While they were thus sitting, renovated by the soft air
and pleasant spectacle, a holy father, with a beard like a meteor,
appeared and addressed them.
'Welcome to St. Lazaro!' said the holy father, speaking in English;
'and may the peace that reigns within its walls fill also your
breasts!'
'Indeed, holy father,' said Lady Annabel to the Armenian monk, 'I have
long heard of your virtues and your happy life.'
'You know that Paradise was placed in our country,' said the monk with
a smile. 'We have all lost Paradise, but the Armenian has lost his
country too. Nevertheless, with God's blessing, on this islet we have
found an Eden, pure at least and tranquil.'
'For the pious, Paradise exists everywhere,' said Lady Annabel.
'You have been in England, holy father?' said Venetia.
'It has not been my good fortune,' replied the monk.
'Yet you speak our tongue with a facility and accent that surprise
me.'
'I learnt it in America where I long resided,' rejoined the Armenian.
'This is for your eye, lady,' continued the monk, drawing a letter
from his bosom.
Lady Annabel felt not a little surprised; but the idea immediately
occurred to her that it was some conventual memorial appealing to her
charity. She took the paper from the monk, who immediately moved away;
but what was the agitation of Lady Annabel when she recognised the
handwriting of her husband! Her first thought was to save Venetia
from sharing that agitation.
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