She talked excitedly as she set forth, carrying the cotton bag into which Aglaia had put a half loaf of bread and some cheese.
"O yes, this is a glorious thing for Crete. God was long suffering, but everything came right in the end."
Aglaia's enthusiasm passed away as suddenly as it had come. Her leg felt lamer than usual and she had great difficulty in keeping up with the strong, healthy young woman who was going out into a world of light and joy. They were passing a row of square, white huts, each containing but one room. The first half dozen that they passed were vacant; their occupants had gone to hear the music, and had remained by the roadside to beg.
They passed the little graveyard, at the farther end of the town. Several humble tombstones standing among the tall grass and a black cross or two marked the last resting place of lepers who have gone to the comfort prepared for those who do not get their good things in this lifetime.
"Now good-bye, and God bless you!" said Panayota.
"Why, where are you going?" asked Papa-Spiro.
"She is not a leper," explained Aglaia. "She came to me last night for refuge, and I took her in."
"Not a leper!" exclaimed the priest. "Now pray God that she has not caught it."
"Christ and the Virgin save me! Christ and the Virgin!" cried Panayota, crossing herself.
"Amen! Amen!" said Aglaia. "Do not even speak of it, Papa-Spiro."