; all were too much moved to express their surprise in words.  But the bailiff resolved to put an end to this harrowing scene by the performance of a painful duty.

He said, in an imperative manner: 

“Signor Geronimo, be pleased to interrupt for a moment the expression of your happiness.  By the authority of the law I ask you what has happened, and why you stigmatize the Signor Turchi as an assassin.  Approach, and obey my order.”

Turchi, foreseeing that his frightful crime was about to be revealed, writhed convulsively and was covered with shame and confusion.  He dared not look upon his accuser.

“Declare the truth,” ordered the bailiff.

“Five or six weeks ago,” said Geronimo, “Simon Turchi told me that unforeseen circumstances made it an imperative necessity for him to raise the sum of ten thousand crowns, adding that if he did not succeed in obtaining it immediately, the credit of his house would be gone, and that he himself would be irretrievably ruined.  He needed the sum, he said, only for one month.  I lent him the ton thousand crowns, and at his earnest solicitation, in order to conceal the knowledge of this loan from the clerks, I made no entry upon the books of the transaction, but was satisfied with an acknowledgment in writing of the debt.”

Old Deodati made an exclamation of joy, ran to his nephew, and embraced him affectionately.

“God be praised!  Dear Geronimo, you restore me to life.  That wicked man tried to persuade me that you had lost ten thousand crowns at play.  You were too virtuous, too grateful for that, my beloved boy!”

“Observe the respect due the law, Signor Deodati.  Continue your statement, Signor Geronimo.”

“What an odious falsehood!” said the young man.

Then turning to the bailiff, he continued: 

“When we last met in this house, Signor Turchi told me that a foreign merchant, who wished to remain unknown, would repay me the ten thousand crowns.  I was to go to his country-house alone, and secretly to return the note I held, and receive reliable bills of exchange upon Italy.  When I went, Julio, Simon Turchi’s servant, pushed me into a chair prepared as a trap, in which my body was caught and held immovable by steel springs.  Then Simon entered with a dagger in his hand; he took from me the note, and destroyed it in my presence.  He attempted to stab me in the breast, but the blow was warded off by a copper amulet which I wore around my neck.  I then received in my neck what I considered a mortal wound; I felt my blood flowing freely, and I bade, as I supposed, an eternal adieu to life.”

Old Deodati, without being aware of it, had drawn his sword from the scabbard as if he were about to pierce Turchi to the heart; but he was restrained by a look of severity from the bailiff, although he continued playing with the hilt, and muttering in an undertone menaces against the murderer.

“I awoke to consciousness,” continued Geronimo, “in a dark dungeon; I was lying beside a grave which had been dug to receive my remains.  When Julio returned to bury my corpse, he found me living.  He was about to kill me, but he recognized the amulet I wore around my neck, and I was saved.  The old blind woman who gave me the amulet as a recompense for delivering her from the hands of the Moslems was Julio’s mother.  Last night Signor Turchi gave poisoned wine to Julio, who died in my arms, declaring to me that Signor Turchi hired Bufferio to assassinate me.  I labored for hours before I succeeded in obtaining egress from the garden.  Now behold me saved from a frightful death through the miraculous protection of God, and restored to all that is dear to me on earth!”

The bailiff’s voice was heard, issuing his commands, in the vestibule.  Turchi comprehended the order.  He cast himself on his knees, extended his hands, and weeping, cried out: 

“Oh!  Messire Van Schoonhoven,-Geronimo,-I have been guilty of a frightful crime.  I deserve your hatred, your contempt and death; but have pity on me!  Spare me the shame of the scaffold; do not cover my family with eternal infamy.  Exile me to the ends of the earth; but pardon, pardon, deliver me not to the executioner!”

Five officers of justice appeared at the door.

“What are your commands?” asked the chief.

“Bind the signor’s hands behind his back!”

“Heavens! bind my hands like a thief!” exclaimed Turchi.

“Bind the hands of a nobleman?” repeated the chief in surprise.

“Execute my order immediately!  This nobleman is an infamous robber and a cowardly assassin.  Cast him in the deepest dungeon; he shall pay the penalty of his crime upon the scaffold.”

The command was promptly obeyed, and Turchi, in spite of his resistance, was dragged from the room followed by the bailiff.

Mary and Geronimo wept with joy.  Deodati claimed their attention saying: 

“My dear children, let us fulfil a sacred duty of gratitude.  God has so visibly protected innocence that the feeling of His presence in our midst overpowers me.  Your hopes will become a reality.  Let us pray!”

He knelt before the crucifix, bowed his head and joined his hands.

Geronimo and Mary knelt beside the old man, Mr. Van de Werve behind them.

For a long time they lifted their grateful hearts in thanksgiving to the
God of goodness.