The Wildfire Club - The Emma Hardinge Britten Archive

178 TJIE mI'ROVVISATORE,
What fantastic names, as Honor, Patriotism, Fame, or
Justice, can repair the hideous breach that murder makes
in nature, or give back to God, who made it with sllch
skill and care, the flowers of life, which men, like idle,
spiteful children, tear to pieces out of mere revenge?"
"Ernest, Ernest, my child, 0, save me ! " Such was
the wild, shrill cry that, three times repeated, clear, distinct,
and close beside his ear, broke on the startled soldier's
meditations - a pause between the repetitions. The
language that of his native land, the tone unmistakably
that of his mother, left him no room for doubt. Rushing
to his tent, he aroused his sleeping comrade - one who,
as friend and confidant of the young man's most secret
thoughts, was well accustomed to the exhibition of his
strange spiritual perceptions.
" Augustine, wake!" he cried. "Some terrible event
befalls my mother, OT like a sword impends upon our heads."
For several minutes his agitation prevented his resorting
to that far-seeing faculty which he was daily accustomed
to employ for the amusement or to satisfy the
curious speculations of his frip-nds. His companion, however,
whose mind was well balanced and commanding, at
length succeeded in soothing him, and after several ineffectual
attempts to concentrate his powers for the exercise
of his clairvoyant vision, he produced a letter which
he had lately received from his mother, which he at last
found was the one link wanting to bring him in rapport
with her.
This letter contained an account of the death of her
brother, the old priest, the breaking up of their little
household, and the subsequent determination on the part
of the poor mother to set out in quest of her son. She
had received frequent and dutiful communications from
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