Part 40

Hieronymus rested his hand gently on Robert's shoulder as he again addressed the kneeling figures.

"Brethren," he said, "lo, here is one of the tyrant's victims. Speak, my son."

He moved aside a little to give Robert more space, resting his hand upon the iron cross. Robert, his face hidden in his hood, addressed the mourners.

"Brethren," he wailed, "I am the most unhappy soul in Sicily, for God has cursed me with a fearful curse. At night I dream I am this wicked King, and all day long the evil of his deeds grinds down my heart. But in my misery I have heard words more sweet than honey, more fragrant than myrrh, which if you will guard them in your hearts will be to you as wells in the waste places, as orchards in the sand, as shade of palm and strength of manna in the weary, hungry land. 'He hath put down the mighty from their seats and exalted them of low degree.'"

He would have fallen if Hieronymus's strong arms had not sustained him. With one voice all the wanderers echoed his words.

"'He hath put down the mighty from their seats and exalted them of low degree.'"

The wanderers rose very slowly from their knees and went very slowly out at the sea-door, followed by Hieronymus, who almost carried Robert in his arms to the outer air.

For some minutes the little church was empty and dark and silent. Then a side door opened and a woman and a man entered, coming from a quiet street. The woman was Lycabetta; the man was Hildebrand. Hildebrand looked curiously around him.

"Why have you brought me here?" he asked.

"Answer me first," Lycabetta replied. "How is the King?"

Hildebrand shrugged his shoulders. "Bloody of purpose, and yet bloodless. Lustful of purpose, and yet loveless. In his prisons many wait for death, but none perish; for the King has sworn that none shall die before the fool Diogenes, and we cannot find the fool. The loveliest women of Sicily have been torn from their homes to his palace, but they have not seen the King, for he will love no woman until he has found the girl Perpetua. And the girl cannot be found."

Lycabetta whispered in his ear:

"Listen; this morning in the flower-market my Lysidice noted a hooded friar who bought white roses. A wind stirred his cowl and she saw the face of Diogenes."

Hildebrand started.

"Was she sure?"

"'Tis no face to forget," Lycabetta answered; "though she swears it less frightful than of old. She made no sign, but she bribed a child to follow the false friar, and the brat ran him to earth here."

Hildebrand grinned savagely.

"If they be here, no fable of the plague shall save them this time."

Lycabetta caught him eagerly by the arm and drew him behind a concealing pillar. She had seen the sea-door open and had seen a figure in a friar's gown.

"Who is this?" she whispered triumphantly to Hildebrand.

Robert came through the sea-door. Inside the church he threw back his hood and his face was plainly visible to the watchers, themselves invisible, screened by the pillars and the gloom. Hildebrand pressed Lycabetta's hand significantly. He had seen all he wanted to see. The pair slipped quietly out by the door through which they had entered. Robert advanced slowly to the altar and flung himself on the steps.

"Dear God," he prayed, "let not the guiltless suffer for my guilt. Punish me to the top of my sin, but pity Sicily."

THE HUNTER'S VOICE

Out of the shadow-land at the back of the altar emerged a white figure, with a fair face and hair the color of flame. She moved unheard across the pavement of the place of sanctuary; unheard she pushed open the little golden wicket in the golden railing; unheard she noted the white rose where it lay upon the ground, and, picking it up, lifted it to her lips before she placed it in her girdle; unheard she moved to where Robert lay in his agony before the altar.

"Friend," she whispered, softly.

Robert's consciousness awoke from its dark dreams. He rose and faced the girl, naming her name with joy.

"Perpetua!"

Perpetua came close to him.