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 town which knew not if to-morrow would see the scaffold an altar or streaming with blood. In the darkest hours I came on a lad I knew blubbering in a doorway. And when I asked him, "Why do you cry?" "I'm afraid of the devils," he whimpered. "The devils run through the streets, Matteo. The devils run and I fear them. Stay with me, Matteo." Many there were who said afterward that there were dark shapes among us who were no men of San Moglio; dark shapes herding us back for ever and for ever to the scaffold in the piazza. As the lad shook with fear I sat down beside him, and as I comforted him a wan peace came over me, and I sat there as San Moglio whispered to itself unceasing while it waited sleepless for dawn, as though all San Moglio were but one person, waiting to know if its soul were given to God or the devil.

The lad slept a little on my shoulder, and as the first grayness of dawn came he awoke, and we went together to the great piazza, and there on the scaffold we saw standing a dark figure. I knew that this was Brother Agnello. The piazza was full already of waiting people and of the restless