The priest had come at once, bringing with him such restoratives as he
needed, and it is a thousand mercies that he did not bring a leech, or else
I might have been bled of the last drops remaining in my shrunken veins.
And meanwhile the goatherd's story had gone abroad. By morning it was on
the lips of all the country-side, so that explanations were not lacking to
account for St. Sebastian's refusal to perform the usual miracle, and no
miracle was expected--nor had the image yielded any.
The priest was mistaken. A miracle there had been. But for what had
chanced, the multitude must have come again confidently expecting the
bleeding of the image which had never failed in five years, and had the
image not bled it must have fared ill with the guardian of the shrine. In
punishment for his sacrilegious ministry which must be held responsible for
the absence of the miracle they so eagerly awaited, well might the crowd
have torn me limb from limb.
Next the old man went on to tell me how three days ago there had come to
the hermitage a little troop of men-at-arms, led by a tall, bearded man
whose device was a sable band upon an argent field, and accompanied by a
friar of the order of St. Francis, a tall, gaunt fellow who had wept at
sight of me.
"That would be Fra Gervasio!" I exclaimed.
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