able to repeat at the usual hour. The rosary was
a living thing in Casa Maironi, having its roots in the Marchesa's past
sins, and its growth was steady, for it was always putting forth fresh
_Aves_ and _Glorias_, as the old lady became more advanced in years, and
saw her own disgusting skull looming before her, ever more distinct,
ever more apparent. Consequently her rosary was extremely long. The
sweet peccadillos of her protracted youth did not trouble her conscience
over-much, but there were certain other transgressions which could be
computed in pounds, shillings, and pence, transgressions never properly
confessed and therefore never properly forgiven, and these caused her
great uneasiness; an uneasiness she was continually trying to stifle by
means of rosaries, but which was forever bursting out afresh. While she
was praying to the Great Creditor for the remission of her debts, she
would feel perfect confidence in His power to remit them all, but later
there would once more loom before her mind's eye the sorrowful faces of
the lesser creditors, bringing with them doubts concerning the pardon
received, and thus her avarice and her pride were ever struggling
against the fear of a perpetual debtor's prison beyond the tomb.

When they had recited the prayers for the conversion of sinners, and
those for the healing of the sick, and were about to begin the _De
Profundis_, she announced three new _Ave Marias_, without, however,
stating for what purpose. The scullery maid, a simple peasant from
Cressogno, supposed these _Ave Marias_ were intended for the unhappy
family at Oria, and recited them with extreme fervour. The
scullery-maid's _Aves_ clashed with and routed those of her mistress,
which were asking for sleep, and rest for the nerves and conscience. As
to the _Ave Marias_ of all the others, they were repeated in the common
hope that they might not remain definitely attached to the rosary, as
too often happened. In short, no one succeeded in checking the onward
march of the ghost.

Towards eleven o'clock the Marchesa retired. She drank some
citron-water, and the maid having begun to talk of Oria and of Don
Franco, who, it was whispered, had returned, she ordered her to be
silent. She was certainly affected. She saw continually before her eyes
the image of Maria as she had once seen her when passing in her gondola
below the little Gilardoni villa; a slight figure in a white apron, with
long hair and bare arms, and s