one, just as you
remember it, without anguish. And then, do you know who will come to you
in the great mystery? Do you know, _caro_, what love, what pity, what
joy, what life will come?"

Struggling in the shadow of death, his glassy eyes fixed on Benedetto,
eyes which shone with an intense longing, and with the fear of
being unable to express it, the poor young man who had misunderstood
Benedetto's words, and thought he must confess to him, began telling
him of his sins. The mother, who, while Benedetto had been speaking, had
flung herself on her knees in front of the wall of rock, and kept her
lips pressed to the cross expecting a miracle, started up at the strange
ring in that voice, sprang to the bedside and--understanding--gave a
cry of despair, flinging her hands towards heaven, while Benedetto,
terrified, exclaimed: "No, _caro_, not to me, not to me!" But the sick
man did not hear; he put his arm round Benedetto's neck, drawing him to
him, and continued his sorrowful confession, Benedetto repeating over
and over again "My God, my God!" and making a mighty effort not to
hear, but lacking the courage to tear himself away from the dying man's
embrace. And, in fact, he did not hear, nor would it have been easy to
do so, for the words came so slowly, so brokenly, so confusedly. Still
the parish priest did not appear, and Don Clemente did not return.
Subdued voices and steps could be heard outside, and, sometimes a
curious face peered in at the door, but no one entered. The dying man's
words lost themselves in a confusion of weak sounds, and at last he was
silent.

"Is there any one outside?" Benedetto inquired. "Let some one go to the
parish priest, and bid him hasten."

Giovanni and Maria were attending to the mother, who, quite beside
herself, was tossed between grief and anger. After having believed in
the miracle, she would not now believe that her son had been reduced to
this desperate condition by natural causes; at one moment she wept
for him, and at the next cursed the medicines Benedetto had given him,
although the Selvas assured her they were not medicines. Maria had put
her arms round her, partly to comfort her and partly to hold her. She
signed to Giovanni to go for the priest and Giovanni hurried away. The
glistening eyes of the dying man were full of supplication. Benedetto
said to him:

"My son, do you long for Christ?"

With an indescribable groan, he bowed his head feebly in assent.
Benedetto k