Some went so far as to say he had the Evil Eye. It was by no means the
first time in his long career that the natives had found cause to
complain of a certain rancour in his temperament--of certain spiteful
viperish acts to which the priests, and they alone, were able to give a
benevolent interpretation. Now their wrath blazed out against the
celestial Patron. "He's not fit for his job," said some; "let's get a
new saint! The ruffian, the son of an impure mother--up to his tricks,
was he? Ah, the cut-throat, the Saracen, the old paederast: into the
ditch with him!"
During a brief moment his fate hung in the balance. For it was plain
that the ashes, if unwetted, might ultimately have been blown away by
the wind. But what was going to happen when all this mud, baked by the
sun into the hardness of brick, covered the island?
Perhaps the Saint was only putting their tempers to the test. The
experiment of another shout was worth trying. One could always punish
him later on.
So feeble was the noise that Saint Dodekanus must have had uncommonly
good ears.
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