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ran out the side door which was never locked—the one he knew—I landed in the arms of a priest.

“He was bald-headed, wore sandals, and carried a lantern.

“‘What are you doing here?’ he asked gruffly.

“I pulled out the two candles and held them up so he could see them.

“‘I came to burn these before the Madonna—the door was open and I walked in.’

“He lifted the lantern and scanned my face.

“‘You are the man who was here this morning. Did you get down on your knees as I told you?’

“‘Yes, holy father.’

“‘Get down again while I close the church. You can light your candles by the lantern,’ and he laid it on the stone pavement beside me and moved off into the gloom.

“I did everything he bade me—never was there a more devout worshipper—handed him back his lantern, and made my way out.

“At the end of the town the ragged man thrust his head over a low wall. He seemed greatly relieved, and picking up the bucket, we two started on a run for my lodgings. Before