m. At that decisive moment the
wisest course to pursue became suddenly clear to Don Clemente.

"Arrange for the viaticum," said he, "and come with me at once, to hear
this poor young man's confession. Benedetto will show whether he be a
heretic or a man of God!"

The servant came to say a gentleman begged the priest to make haste, for
the sick man was dying.

Don Clemente, much exhausted, entered the hut, with Giovanni and the
parish priest. He called Benedetto to him, standing near the door and
spoke to him in an undertone. The rattling had begun in the sick man's
throat. Benedetto listened with bowed head to the painful words which
demanded of him a saintly humiliation; he knelt, without answering,
before the cross he had carved on the rock and kissed it eagerly at the
point where the tragic arms meet, as if to draw into himself from the
furrow in the stone, the symbol of sacrifice, its love, its blessedness,
its strength its life and then, rising, he went forth for ever.

* * * * *

The sun was disappearing in a whirling mass of smoke-like clouds rising,
in the north, behind the village. The places which, only a short time
before, had been astir with people, were now colourless and deserted.
From the turnings of stony lanes, from behind half-open doors, round the
corners of poor houses, women were peering. When Benedetto came in sight
they all withdrew. He felt that Jenne knew of the agony of the sick
man who had come to him in search of health, he felt that the hour of
triumph had come for his adversaries. Don Clemente, the Master, the
friend, had first asked him to lay aside his habit, and now asked him to
go forth from his house, to go forth from Jenne. It is true he had asked
in grief and love, still he had asked. Partly because of the bitterness
of it all, partly because of his long fast, he had not been able to eat
his mid-day meal of beans and bread--he felt ready to faint, and his
sight was troubled. He sank down on the decayed threshold of a small,
closed door, at the entrance to the little lane called _della Corte_. A
long peal of thunder sounded above his head.

Little by little, as he rested, he recovered. He thought of the man who
was dying in the desire of Christ, and a wave of sweetness swept
his soul. He was filled with remorse that he had, for a few moments
forgotten the Lord's great gift; that he had ceased to love the cross,
as soon as he had drawn life and joy