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Sabatini, Rafael, 1875-1950

"The Strolling Saint; being the confessions of the high and mighty Agostino D'Anguissola, tyrant of Mondolfo and Lord of Carmina in the state of Piacenza"


"0 Bianca! Forgive me!" I cried. "I did not know! I did not know! I was
a poor fool reared in seclusion and ripened thus for the first temptation
that should touch me. That is what on Monte Orsaro I sought to expiate,
that I might be worthy of the shrine I guarded then. That is what I would
expiate now that I might be worthy of the shrine whose guardian I would
become, the shrine at which I worship now."
I was bending very low above her little brown head, in which the threads of
the gold coif-net gleamed in the fading light.
"If I had but had my vision sooner," I murmured, "how easy it would have
been! Can you find mercy for me in your gentle heart? Can you forgive me,
Bianca?
"0 Agostino," she answered very sadly, and the sound of my name from her
lips, coming so naturally and easily, thrilled me like the sound of the
mystic music of Monte Orsaro. "What shall I answer you? I cannot now.
Give me leisure to think. My mind is all benumbed. You have hurt me so!"
"Me miserable!" I cried.
"I had believed you one who erred through excess of holiness."
"Whereas I am one who attempted holiness through excess of error."
"I had believed you so, so...0 Agostino!" It was a little wail of pain.
"Set me a penance," I implored her.
"What penance can I set you? Will any penance restore to me my shattered
faith?"
I groaned miserably and covered my face with my hands.


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