lamp, and in obedience to the order given him by Father Hieronymus the
previous night, he carried the tiny flame to each of the candles on the
altar, till all were lighted. This task done, he prostrated himself on
the steps before the shrine and prayed aloud.

"Heaven," he supplicated--"Heaven, against whom I have sinned so deeply,
hear my prayer for the white child who has led Thy light into my dark.
Shield her from danger. Keep holy her who is holy."

As his voice died away into silence, he still knelt with bent head and
clasped hands, so steeped in penitential thoughts that he did not hear
the sea-door open, did not hear the entrance of a man, grizzled,
bronzed, eagle-faced, ascetic, clad in the brown robe of his order.
Father Hieronymus paused for a moment, seeing with gratification the
kneeling figure before the altar. It would be the sweetest triumph of a
life of ceaseless struggle with the Prince of the Power of the Air to
save alive the soul of the distracted fool.

XIV

THE EXILES

Hieronymus advanced to the kneeling figure. "My son," he said, gently.

Robert leaped to his feet at the sound of the familiar voice, and moved
to meet Hieronymus.

"Father, when we came to you a month ago and begged for shelter, I told
you how I lied to save the girl, pretending to be plague-stricken."

Hieronymus inclined his head. "And I absolved you."

Robert spoke in a lower voice, almost a whisper. "I told you, too, that
I was Sicily, Robert himself, lapped in this hideous shape."

Hieronymus raised a warning hand. "Does that delusion still vex you?" he
asked, sadly.

Robert bowed his head. "My spirit is free from many delusions," he
whispered; "but I did not tell you that I, unlovely as I am, I love
Perpetua. Her hand has led me, her voice has inspired me. If ever I be
saved she will have saved me."

The grave face of Hieronymus looked kindly pity upon the fool in the
friar's gown.

"God chooses the time and the way. An earthly love may win the grace of
Heaven."

Robert sighed. "My hopeless love is happy service. Daily my spirit
creeps a little nearer to the light."

Hieronymus beat his breast.

"Daily the tyrant of Sicily grows more wicked, reeling like a madman
from crime to crime. The island groans beneath him more piteously than
the imprisoned Titan groans beneath Mount Etna."

Robert turned away from Hieronymus with a bitter sigh. "God forgive me,"
he said to himself, "for he does the deeds