My Friend Prospero

them,-herself concealed by the netted curtain, which, according to Italian usage, was hung across the casement, to mitigate the heat and shut out insects. She watched them at first vaguely, a

ests," she remembered, "when they travel, often dress as laymen. Yes, he is a priest, and a terribly austere one-I shouldn't like to go to him for confession. But in spite of his austerity, he see

st ecstatic" light shone in

, and turned so as to face him. John's lips moved, and it was perf

oth hands, got hold of his friend's, and, his pink f

ably to be made a bishop," inferred Maria Dolor

again gently patted it, murmuring, "I am so glad, so immensely glad." Maria Dolores was quite sure that thi

drop, and, eyebrows raised

ut tell me all about it,"

ntly, furthermore, it was a story which, as it developed, became less and less agreeable to the mind of John; for his face, at first all awake with interest, all aglow with pleasure, gradually sobered, g

ian martyr. He is going to some outlandish, savage part of the world, where he will be murdered by the natives, or die of fever or loneliness. He is a man who

ents, pointed out how unnecessary, inhuman, impossible the whole thing was. "It's monstrous. It's against all nature. There's no reason in it. What does it rhyme with? It's wilfully going out of your way to seek, to create, wretchedness. My mind simply refuses to accept it." It was as if Maria Dolores could hear the words. But Winthorpe, calm and smiling, would not be moved. John shoo