“Listen, Caterina, and try and comprehend me better than I know how to express myself. Do you give your whole attention?”
“Yes,” said the other with an effort.
“You alone know how we have loved each other here. After God, the Madonna Addolorata, and my father, I have loved you, Caterina. You have saved my life, I can never forget it. But for you, I should have gone to burn in hell, where suicides must eternally suffer. I thank you, dear heart. You believe in my gratitude?”
“Yes,” said Caterina, opening wide her eyes the better to understand her.
“Now we who so love each other must part. You go to the left, I to the right. You are to be married. I know not what will happen to me. Shall we meet again? I know not. Shall we again come together in the future? Who knows? Do you know?”
“No,” replied Caterina, starting.
“Well, then, I propose to you to conquer time and space, men and circumstances, should they stand in the way of our affection. From afar, howsoever we may be separated, let us love each other as we do to-day, as we did yesterday. Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“The Madonna hears us, Caterina. Do you promise with a vow, with an oath?”
“With a vow, with an oath,” repeated Caterina, monotonously, like an echo.
“And I too promise, that no one shall ever by word or deed lessen this our steadfast friendship. Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“And I too promise, that neither shall ever seek to do ill to the other, or willingly cause her sorrow, or ever, ever betray her. Promise—the Madonna hears us.”
“I promise.”
“I swear it—that always, whatever befalls, one shall try to help the other. Say, do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“And I too. Besides, that either will be ever ready to sacrifice her own happiness to that of the other. Swear it, swear!”
Caterina thought for an instant. Was she dreaming a strange dream, or was she binding herself for life? “I swear,” she said, firmly.
“I swear,” reiterated Lucia. “The Madonna has heard. Woe to her who breaks her vow! God will punish her.”
Caterina bowed her assent. Lucia took her rosary from her pocket. It was a string of lapis lazuli bound together by little silver links. From it depended a small silver crucifix, and a little gold medal on which was engraved the image of the Madonna della Saletta. She kissed it.
“We will break this rosary in two equal parts, Caterina. Half of it you shall take with you, the other half I will keep. It will be our keepsake, to remind us of our vow. When I pray at night, I shall remember. You too will remember me in your prayers. The missing half will remind you of your absent friend.”
And taking up the rosary between them, they pulled hard at it from either side.... Lucia kept the half with the crucifix, Caterina the half with the medal. The two girls embraced. Then they heard the clock strike three. When silence reigned once more in the College and in the empty chapel, both knelt down on the steps of the altar, crossed their hands on their bosoms, and with closed eyes repeated in unison—
“Our Father....”