Then he threw himself on his knees, and, lifting his hands to heaven, cried, "I have finished suffering; I have nothing more that holds me to life.I thank Thee, my God! Thou hast kept my father away, and hast been willing to spare the poor old man a grief that would have been beyond his strength."It was at the hour of noon, after having exhausted every possible means, poured out his gold to the last piece, and embraced the knees of the lowest serving man, that Solomon the fisherman took his way to his son's prison.His brow was so woebegone that the guards drew back, seized with pity, and the gaoler wept as he closed the door of the cell upon him.The old man remained some moments without advancing a step, absorbed in contemplation of his son.By the tawny gleam of his eye might be divined that the soul of the man was moved at that instant by some dark project.He seemed nevertheless struck by the-beauty of Gabriel's face.Three months in prison had restored to his skin the whiteness that the sun had turned brown; his fine dark hair fell in curls around his neck, his eyes rested on his father with a liquid and brilliant gaze.Never had this head been so beautiful as now, when it was to fall.
"Alas, my poor son!" said the old man, "there is no hope left; you must die.""I know it," answered Gabriel in a tone of tender reproach, "and it is not that which most afflicts me at this moment.But you, too, why do you wish to give me pain, at your age? Why did you not stay in the town?""In the town," the old man returned, "they have no pity; I cast myself at the king's feet, at everybody's feet; there is no pardon, no mercy for us.""Well, in God's name, what is death to me? I meet it daily on the sea.My greatest, my only torment is the pain that they are causing you.""And I, do you think, my Gabriel, that I only suffer in seeing you die? Oh, it is but a parting for a few days; I shall soon go to join you.But a darker sorrow weighs upon me.I am strong, I am a man".
He stopped, fearing that he had said too much; then drawing near to his son, he said in a tearful voice, "Forgive me, my Gabriel; I am the cause of your death.I ought to have killed the prince with my own hand.In our country, children and old men are not condemned to death.I am over eighty years old; I should have been pardoned; they told me that when, with tears, I asked pardon for you; once more, forgive me, Gabriel; I thought my daughter was dead; I thought of nothing else; and besides, I did not know the law.""Father, father!" cried Gabriel, touched, "what are you saying? Iwould have given my life a thousand times over to purchase one day of yours.Since you are strong enough to be present at my last hour, fear not; you will not see me turn pale; your son will be worthy of you.""And he is to die, to die!" cried Solomon, striking his forehead in despair, and casting on the walls of the dungeon a look of fire that would fain have pierced them.
"I am resigned, father," said Gabriel gently; did not Christ ascend the cross?""Yes," murmured the old man in a muffled voice, "but He did not leave behind a sister dishonoured by His death."These words, which escaped the old fisherman in spite of himself, threw a sudden and terrible light into the soul of Gabriel.For the first time he perceived all the infamous manner of his death: the shameless populace crowding round the scaffold, the hateful hand of the executioner taking him by the Hair, and the drops of his blood besprinkling the white raiment of his sister and covering her with shame.
"Oh, if I could get a weapon!" cried Gabriel, his haggard eyes roaming around.
"It is not the weapon that is lacking," answered Solomon, carrying his hand to the hilt of a dagger that he had hidden in his breast.