"I asked you who is the Head or Ruler of this
community? Who gives you the daily rule of conduct which you all
obey?"
Ambrosio's brown eyes grew puzzled, and he shook his head.
"I obey no one," he said. "I am mad Ambrosio!--I walk about in my
grave, and speak, and sing, while others remain silent. I would tell
you if I knew of anyone greater than God,--but I do not!"
Varillo uttered an impatient groan. It was no good asking this
creature anything,--his answers were all wide of the mark.
"God," went on Ambrosio, turning his head towards the light that
came streaming in through the narrow window of the cell, "is in that
sunbeam! He can enter where He will, and we never know when we shall
meet Him face to face! He may possess with His spirit the chaste
body of a woman, as in our Blessed Lady,--or He may come to us in
the form of a child, speaking to the doctors in the temple and
arguing with them on the questions of life and death. He is in all
things; and the very beggar at our gates who makes trial of our
charity, may for all we know, be our Lord disguised! Shall I tell
you a strange story?"
Varillo gave a weary sign of assent, half closing his eyes. It was
better this crazed fool should talk, he thought, than that he should
lie there and listen, as it were, to the deadly silence which in the
pauses of the conversation could be felt, like the brooding
heaviness of a thick cloud hanging over the monastery walls.
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