hing to kill a person's soul. That would
be a great sin, and besides, it is not necessary. Do I wish harm to any
one? No. It is justice. Perhaps I shall go to the galleys. Well, I shall
always have the satisfaction, and it will be greater if I can say that
this person is in Paradise. For I do not wish harm to any one."

Having said this in a tone which Nino could hear, Ercole sat thinking
for some time longer, and then he rose and slung his gun over his
shoulder, and went out from under the trees into the glaring heat, as if
he were going into the city. But instead of turning to the left, up the
hill, he went on by the broad road that follows the walls, till he came
to the ancient church of Santa Croce. He went up the low steps to the
deep porch and on to the entrance at the left. Nino followed him very
quietly.

Ercole dipped his finger into the holy water and crossed himself, and
then went up the nave, making as little noise as he could with his
hob-nailed boots. An old monk in white was kneeling at a broad
praying-stool before an altar on the left. Ercole stood still near him,
waiting for him to rise, and slowly turning his soft hat in his hands,
as if it were a rosary. He kept his eyes on the monk's face, studying
the aged features. Presently the old man had finished his prayer and got
upon his feet slowly, and looked at Ercole and then at Nino. Ercole
moved forward a step, and stood still in an attitude of respect.

"What do you desire, my son?" asked the monk, very quietly. "Do you wish
to confess?"

"No, father, not to-day," answered Ercole. "I come to pray you to say
three masses for the soul of a person who died suddenly. I have also
brought the money. Only tell me how much it will be, and I will pay."

"You shall give what you will, my son," the monk said, "and I will say
the masses myself."

Ercole got out his sheepskin purse, untied the strings, and looked into
it, weighing it in his hand. Then he seemed to hesitate. The monk looked
on quietly.

"It is of your own free will," he said. "What you choose to give is for
the community, and for this church, and for the chapel of Saint Helen.
It is better that you know."

Ercole drew the mouth of the purse together again and returned it to the
inside of his waistcoat, from which he produced a large old leathern
pocket-book.

"I will give five francs," he said, "for I know that if you say the
masses yourself, they will be all good ones."

A very faint a