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His fretus, that is to say, on these grounds, he took no

precautions against the pestilence; he caught it, and died, like

Metastasio's hero, complaining of the stars.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

One fine evening Agnes heard a carriage drive up to the door of

her cottage. It was Lucy and the good widow. We can easily

imagine the joy of the meeting.

The following morning Renzo made his appearance, at an early

hour, little expecting to find Lucy with her mother. "How are

you, Renzo?" said Lucy, with downcast eyes, and in a tone-oh how

different from that with which she addressed all besides! Renzo

was conscious that it was meant for him alone.

"I am always well when I see you," replied the young man.

"Our poor Father Christopher," said Lucy, "pray for his soul,

although we may be almost sure he is now in heaven, praying for

us."

"I expected no less," said Renzo mournfully, "I expected to hear

that he was taken away from this world of sorrow and trouble."