That man knew his brother, the renegade, and informed the Padre that his brother had fallen into disgrace, and as a punishment of his apostacy, was now leading a life of privation and misery.
Deep and fervent were now the monk's prayers to heaven; he implored forgiveness for his brother, and offered penance for him.

Poor man! he thought if he could but see him and talk to him, he would redeem him from his apostacy; but, alas! his duty was in Hurdwar, he was bound there and could not move.

One day (it was during the fair) he had wandered at a distance from the river, that he might not witness the delusions of paganism, and his mind was intensely absorbed in prayer.
Anon, unusual sounds broke on his ears; sounds well known, sounds reminding him of his country, of his beautiful Italy.

They came from a little bower ten steps before him; and as past scenes rushed to his memory, his heart beat tremulously in his bosom; the monk recognized a barcarole which he had often sung in his younger days: but although the air was lively, the voice which sung it was mournful and sad.

Stepping noiselessly, he stood at the entrance of the bower.