(98)
"You pity her? you pity her? Oh! father! father! then pity me—"
The friar started; when, after a moment's pause, Rosario added with a faltering voice, "for my sufferings are still greater. My sister had a friend, a real friend, who pitied the acuteness of her feelings, nor reproached her with her inability to repress them. I———! I have no friend! The whole wide world cannot furnish an heart that is willing to participate in the sorrows of mine."
As he uttered these words, he sobbed audibly. The friar was affected. He took Rosario's hand, and pressed it with tenderness.
"You have no friend, say you? What then am I? Why will you not confide in me, and what can you fear? My severity? Have I ever used it with you? The dignity of my habit? Rosario, I lay aside the monk, and bid you consider me as no other than your friend, your father. Well mayI assume
