ente's shoulders.

"Dear Master," he said, his face softening, "I am leaving the roof, the
bread, the habit which were offered me, but while I have life, I will
not cease telling of Christ, who is the Truth! I go forth, but not to
remain silent. Do you remember giving me the letter to read, that St.
Peter Damian wrote to a layman, who preached? That man preached in the
church. I will not preach in the church, but if Christ wish me to speak
in the dwellings of the poor, I will speak in the dwellings of the poor;
if He wish me to speak in the palace, I will speak in the palace; if He
wish me to speak in the cubicles, I will speak in the cubicles; if He
wish me to speak on the housetops, I will speak on the housetops. Think
of the man who laboured in Christ's name, and was forbidden to do so by
the disciples. Christ said: 'Forbid him not.' Shall we obey the disciple
or shall we obey Christ?"

"You are right about the man in the Gospel, _caro_," Don Clemente
replied, "but remember that one may mistake what is really Christ's
will."

Don Clemente's heart did not speak precisely thus, but the heart's
imprudent, undisciplined words were not allowed to pass his lips.

"After all, _Padre mio_," Benedetto continued, "believe me, I am not
banished because I preached the Gospel to the people. There are two
things you must know. The first is this. A proposal was made to me here
in Jenne by a person whom I never saw again after that interview, to
take holy orders, that I might become a missionary. I replied that I did
not feel called to that work. The second incident is this. On one of the
first days after my arrival at Jenne, while talking religion with the
parish priest, I spoke of the eternal vitality of Catholic doctrine, of
the power which the soul of Catholic doctrine possesses, of continually
transforming its own body, increasing its strength and beauty
unlimitedly. You know _Padre mio_, from whom--through you--these
thoughts came to me. The parish priest must have repeated my words,
which pleased him. The next day he asked me whether I had met Selva at
Subiaco, and had read his books. He said he had not read them himself,
but he knew they were to be avoided. _Padre mio_, you will understand
now. It is on account of Signor Selva, and of your friendship for him,
that I am leaving Jenne thus. I have never loved you as I love you now.
I do not know whither I shall wander, but wherever the Lord may send me,
be it far or near,