vow, and liberate you from all the obligations you may have contracted by it."
The reader may imagine the feelings of Renzo at these words. His eyes expressed the warmth of his gratitude to him who had uttered them; but they sought in vain for Lucy's.
"Return in peace and safety to your former attachment," said the father. "And do you remember, my son, that in giving you this companion, the church does it not to insure simply your temporal happiness, but to prepare you both for happiness without end. Thank Heaven that you have been brought to this state through misery and affliction: your joy will be the more temperate and durable. If God should grant you children, bring them up in his fear, and in love to all men—for the rest you cannot greatly err. And now, Lucy, has Renzo told you whom he has beheld in this place?"
"Yes, father, he has told me."
"You will pray for him, and for me also, my children. You will remember your poor friar?" And drawing from his basket a small wooden box, "Within this box are the remains of the loaf—the first I asked for charity—the loaf of which you have heard; I leave it to you; show it to your children; they will come into a wicked world; they will meet the proud and insolent. Tell them always to forgive, always! every thing, every thing! And let them pray for the poor friar!"
Lucy took the box from his hands with reverence, and he continued, "Now tell me what you mean to do here at Milan? and who will conduct you to your mother?"
"This good lady has been a mother to me," said Lucy; "we shall leave this place together, and she will provide for all."
"May God bless her!" said the friar, approaching the bed.
"May he bestow his blessing upon you!" said the widow, "for the joy you have given to the afflicted, although it disappoints my hope of having Lucy as a companion. But I will accompany her to her village, and restore her to her mother, and," added she, in a low voice, "I will give the outfit. I have much wealth, and of those who should have enjoyed it with me none are left."
