adonnina dell' Oro, and another mule-path leads straight into the
ravine, past the ruins of the Baths of Nero, Benedetto disengaged
himself gently from the monk's arm, and stopped.

"Listen, Padre," said he; "I must speak with you; perhaps at some
length."

"Yes, my friend, but it is late; let us go into the monastery."

Benedetto lived at the Ospizio for pilgrims, the farmhouse, which is
reached from a courtyard communicating by a great gate with the public
way and by a small gate with the corridor of the monastery, leading from
the public way to the church and to the second of the three cloisters.

"I had rather not return to the monastery tonight, Padre," said he.

"You had rather not return?"

On other occasions during the three years he had spent in the free
service of the monastery, Benedetto had obtained permission from Don
Clemente to spend the night in prayer, out among the hills. Therefore
the master at once concluded that his disciple was passing through one
of those periods of terrible inward struggle, which forced him to flee
from his poor couch and from the shadows of his room, accomplices,
these, of the evil one, in tormenting his imagination,

"Listen to me, Padre!" said Benedetto.

His tone was so firm, so laden with the gravity of coming words, that
Don Clemente judged it wiser not to insist upon the lateness of the
hour. Hearing the beat of hoofs above them, and knowing the riders were
coming in their direction, the two stepped aside on to the small, grassy
plateau, upon which still remain humble remnants of Neronian grandeur,
which, with some arches hidden in the thick grove of hornbeams on the
opposite bank, once formed part of the same _Terme_, but are now divided
by the complaining of the Anio far below. Above those arches once dwelt
the priest of Satan, and the shameless women, who assailed the sons
of St. Benedict with their wiles. The monk thought of Jeanne Dessalle.
There, at the end of the ravine, high up above the hills of Preclaro and
of Jenne Vecchio, shone the two stars which had bean spoken of on the
Selvas' terrace as "holy lights."

They waited for the riders to pass. When they had done so, Benedetto, in
silence, fell upon his master's neck. Don Clemente, full of wonder and
noticing that he trembled and was shaken by convulsive starts, concluded
that the sight of that woman had caused this emotion, and, kept
repeating to him:

"Courage, dear friend, courage; this is a trial