he suddenly exclaimed. "Was it perhaps your vision?"

Yes, surely. Benedetto had seen himself dying on the bare ground, in the
shade of a great tree, and wearing the habit of the Benedictines; and
one argument against believing in the vision--in accordance with the
advice of Don Giuseppe Flores and of Don Clemente--had been the seeming
contradiction between this detail and his repugnance to the monastic
vows, which had been ever increasing since his withdrawal from the
world. Now this contradiction seemed to be vanishing, and therefore the
credibility of the prophetic nature of the vision was reappearing. Don
Clemente was aware of this part of the vision, and should have been able
to read in Benedetto's heart, his awe at being once more confronted with
a mysterious, divine purpose concerning him, and his fear of falling
into the sin of pride. Of this, he had not thought.

"Do not you think of it, either," said he, and he hastened to change the
subject. He gave Benedetto some books and a letter for the parish-priest
at Jenne, whose guest he would be for the present. Whether or no he
should remain at Jenne, and in case he did not, whether he should return
to Subiaco or go elsewhere, that Divine Providence must point out to
him.

"_Padre mio_," Benedetto said, "truly I do not think of what may happen
to me to-morrow. I think only of the words: _'Magister adest et vocat
me!'_ but not as being spoken by a supernatural voice. I was wrong not
to understand that the Master is always present, and always calling me,
you, every one! If only our soul be hushed, we may hear His voice!"

A faint ray of sunshine glinted into the cell. Don Clemente reflected
at once that should the rain cease, Signora Dessalle would very probably
come to visit the monastery. He said nothing, but his inward anxiety
betrayed itself by a slight shudder, by a glance at the sky which told
Benedetto it was time to leave. He begged the privilege of praying,
first in the Church of Santa Scolastica, and then at the Sacro Speco.
The sun disappeared, and it began to rain again. Master and disciple
descended to the church together, and there, kneeling side by side,
they lingered in prayer. That was their only farewell. At nine o'clock
Benedetto took the road to the Sacro Speco. He left the monastery
unobserved, while Fra Antonio was confabulating with Giovanni Selva's
messenger. At that moment the rays of the returning sun suddenly lit
up the old walls, the roa