Among his parishioners he had certain
troubles to soothe, certain wounds to heal; a home from which he was able
to drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set right. But all said,
"The Padre is unwell." And Felipe told them that the music seemed
nothing to him any more; he never asked for his Dixit Dominus nowadays.
Then for a short time he was really in bed, feverish with the two voices
that spoke to him without ceasing. "You have given your life," said one
voice. "And, therefore," said the other, "have earned the right to go
home and die." "You are winning better rewards in the service of God,"
said the first voice. "God can be better served in other places,"
answered the second. As he lay listening he saw Seville again, and the
trees of Aranhal, where he had been born. The wind was blowing through
them, and in their branches he could hear the nightingales. "Empty!
Empty!" he said, aloud. And he lay for two days and nights hearing the
wind and the nightingales in the far trees of Aranhal. But Felipe,
watching, only heard the Padre crying through the hours, "Empty! Empty!"
Then the wind in the trees died down, and the Padre could get out of bed,
and soon be in the garden. But the voices within him still talked all the
while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between the
headlands.
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