herself in her cloak and hood, and
quietly quit the chamber. Viola stole after her.

"It is cold for thee, good mother, to brave the air; let me go for the
physician?"

"Child, I am not going to him. I have heard of one in the city who has
been tender to the poor, and who, they say, has cured the sick when
physicians failed. I will go and say to him, 'Signor, we are beggars
in all else, but yesterday we were rich in love. We are at the close
of life, but we lived in our grandchild's childhood. Give us back our
wealth,--give us back our youth. Let us die blessing God that the thing
we love survives us.'"

She was gone. Why did thy heart beat, Viola? The infant's sharp cry
of pain called her back to the couch; and there still sat the old man,
unconscious of his wife's movements, not stirring, his eyes glazing fast
as they watched the agonies of that slight frame. By degrees the wail
of pain died into a low moan,--the convulsions grew feebler, but more
frequent; the glow of fever faded into the blue, pale tinge that settles
into the last bloodless marble.

The daylight came broader and clearer through the casement; steps were
heard on the stairs,--the old woman entered hastily; she rushed to the
bed, cast a glance on the patient, "She lives yet, signor, she lives!"

Viola raised her eyes,--the child's head was pillowed on her bosom,--and
she beheld Zanoni. He smiled on her with a tender and soft approval,
and took the infant from her arms. Yet even then, as she saw him bending
silently over that pale face, a superstitious fear mingled with her
hopes. "Was it by lawful--by holy art that--" her self-questioning
ceased abruptly; for his dark eye turned to her as if he read her soul,
and his aspect accused her conscience for its suspicion, for it spoke
reproach not unmingled with disdain.

"Be comforted," he said, gently turning to the old man, "the danger is
not beyond the reach of human skill;" and, taking from his bosom a small
crystal vase, he mingled a few drops with water. No sooner did this
medicine moisten the infant's lips, than it seemed to produce an
astonishing effect. The colour revived rapidly on the lips and cheeks;
in a few moments the sufferer slept calmly, and with the regular
breathing of painless sleep. And then the old man rose, rigidly, as a
corpse might rise,--looked down, listened, and creeping gently away,
stole to the corner of the room, and wept, and thanked Heaven!

Now, old Bernardi had be