n now, son Basil, to my bidding. You have abstained
from the Table of the Lord, and it is well. Today, and every day until
I again summon you, you will read aloud in privacy the Seven
Penitential Psalms, slowly and with meditation; and may they grave
themselves in your heart, to remain there, a purification and a hope,
whilst you live.'

Basil bowed his head, and whispered obedience.

'Moreover, so far as your strength will suffer it, you shall go daily
into the garden or the field, and there work with the brethren. Alike
for soul and for body it is good to labour under God's sky, and above
all to till God's earth and make it fruitful. For though upon Adam, in
whom we all died, was laid as a punishment that he should eat only that
which he had planted in the sweat of his brow, yet mark, O Basil, that
the Creator inflicts no earthly punishment which does not in the end
bear fruit of healing and of gladness. What perfume is so sweet as that
of the new-turned soil? And what so profitable to health? When the
Romans of old time began to fall from virtue--such virtue as was
permitted to those who knew not God--the first sign of their evil state
was the forgotten plough. And never again can Italy be blessed--if it
be the will of the Almighty that peace be granted her--until valley and
mountain side and many-watered plain are rich with her children's
labour. I do not bid you live in silence, for silence is not always a
good counsellor; but refrain from merely idle speech, and strive, O
Basil, strive with all the force that is in you, that your thoughts be
turned upward. Go now, my son. It shall not be long before I again call
you to my tower.'

So, with a look of kindness which did not soften to a smile, Benedict
dismissed his penitent. When the door had closed, he sat for a few
minutes with head bent, then roused himself, glanced at the clepsydra
which stood in a corner of the room, and turned a page or two of the
volume lying before him. Presently his attention was caught by the
sound of fluttering wings; on the window sill had again alighted the
two doves, and again they seemed to regard him curiously. The aged face
brightened with tenderness.

'Welcome,' he murmured, 'ye whose love is innocent.'

From a little bag that lay on the table he drew grains, and scattered
them on the floor. The doves flew down and ate, and, as he watched
them, Benedict seemed to forget all the sorrows of the world.

CHAPTER XXVI

VI