lf that, thanks to the Baroness, she had a new
blanket fit to lend to the king himself, and only desired to know with
what else she could serve the poor strangers and requite the charities
of the brotherhood.

The monk confessed that all the slender stock of household goods in
the monastery was in use, and one after another he accepted the loan
of almost everything the widow had. As she gave the things he put them
out through the door, saying that he had a messenger outside; and
having promised that all should be duly restored on the morrow, he
departed, leaving the widow with little else than an old chair in
which she was to pass the night.

When the monk had gone, the storm raged with greater fury than before,
and at last one terrible flash of lightning struck the widows' house,
and though it did not hurt the old women, it set fire to the roof,
and both cottages were soon ablaze. Now as the terrified old creatures
hobbled out into the storm, they met the monk, who, crying, "Come to
the monastery!" seized an arm of each, and hurried them up the hill.
To such good purpose did he help them, that they seemed to fly, and
arrived at the convent gate they hardly knew how.

Under a shed by the wall were the goods and chattels of the liberal
widow.

"Take back thine own, daughter," said the monk; "thy charity hath
brought its own reward."

"But the strangers, good father?" said the perplexed widow.

"Ye are the strangers," answered the monk; "and what thy pity thought
meet to be spared for the unfortunate, Heaven in thy misfortune hath
spared to thee."

Then turning to the other widow, he drew the old shawl from beneath
his frock, and gave it to her, saying, "I give you joy, dame, that
this hath escaped the flames. It is not so good as it has been; but
there is warmth in it yet, and it cost a pretty penny when new."

Full of confusion, the illiberal widow took back her shawl, murmuring,
"Lack-a-day! If I had but known it was ourselves the good father
meant!"

The monk gave a shrewd smile.

"Aye, aye, it would have been different, I doubt not," said he; "but
accept the lesson, my daughter, and when next thou art called upon to
help the unfortunate, think that it is thine own needs that would be
served; and it may be thou shalt judge better as to what thou canst
spare."

As he spoke, a flash of lightning lit up the ground where the monk
stood, making a vast aureole about him in the darkness of the night.
In the b