“You think not?” said Ambrosio.  “But perhaps you are not conscious of God.  If you were, that sunbeam we see now should make you careful, lest an angel should be in it!”

“Careful?  Why should I be careful?” Varillo half raised himself on the bed.  “I have nothing to hide!”

At this Ambrosio began to laugh.

“Oh, you are happy—­happy!” he exclaimed.  “You are the first I ever heard say that!  Nothing to hide!  Oh, fortunate, fortunate man!  Then indeed you should not be here—­for we all have something to hide, and we are afraid even of the light,—­that is why we make such narrow holes for it; we are always praying God not to look at our sins,—­not to uncover them and show us what vile souls we are—­we men who could be as gods in life, if we did not choose to be devils--”

Here he suddenly broke off, and a curious grey rigidity stole over his features, as if some invisible hand were turning him into stone.  His eyes sparkled feverishly, but otherwise his face was the lace of the dead.  The horrible fixity of his aspect at that moment, so terrified Varillo that he gave a loud cry, and almost before he knew he had uttered it, another monk entered the cell.  Varillo gazed at him affrightedly, and pointed to Ambrosio.  The monk said nothing, but merely took the rigid figure by its arm and shook it violently.  Then, as suddenly as he had lost speech and motion, Ambrosio recovered both, and went on talking evenly, taking up the sentence he had broken off—­“If we did not choose to be as devils, we might be as gods!” Then looking around him with a smile, he added, “Now you are here, Filippo, you will explain!”

The monk addressed as Filippo remained silent, still holding him by the arm, and presently quietly guiding him, led him out of the cell.  When the two brethren had disappeared, Varillo fell back on his pillows exhausted.

“What am I to do now?” he thought.  “I must have been here many days!—­all Rome must know of Angela’s death—­all Rome must wonder at my absence—­all Rome perhaps suspects me of being her murderer!  And yet—­this illness may be turned to some account.  I can say that it was caused by grief at hearing the sudden news of her death—­that I was stricken down by my despair—­but then—­I must not forget—­I was to have been in Naples.  Yes—­the thing looks suspicious—­I shall be tracked!—­I must leave Italy.  But how?”

Bathed in cold perspiration he lay, wondering, scheming, devising all sorts of means of escape from his present surroundings, when he became suddenly aware of a tall dark figure in the cell,—­a figure muffled nearly to its eyes, which had entered with such stealthy softness and silence as to give almost the impression of some supernatural visitant.  He uttered a faint exclamation—­the figure raised one hand menacingly.

“Be silent!” These words were uttered in a harsh whisper.  “If you value your life, hold your peace till I have said what I come to say!”