He ceased reading and withdrew his hand. The child was now perfectly quiet and had turned her face wonderingly towards the boy, and in the silence that succeeded the Gospel words nothing was audible save the trees rustling in the breeze and the faint tap-tap of the stone-breaker by the roadside.

Paul was suffering acutely. Not for one moment had he shared the widow’s superstition that the girl was possessed by a devil and he felt, therefore, that he had been reading the Gospel without belief. The only devil which existed was the one within himself, and this one would not be driven forth. And yet there had been a moment when he had felt nearer to God: ‘What have I to do with thee?’ And it seemed to him that those three believers in front of him, and his own mother kneeling at the kitchen door, were bowed, not before his power, but before his utter wretchedness. Yet when the widow bent low to kiss his feet he drew back sharply: he thought of his mother, who knew all, and feared lest she should misjudge him.

The widow was so overwhelmed with mortification when she raised her head that the two children began to laugh, and even Paul’s distress relaxed a little.

‘That’s all right, get up now,’ he said, ‘the child is quiet.’

They all rose to their feet and Antiochus ran to open the door, at which now somebody else was knocking. It was the keeper with his dog on the leash, and Antiochus burst out instantly, his face beaming with joy:

‘A miracle has just happened! He has driven out the devils from the body of Nina Masia!’

But the keeper did not believe in miracles; he stood a little away from the door and said:

‘Then let us make room for them to cscape!’

‘They will enter into the body of your dog,’ cried Antiochus.

‘They cannot enter because they are there already,’ replied the keeper. He spoke in jest, but maintained his usual gravity. On the threshold of the room he drew himself up and saluted the priest without condescending even to glance at the women.

‘Can I speak to you in private, sir?’

The women withdrew into the kitchen and Antiochus carried the Testament upstairs. When he came down, although still full of excitement at the miracle, he stopped to listen to what the keeper was saying:

‘I beg your pardon for bringing this animal into the house, but he is quite clean and he will give no trouble because he understands where he is.’ (The dog, in fact, was standing motionless, with lowered eyes and hanging tail.) ‘I’ve come about the matter of old Nicodemus Pania, nicknamed King Nicodemus. He is back in his hut and has expressed the wish to see you again and to receive extreme unction. In my humble opinion …’

‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the priest impatiently, but the next instant he was filled with childish joy at the thought of going up to the mountain plateau and by physical exertion banishing for a time the perplexities that tormented him.