'There could not be a doubt that she had given that knife-stroke amongst the canes in the dusk of the dawn of SS. Peter and Paul,' thought Candida, amongst whose virtues charity had small place; 'but what had the parocco to do with it?'
In her rough way, motherly and unmannerly, she ventured to take her master to task for taking so much interest in a sinner.
'The people of Marca say you think too much about that foul business; they do even whisper that you neglect your holy duties,' she said to him, as she served the frugal supper of cabbage soaked in oil. 'There will always be crimes as long as the world wags on, but that is no reason why good souls should put themselves about over that which they cannot help.'
Don Gesualdo said nothing, but she saw the nerves of his mouth quiver.
'I have no business to lecture your reverence on your duties,' she added, tartly; 'but they do say that so much anxiety for a guilty woman is a manner of injustice to innocent souls.'
He struck his closed hand on the table with concentrated expression of passion.
'How dare you say that she is guilty?' he cried. 'Who has proved her to be so?'
Candida looked at him with shrewd, suspicious eyes as she set down the bottle of vinegar.
'I have met with nobody who doubts it,' she said, cruelly, 'except your reverence and her lover up yonder at the villa.'
'You are all far too ready to believe evil,' said Don Gesualdo, with nervous haste; and he arose and pushed aside the untasted dish and went out of the house.