The Amulet | Page 5

appear, and she smiles as though she knew no sorrow."
The young girl did not await the conclusion of this explanation; before
her father had finished speaking, she led her lover to the window,
pointed to the weathercock, and said: "Look, Geronimo, the wind is
from the west."
"I noticed it last night," replied the young man, with an involuntary
sigh.
"Rejoice then, for to-day your uncle may be in sight of the city."
"I do not think so; however, it is possible," said the young man, sadly.
"How coldly you speak, Geronimo!" exclaimed the young girl, in
surprise; "what cloud obscures your soul?"
"I myself notice something extraordinary in your manner, signor,"
remarked the father. "You seem dejected; have you received bad news
of your uncle?"
Geronimo hesitated for an answer; then, as though endeavoring to drive
away unpleasant thoughts, he said, in a faltering voice: "No, no, it is
not that. I witnessed just now near the Dominican Convent something
which touched me deeply, and I have not yet recovered from the shock.
Have you not heard of a Florentine merchant named Massimo
Barberi?"
"Is he noble?" asked Mary. "I do not remember him."
"No, a commoner, but a man highly esteemed."
"I know him well," said Mr. Van de Werve. "I met him lately in
company with Lopez de Galle, for whom he had attended to some
financial affairs. What have you to tell us concerning him?"
"Something terrible, Mr. Van de Werve. I saw the corpse of poor
Barberi taken out of a sewer; he had two dagger-wounds in his throat.
He was undoubtedly attacked and slain last night."

"It is had to see so many murders committed in Antwerp," said Mr. Van
de Werve. "This is the fourth during the past month. The victims each
time have been either Spaniards or Italians, and that vengeance or
jealousy was the cause is sufficiently proved by the fact that in no case
have the bodies been despoiled of their money or jewels. This custom
of lying in wait, attacking and killing each other, often without cause, is
an outrage both against God and man. And do you not yourself
sometimes fear, Signor Geronimo, the assassin's dagger?"
The young man shook his head.
"For instance," continued Mary's father, "this is the eve of May, I need
not ask if you intend to offer to Mary the homage of a serenade. It is the
custom of your countrymen to pay this attention to young girls, and you
would not omit this opportunity were it not for the advice of a man of
experience. Geronimo, listen to the words of calm reason: do not rashly
expose yourself to the danger of death; abandon your design this time.
Many of your compatriots have aspired to Mary's hand; they have been
less successful than you, and on this account they may harbor unkind
feelings towards you."
The young man received this advice with a smile which indicated its
refusal.
"It is difficult, sir, to speak of such things in the presence of the one
who is to be the object of our homage. Permit me, however, the liberty
to decide upon the manner in which I will acquit myself of my duty to
this young lady."
"But permit me, signor, to tell you," said the old man, in an offended
tone, "that it does you no honor to reject the advice of a man of
experience, in order to carry out an unimportant fancy. Rashness does
not indicate courage, but rather an absence of good sense."
"Father," exclaimed Mary, in a supplicating tone, "be not angry with
Signor Geronimo; he will incur no danger."
"Foolish confidence!" said the old man. "Why should Geronimo think

himself less exposed to danger than others? That Geronimo should be
rash is excusable; but, Mary, you deserve a severe reprimand for
encouraging your friend in his perilous design."
The young girl bowed her head at this reproof of her father, and
murmured as if to excuse herself: "Geronimo has a relic, father."
This revelation embarrassed the young man, and he glanced
reproachfully at Mary.
She said, caressingly:
"Don't be displeased, Geronimo; show the relic to my father, and he
will then know why you do not fear that any accident will happen to
you."
The young man felt that he could not refuse Mary's request. He drew
from under his doublet an object suspended on a steel chain, and,
approaching Mr. Van de Werve, he placed it in his hand.
It was a flat medal of greenish copper, on which were engraven
unknown letters and signs. A cross between two bent sabres, and
beneath them a crescent, filled up the centre of the medal. At the foot of
the cross was a gray stone, rudely inlaid. The whole was