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 though death brooded in a dark cloud over that still and frightened congregation. We were to die, and some of us knew at whose hands, and some did not, and few there were who did not fear the stab in the dark.

In that cathedral we all drank deep of the black draught of terror, and the fear in one man's eyes found a mirror in the fear in every other man's, until I believe that as we went out into the sunlight many and many a one was not far from the fear that killed Simon, that intolerable fear of death which prefers death to the fear of death. I know that I should have liked to run from the accursed place, for so was the cathedral to me; and the preaching brother, instead of being a priest of God, seemed to be a priest of Terror itself.

As we walked out in the sunlight we saw coming across the piazza a strange procession. At the head was Brother Agnello and the little maid who now no longer quitted him. There was a witless girl following him, with her baby in her arms; and there, strangely enough, was Tommaso, an armorer, a man of some substance and accredited of hard, good sense; and behind