I
think it likely enough that the frate's friendship was more
particularly with the girl's mother rather than with her father,--we
know what friars' ways are, and, maybe, we should not go far wrong
if we imagined that the Father had reason to feel a fatherly
interest of a quite special kind in the young lady. Now all this is
worth only just this. Why did the frate return from the Pineta in
such a state of terror, agitation, and horror? Why, supposing him to
have seen, or in any way become acquainted with facts calculated to
produce such an effect upon him, does he obstinately refuse to give
us any information upon the subject? How will this answer fit? In
the course of that walk to the Pineta, undertaken, no doubt, because
the old man felt anxiety as to what was likely to follow from the
probable meeting of the two girls after the scene witnessed in his
presence by Paolina from the window of the church--in the course of
that walk, let us suppose, the friar became acquainted with the fact
that this girl--his daughter, we will say, for, in all probability,
she is such--had murdered her rival. The knowledge of the fact sends
him back to his cell half dead with horror and fright. His interest
in Paolina ties his tongue, and frustrates all our efforts to get
any explanation from him. How will that do, eh, Signor Giovacchino?"
"Admirably well.
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