“But I will still believe in God,” she said, and clasped her hands as if still to hold fast the last and best.
“Your eyes, people of Diamante, are wild and evil,” said Father Gondo. “God is not in you. Antichrist has driven God away from you.”
Donna Micaela’s eyes again sought Gaetano’s. “Can you give a poor, doubting creature something on which to live?” they seemed to ask. His eyes met hers with proud confidence. He read in her beautiful, imploring eyes how her trembling soul clung to him for support. He did not doubt for a moment that he would be able to make her life beautiful and rich.
She thought of the joy that always met him wherever he showed himself. She thought of the joy that had roared about her that night in Palermo. She knew that it rose from the new faith in a happy earth. Could that faith and that joy take possession of her also?
She wrung her hands in anguish. Could that new faith be anything to her? Would she not always feel as unhappy as now?
Father Gondo bent forward over the fire.
“I say to you once more,” he cried, “if only one person comes and says that this image has saved his soul, I will not burn it.”
Donna Micaela had a sudden feeling that she did not wish the poor image to be destroyed. The memory of the most beautiful hours of her life was bound to it.
“Gandolfo, Gandolfo,” she whispered. She had just seen him beside her.
“Yes, Donna Micaela.”