; and yet he could not in the least remember where he had seen
it before, or what associations it called up in his mind.

The young man courteously raised his broad, felt hat.

"Pardon me," he said, "you are ill--suffering--can I do nothing for
you?"

"I am not ill, thank you. You are very good, but I want nothing," said
Brian, with a feeling of annoyance which showed itself in the coldness
of his manner. And yet he was attracted rather than repelled by the
stranger's voice and manner. The voice was musical, the manner decidedly
prepossessing. He was not sorry that the young ecclesiastic did not seem
ready to accept the rebuff, but took a seat on the bench by his side,
and made a remark upon the scenery through which they were passing.
Brian responded slightly enough, but with less coldness; and in a few
minutes--he did not know how it happened--he was talking to the stranger
more freely than he had done to anyone since he left England. Their
conversation was certainly confined to trivial topics; but there was a
frankness and a delicacy of perception about the young foreigner which
made him a very attractive companion. He gave Brian in a few words an
outline of the chief events of his life, and seemed to expect no
confidence from Brian in return. He had been brought up in a Roman
Catholic seminary, and was destined to become a Benedictine monk. He was
on his way to join an elder priest in Mainz; thence he expected to
proceed to Italy, but was not sure of his destination.

"I shall perhaps meet you again, then?" said Brian. "I am perhaps going
to Italy myself."

The young man smiled and shook his head. "You are scarcely likely to
encounter me, monsieur," he answered. "I shall be busy amongst the poor
and sick, or at work within the monastery. I shall remember you--but I
do not think that we shall meet again."

"By what name should I ask for you if I came across any of your order?"
said Brian.

"I am generally known as Dino Vasari, or Brother Dino, at your service,
monsieur," replied the Italian, cheerfully. "If, in your goodness, you
wished to inquire after me, you should ask at the monastery of San
Stefano, where I spend a few weeks every year in retreat. The Prior,
Father Cristoforo, is an old friend of mine, and he will always welcome
you if you should pass that way. There is good sleeping accommodation
for visitors."

Brian took the trouble to make an entry in his note-book to this effect.
It turned out to