“Ah, signori, he was so white that his face seemed to shine, and his eyes were calm and tender. And there was no more anger in him. “And he began to pray for his fellow-prisoners; he began to pray for their lives. “He prayed that they should not kill those poor fellow-creatures. He prayed that the noble judges should do something for them that they might some day live like others. ‘We have only this life to live,’ he said. ‘Our kingdom is only of this world.’ “He began to tell how those men had lived. He spoke as if he could read their souls. He pictured their life, gloomy and unhappy as it had been. He spoke so that several of the judges wept. “The words came strong and commanding, so that it sounded as if Don Gaetano had been judge and the judges the criminals. ‘See,’ he said, ‘whose fault is it that these poor men have gone to destruction? Is it not you who have the power who ought to have taken care of them?’ “And they were all dismayed at the responsibility he forced upon them. “But suddenly the judge had interrupted him. “‘Speak in your own defence, Gaetano Alagona,’ he said; ‘do not speak in that of others!’ “Then Don Gaetano had smiled. ‘Signor,’ he said, ‘I have not much more than you with which to defend myself. But still I have something. I have left my career in England to make a revolt in Sicily. I have brought over weapons. I have made seditious speeches. I have something, although not much.’ “The judge had almost begged him. ‘Do not speak so, Don Gaetano,’ he had said. ‘Think of what you are saying!’ “But he had made confessions that compelled them to sentence him. “When they told him that he was to sit for twenty-nine years in prison, he had cried out: ‘Now may her will be done, who was just carried by. May I be as she wished!’ “And I saw no more of him,” said little Gandolfo, “for the guards placed him between them and led him away. “But I, who heard him pray for those who had murdered his beloved, made a vow that I would do something for him. “I vowed to recite a beautiful improvisation to San Sebastiano to induce him to help him. But I have not succeeded. I am no improvisatore; I could not.” Here he broke off and threw himself down, weeping aloud before the image. “Forgive me that I could not,” he cried, “and help him in spite of it. You know that when they sentenced him I promised to do it for his sake that you might save him. But now I have not been able to speak of you, and you will not help him.” Donna Micaela hardly knew how it happened, but she and little Rosalia, who loved Gandolfo, were beside him at almost the same moment. They drew him to them, and both kissed him, and said that no one had spoken like him; no one, no one. Did he not see that they were weeping? San Sebastiano was pleased with him. Donna Micaela put a ring on the boy’s finger and round about him the people were waving many-colored silk handkerchiefs, that glistened like waves of the sea in the strong light from the Cathedral.