cealed treasure stored away
in one of the upper cells,--priestly robes and altar-cloths shimmering
in gold and silver: some of these robes were more beautiful than any
they had seen in the treasuries of Rome. Pure gold they were, wrought in
emblems of divinity. "These are presents to the monastery from our
family," said Fra Lorenzo. "These simpler ones, embroidered with the
silk flowers, are Fra Giorgio's work. He is now away from the convent,
and I am sorry he cannot hear you admire his robes." It was midnight
before the glittering heap was folded away, and the night which followed
was one of sound repose.

Next morning the signora was leaning over the brink of the ivy-crowned
well, trying to reach a spray twined thick with moss that grew in a
crevice of the stones just beyond her reach. "Signora," a low voice
said, "you ought not to lean so far: you might fall in, and the water is
very deep. What is it you want? Let me get it for you." And Fra Lorenzo,
following her direction, drew up the spray sparkling with moisture.

"It is beautiful enough for a crown for a god," said she, twining it
together at the ends. "Will you let me turn you into Apollo for a
moment?" And, without thinking, she let it fall lightly on his head.
"No Apollo was ever so beautiful," she involuntarily exclaimed. "If only
you had a lyre!"

The action, not the admiration, was reprehensible. She was a woman of
the world, and should have thought; and this she realized as her eyes
fell upon his face, where a revelation was unfolding itself. There was
something in this life which he had never thought about, never dreamed
of; and the light which shone out of his dark eyes was deeper than that
of wonder. She would have given the world to take back her
thoughtlessness, for she felt she had given an angel to eat of the
forbidden fruit.

The signora was a good woman, with all her worldly knowledge, but a
subtile charm of expression and manner made her a very beautiful woman
at times, and this moment, unfortunately for two good persons, was one
of these. She was just reaching for the crown, when the padre came into
the cloister and stopped with amazement as his eye fell on the group.
"Fra Lorenzo," said he, after a moment, "you are sent for to go to
Casale Montalcino: Giuseppe is dying; and you will stay there until the
last offices are finished."

The young monk seemed under a spell which he shook off with difficulty.
"I go, padre," he said, and starte