Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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240 THE MIR A CLES OF ANTICHRIST
“Now I need you, Fra Felice.” He lay and
nodded back: “ I am ready; I shall not fail you.”
It was only to lie and wait; and it was beautiful,
Fra Felice thought. He had never before in all his
life had time to feel how tired he was. Now at last
he might rest. The image would keep up the church
and the monastery without him.
He lay and smiled at the thought that old San
Pasquale had called him out to say good-morningto him.
Fra Felice lay thus till late in the day, and dozed
most of the time. No one was with him, and a
feeling came over him that it would not do to creep in
this way out of life. It was as if he had cheated
somebody of something. That woke him time after
time. He ought of course to get the priests, but he
had no one to send for them.
While he lay there he thought that he shrank
together more and more. Every time he awoke he
thought that he had grown smaller. He felt as if
he were quite disappearing. Now he could certainly
wind his cloak four times about him.
He would have died quite by himself if Donna
Elisa had not come to ask help for the blind of the
little image. She was in a strange mood when she
came, for she wished of course to get help for the
blind, but yet she did not wish Donna Micaela’s
plans to be promoted.
When she came into the church she saw Fra
Felice lying on the platform under the altar, and
she went forward and knelt beside him.
Fra Felice turned his eyes towards her and smiled
quietly. “ I am going to die,” he said, hoarsely ;
but he corrected himself and said: “ I am permitted
to die.”
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