“Rosa had died on her knees in the nunnery at the exact time he stabbed yonder picture. And they told him months afterward that her face was strangely like that of the Virgin when they found her,—beautiful and pleading and sad. There was no given cause for her death—there are things we cannot understand. She was praying for strength, the sisters said.”
The monk ceased speaking, and for a long moment they sat silent, Blagden and the withered, white-haired man, staring mutely up at the beautiful face above them. It was Blagden who broke the silence.
“What do you think happened?” he asked slowly.
“I do not know,” said the monk.
There was another pause, then Blagden spoke again.
“Anyway,” he said, brushing his hand across his eyes, “she paid in part the debt Giovanni owed his God.”
“Yes?” said the monk softly. “I wonder, Signor! For I am Giovanni.”
[13] Copyright, 1915, by Every Week Corporation. Copyright, 1916, by Newbold Noyes.
THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER[14]
By SEUMAS O’BRIEN
From The Illustrated Sunday Magazine