the falling ladder, and grasped it with all his might. But
it was too late. Gianbattista was heavy, and the whole ladder with his
weight upon it had gained too much impetus to be easily stopped by one
man. With a loud crash he fell with the wooden frame upon the smooth
marble floor. Rolling to one side, Gianbattista leapt to his feet, dazed
but apparently unhurt.

The priest lay motionless in a distorted position under the ladder, his
head bent almost beneath his body, and one arm projecting upon the
pavement, seemingly twisted in its socket, the palm upwards. The long
white fingers twitched convulsively once or twice, and then were still.
It was all the affair of a moment. Maria Luisa screamed and leaned
against the pillar for support, while Lucia ran forward and knelt beside
the injured man. Gianbattista, whose life had probably been saved by Don
Paolo's quick action, was dragging away the great ladder, and the
workmen came running up in confusion to see what had happened.

It seemed as though Marzio's wish had been accomplished without his
agency. A deadly livid colour overspread the priest's refined features,
and as they lifted him his limp limbs hung down as though the vitality
would never return to them--all except the left arm, which was turned
stiffly out and seemed to refuse to hang down with the rest. It was
dislocated at the shoulder.

A scene of indescribable confusion followed, in which Gianbattista alone
seemed to maintain some semblance of coolness. The rest all spoke and
cried at once. Maria Luisa and Lucia knelt beside the body where they
had laid it on the steps of the high altar, crying aloud, kissing the
white hands and beating their breasts, praying, sobbing, and calling
upon Paolo to speak to them, all in a breath.

"He is dead as a stone," said one of the workmen in a low voice.

"Eh! He is in Paradise," said another, kneeling at the priest's feet and
rubbing them.

"Take him to the hospital, Sor Tista--"

"Better take him home--"

"I will run and call Sor Marzio--"

"There is an apothecary in the next street."

"A doctor is better--apothecaries are all murderers."

Gianbattista, very pale, but collected and steady, pushed the men gently
away from the body.

"_Cari miei_, my dear fellows," he said, "he may be alive. One of you
run and get a carriage to the side door of the sacristy. The rest of you
put the things together and be careful to leave nothing where it can
fall. We will t