But
whether he was forgiven, the story does not say!"
"It is a stupid story!" said Varillo, opening his eyes, and smiling
in the clear, candid way he always assumed when he had anything to
hide. "It has neither point nor meaning."
"You think not?" said Ambrosio. "But perhaps you are not conscious
of God. If you were, that sunbeam we see now should make you
careful, lest an angel should be in it!"
"Careful? Why should I be careful?" Varillo half raised himself on
the bed. "I have nothing to hide!"
At this Ambrosio began to laugh.
"Oh, you are happy--happy!" he exclaimed. "You are the first I ever
heard say that! Nothing to hide! Oh, fortunate, fortunate man! Then
indeed you should not be here--for we all have something to hide,
and we are afraid even of the light,--that is why we make such
narrow holes for it; we are always praying God not to look at our
sins,--not to uncover them and show us what vile souls we are--we
men who could be as gods in life, if we did not choose to be devils-
-"
Here he suddenly broke off, and a curious grey rigidity stole over
his features, as if some invisible hand were turning him into stone.
His eyes sparkled feverishly, but otherwise his face was the lace of
the dead.
Pages:
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821