The Amulet

"Die so young and guiltless!" lamented Geronimo. "Never again to see the

light of heaven! O Mary, my beloved! how you will deplore my fate! My poor

uncle! sorrow will bring your gray hairs to the grave!"

The accents of despair made Julio shudder; but he said, in a cold manner: "Are you ready, signor?"

"A moment more, one moment for prayer!" said Geronimo.

He joined his hands and uttered a fervent prayer; but although he

apparently accepted his fate with resignation, it was equally evident that

his soul struggled against the death which was hanging over him.

By degrees, however, prayer brought resignation and consolation to

Geronimo, for the nervous trembling of his limbs ceased and his voice

became more distinct and calm.

Julio fixed his eyes on Geronimo, and his heart was touched when he

thought he heard him ask pardon of God for his enemies; but when the lips

of the young man pronounced his own name in ardent supplication, and he

distinctly heard his unfortunate victim praying for the soul of his

murderer, Julio dropped his knife, and said, with a deep sigh: "My courage has forsaken me! I have not the strength to accomplish this

cruel act."

"Ah!" exclaimed Geronimo, as Julio pronounced these words, "it is a voice

from heaven speaking to your heart. Hearken to it. Have pity on me! spare

my life!"

Julio was too absorbed in his own thoughts to heed Geronimo. In accents of

despair he muttered: "Frightful situation! Beside the very grave I have dug for him, he prays

for my soul! And can I shed his blood? But there is no help for it. I

must--I must!"

The young gentleman remarked the struggle in Julio's soul, and he mustered

up all his strength to approach him; but Julio, seeing Geronimo's design,

picked up his knife, took the lamp, and left the cellar, saying: "It is useless, signor. Fate is more powerful than we are; and struggle as

we may against its inevitable decrees, they must be accomplished! The

sight of your sorrow has deprived me of all courage. I go to regain

strength. I will soon return. Be prepared, for this time I will act

without delay!"

He closed the door and walked slowly down the passage. Having reached his

room, he stamped with anger, uttered desperate words, struck his forehead

with his fist, vented his impatience, because he could see no solution of

his difficulties. He paced the room like a madman, fought the air,

stopped, resumed his walk,--until exhausted he threw himself into a chair.

Sorrow, anguish, and rage, by turns were depicted on his countenance. He

lamented the necessity of the murder, and complained in bitter terms of

his sad fate. But in vain he tortured his brain--not a ray of light came

to illumine his darkness. The pitiless "I must do it!" was the invariable

refrain.