ered, been doing with a spade at this
time of night? Did he dig for treasure? There was a tradition in the
country-side of sacks of ducats which had been buried by the river to
save them from the French troops in the time of the invasion by the
First Consul.

Gesualdo, unconscious of their comments, went home, put the spade back
in the tool-house, unlocked his church, entered, and prayed long; then,
waking his sleepy _capellano_, he bade him rise and set the bell ringing
for the first mass. The man got up, grumbling because it was still quite
dark, and next day talked to his neighbors about the queer ways of his
vicar,--how he would walk all night about his room, sometimes get up and
go out in the dead of night even. He complained that his own health and
patience would soon give way. An uneasy feeling grew up in the village:
some gossips even suggested that the bishop should be spoken to in the
town; but every one was fearful of being the first to take such a step,
and no one was sure how so great a person could be approached, and the
matter remained in abeyance. But the disquietude and the antagonism
which the manner and appearance of their priest had created grew with
the growth of the year, and with it also the impression that he knew
more of the miller's assassination than he would ever say.

A horrible sense of being this man's accomplice grew also upon himself:
the bond of silence which he kept perforce with this wretch seemed to
him to make him so. His slender strength and sensitive nerves ill fitted
him to sustain so heavy a burden, so horrible a knowledge.

"It has come to chastise me because I have thought of her too often,
have been moved by her too warmly," he told himself; and his soul shrank
within him at what appeared the greatness of his own guilt.

Since receiving the confession of the carter he did not dare to seek an
interview with Generosa. He did not dare to look on her agonized eyes
and feel that he knew what could set her free and yet must never tell
it. He trembled lest in sight of the suffering of this woman, who
possessed such power to move and weaken him, he should be untrue to his
holy office, should let the secret he had to keep escape him. Like all
timid and vacillating tempers, he sought refuge in procrastination.

All unconscious of the growth of public feeling against him, and wrapped
in that absorption which comes from one dominant idea, he pursued the
routine of his parochial life,