"They died and went dismally to Hell," said Rodriguez, "as the old
songs say."
They walked on then in silence. Morano, with his low forehead and
greater girth of body than of brain to the superficial observer,
was not incapable of thought. However slow his thoughts may have
come, Morano was pondering surely. Suddenly the puckers on his
little forehead cleared and he brightly looked at Rodriguez as
they went on side by side.
"Master," Morano said, "when you choose a castle in the wars, let
it above all things be one of those that is easy to be defended;
for castles are easily got, as the old songs tell, and in the heat
of combat positions are quickly stormed, and no more ado; but,
when wars are over, then is the time for ease and languorous days
and the imperilling of the soul, though not beyond the point where
our good fathers may save it."
"Nay, Morano," Rodriguez said, "no man, as they taught me well in
the College of San Josephus, should ever imperil his soul."
"But, master," Morano said, "a man imperils his body in the wars
yet hopes by dexterity and his sword to draw it safely thence: so
a man of courage and high heart may surely imperil his soul and
still hope to bring it at the last to salvation."
"Not so," said Rodriguez, and gave his mind to pondering upon the
exact teaching he had received on this very point, but could not
clearly remember.
So they walked in silence, Rodriguez thinking still of this
spiritual problem, Morano turning, though with infinite slowness,
to another thought upon a lower plane.
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