"Arthur!" the low whisper came at last; "yes,
the water is deep----"
The Gadfly came forward.
"Forgive me, Your Eminence! I thought it
was one of the priests."
"Ah, it is the pilgrim?" Montanelli had at
once recovered his self-control, though the Gadfly
could see, from the restless glitter of the sapphire
on his hand, that he was still trembling. "Are
you in need of anything, my friend? It is late, and
the Cathedral is closed at night."
"I beg pardon, Your Eminence, if I have done
wrong. I saw the door open, and came in to pray,
and when I saw a priest, as I thought, in meditation,
I waited to ask a blessing on this."
He held up the little tin cross that he had
bought from Domenichino. Montanelli took it
from his hand, and, re-entering the chancel, laid it
for a moment on the altar.
"Take it, my son," he said, "and be at rest,
for the Lord is tender and pitiful. Go to Rome,
and ask the blessing of His minister, the Holy
Father. Peace be with you!"
The Gadfly bent his head to receive the benediction,
and turned slowly away.
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