He spoke with an effort, yet with more force than would have been supposed possible. "It will be of no avail, if one dies unrepentant," said Francesco. "Well, I shall not die unrepentant," returned Raniero with a curious look. "I shall be honest,--and thorough! Have you the indulgence,--and the last absolution,--and the Host,--and--the oil?" he continued hoarsely. "They make a good showing,--if one is really holy! One takes one's little precautions!" Something like terror mingled with hatred flared up in his eyes, as he spoke; then, becoming more direct, he turned to Francesco. "And now,--for you and me!"-- White hate blazed suddenly in the eyes, then was quenched beneath the light of cunning. Francesco was mute. How could he speak to this man of the love of God! "I am waiting!" growled Raniero, eyeing the other fiercely. "Speak the prayer for the dying!" Francesco moved not. He looked at the sick man spellbound, as a bird would at a snake. The words he wanted to speak died in the utterance. "I have never questioned one of the Church's doctrines," said Raniero. "Apparently you are more of a heretic than I."-- "It may well be," said Francesco absently. The other eyed him coldly, and a silence fell. In the heart of it grew and deepened a significance. At last Raniero spoke. "Of all men living, I have hated you the most!" He was rolling his eyes fearfully; the face was on guard. "I have never injured you," replied Francesco. "Look within my heart. Naught is there towards you but compassion!" "Looking in--your heart, I find therein the image--of my wife, Ilaria. As ever,--looking in her heart,--I find therein--your own!" Raniero hissed the words; the dilated glaring eyes were as a weapon to pierce the heart of which he spoke. "It is true!" Francesco cried out with bitter shame. "Yet if your eyes can see, they behold in my heart the image of the purest woman, before whom all my thoughts do worship, save rebels still unconquered." Listening on the stair without, soldier and priest nodded to each other at the sound of the "De Profundis clamavi ad te." All was going suitably in the death-chamber. And Raniero listened, as the other knelt. A spasm seemed to pass over his face. "Do you still hate me?" asked Francesco anxiously, when the invocation was ended. It was painful to him to think that his shadow stood between this man and eternity. "A little," replied Raniero with that curious smile. "But I am almost sure that I shall hate you less--in a moment. You remember--I have taken from you--Ilaria!" There was a strange note of triumph in his speech. "Do you forgive even that?" asked Raniero with some anxiety. "I have forgiven," said the other with bowed head. "Come hither then!" cried Raniero. Craving was in his tones and eyes. "Make on my forehead, and on my breast, in token of your forgiveness,--the sign of the holy cross!"