e other was liberal, though she had
little to give.

Now, on the rising ground opposite to the widows' cottages, stood a
monastery where a few pious and charitable brethren spent their time
in prayer, labour, and good works. And with the alms of these monks,
and the kindness of neighbours, and because their wants were few, the
old women dwelt in comfort, and had daily bread, and lay warm at
night.

One evening, when the covetous old widow was having supper, there came
a knock at her door. Before she opened it she hastily put away the
remains of her meal.

"For," said she, "it is a stormy night, and ten to one some belated
vagabond wants shelter; and when there are victuals on the table every
fool must be asked to sup."

But when she opened the door, a monk came in who had his cowl pulled
over his head to shelter him from the storm. The widow was much
disconcerted at having kept one of the brotherhood waiting, and loudly
apologized, but the monk stopped her, saying, "I fear I cut short your
evening meal, my daughter."

"Now in the name of ill-luck, how came he to guess that?" thought the
widow, as with anxious civility she pressed the monk to take some
supper after his walk; for the good woman always felt hospitably
inclined towards any one who was likely to return her kindness
sevenfold.

The brother, however, refused to sup; and as he seated himself the
widow looked sharply through her spectacles to see if she could gather
from any distention of the folds of his frock whether a loaf, a bottle
of cordial, or a new winter's cloak were most likely to crown the
visit. No undue protuberance being visible about the monk's person,
she turned her eyes to his face, and found that her visitor was one of
the brotherhood whom she had not seen before. And not only was his
face unfamiliar, it was utterly unlike the kindly but rough
countenances of her charitable patrons. None that she had ever seen
boasted the noble beauty, the chiselled and refined features of the
monk before her. And she could not but notice that, although only one
rushlight illumined her room, and though the monk's cowl went far to
shade him even from that, yet his face was lit up as if by light from
within, so that his clear skin seemed almost transparent. In short,
her curiosity must have been greatly stirred, had not greed made her
more anxious to learn what he had brought than who he was.

"It's a terrible night," quoth the monk, at length. "Such te