cally, her father helped her.

"You are quite sure you did not hurt yourself?" he asked. The whole
occurrence seemed indistinct, as though some one had told something
which he had not understood--as we sometimes listen to a person reading
aloud, and, missing by inattention the verb of the sentence, remain
confused, and ask ourselves what the words mean.

"No--not at all. It is nothing," answered Lucia, and in a moment she was
at the door.

Opening it to go out, she saw the tall figure of Don Paolo at the other
end of the passage coming rapidly towards her. She raised her finger to
her lips and nodded, as though to explain that everything was settled,
and that the priest should not speak to Marzio. She, of course, did not
know that he had been talking with Gianbattista and her mother, nor that
he knew anything about the apprentice's dismissal. She only feared fresh
trouble, now that the prospect looked so much clearer, in case Don Paolo
should again attack her father upon the subject of the marriage. But her
uncle came forward and made as though he would enter the workshop.

"It is all settled," she said quietly. Don Paolo looked at her in
astonishment. At that moment Marzio caught sight of him over the girl's
shoulder, in the dusky entrance.

"Come in, Paolo," he called out "I have something to show you. Go home,
Lucia, my child."

Not knowing what to expect, and marvelling at the softened tone of his
brother's voice, Don Paolo entered the room, waited till Lucia was out
of the passage, and then closed the door behind him. He stood in the
middle of the floor, grasping his umbrella in his hand and wondering
upon what new phase the business was entering.

"I have something to show you," Marzio repeated, as though to check any
question which the priest might be going to put to him. "You asked me
for a crucifix last night. I have one here. Will it do! Look at it."

While speaking, Marzio had uncovered the cross and lifted it up, so that
it stood on the bench where he had at first placed it to examine it
himself. Then he stepped back and made way for Don Paolo. The priest
stood for a moment speechless before the masterpiece, erect, his hands
folded before him. Then, as though recollecting himself, he took off his
hat, which he had forgotten to remove on entering the workshop.

"What a miracle!" he exclaimed, in a low voice.

Marzio stood a little behind him, his hands in the pockets of his
woollen blouse. A long s