istence of this horrible God. And if
He did not exist we might desire that a part of a human being should
continue to live beyond the grave, live not miraculously, but naturally.
That was perhaps easier to conceive than the existence of an invisible
tyrant, of a Creator who was cruel to the beings of His own creation.
The rule of nature without God was certainly preferable; better a blind
master, who was not our enemy, not deliberately cruel. But henceforth,
at least, no thought must be wasted in any way, either in this life or
in the next--if, indeed, the next exist--upon that vain phantom,
Justice!

The faint light of dawn mingled with her thoughts as it had mingled with
Franco's thoughts, solemn and consoling to him, hateful to her. He, the
Christian, meditated an insurrection of wrath and of arms against
brothers in Christ, for love of a dot upon the surface of one of
Heaven's orbs; she meditated an immense rebellion, the liberation of the
Universe. Her thought might be the greater, her intellect might appear
the stronger, but he whom the human generations learn to know even
better as they advance in civilisation and science; He who allows each
generation to honour Him according to its strength, and who gradually
transforms and raises the ideals of the nations, making use even of
inferior and fleeting ideals, when He deems it opportune, in His
government of the world; He who, being Peace and Life, has allowed
Himself to be called the God of armies, had impressed the sign of His
judgment upon the face of the woman and upon the face of the man. While
dawn burned into the glory of sunrise, Franco's brow became ever more
brightly illumined by a light from within, and through his tears his
eyes shone with the vigour of life; but Luisa's brow grew ever darker,
and from the depths, the shadows mounted to her dull eyes.

* * * * *

As the sun rose a boat came in sight off the point of Caravina. It
brought the lawyer, V., who had come from Varenna in obedience to
Luisa's call.

CHAPTER XII

PHANTOMS

On the evening of that same day a numerous company assembled in the
Marchesa's red drawing-room. Pasotti had brought his unlucky wife by
main force, and he had brought Signor Giacomo Puttini also, although
that gentleman had held out for some time against the most gracious
Controller's despotic caprices. The curate of Puria and Paolin had also
put in an appearance, both being anxiou