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"Yes. I have had it also. And my mother?"

"I have not seen her yet; she is at Pasturo. I believe, however,

that she is well. But you are still suffering! how feeble you

appear! you are cured, however; you are, is it not so?"

"The Lord has seen fit to leave me a little longer here below,"

said Lucy. "But, Renzo! why are you here?"

"Why?" said Renzo, approaching her, "do you ask me why I am here?

Must I tell you? Whom do I think of then? Am I not Renzo? Are you

no longer Lucy?"

"Oh! why speak thus! Did not my mother write to you?"

"Yes! she wrote to me! kind things, truly, to write to a poor

unfortunate man, an exile from his native land, one, at least,

who never injured you!"

"But Renzo! Renzo! since you knew-why come, why?"

"Why come! O Lucy! why come, do you say! After so many promises!

Are we no longer the same! Is all forgotten?"