do not let your soul forsake me!"

As he spoke these words, his voice shaking with sorrow and love,
Benedetto again threw himself into the arms of his master, who--himself
torn by a tempest of conflicting emotions--knew not whether to ask his
forgiveness, or promise him glory, the true glory, and could only say,
with laboured breath:

"You do not know it, but I, too, have need that your soul should not
forsake me!"

Touching it with careful, reverent hands; Don Clemente made the habit
his disciple had laid aside into a bundle. When it was folded he
told Benedetto that he could not offer him the hospitality of Santa
Scolastica; he had intended asking Signor Selva to take him in, but he
now doubted if it would be opportune and in the interests of his mission
for Benedetto to put himself so openly under the protection of Signor
Giovanni.

Benedetto smiled.

"Oh! certainly not!" said he. "Shall we fear the darkness more than we
love the light? But I must pray God to make His will known to me, if it
be possible. Perhaps He desires that, perhaps something else. And now
will you send me some food and a little wine? And then let those come
in, who wish to speak with me."

Don Clemente was secretly astonished that Benedetto should ask him for
wine, but he did not allow his astonishment to appear. He said he would
also send him the young girl who was with the Selvas. Benedetto looked
at him questioningly. He remembered that when the girl, whom he had
seen later in the church, had asked for an interview, Don Clemente had
pressed his arm, as if silently warning him to be on his guard. Don
Clemente grew very red while he explained his action. He had seen the
young girl at Santa Scolastica with another person. His movement had
been involuntary. The other person was now far away. "We shall not
meet again," said he, "because as soon as I have sent you the food, and
spoken to these people, I must start for Santa Scolastica."

In speaking of going to Subiaco or elsewhere, Benedetto had said
"perhaps that, perhaps something else," with an accent so full of
meaning that, when Don Clemente bade him farewell, he murmured:

"Are you thinking of Rome?"

Instead of answering, Benedetto gently took from his hands the bundle
containing the poor tunic, which had been bestowed and then withdrawn,
and with trembling hands raised it to his lips, pressing them to it; he
let them rest there a long time.

Was it regret for the days of peace