Yet, from those early days, Fra Francesco had abated nothing of his scrupulous and loving conservatism; never had he questioned a rule, nor chosen the least, instead of the most, permitted in an act of humility; and after his Church, the Madonna, and his patron saint, he expended the devotion of his nature upon his friend with a just estimate of his power and daring which filled his soul with anxious happiness.  Often, in those earlier days, when the echoes of Fra Paolo’s triumphs had penetrated to the refectory of the Servi, Fra Francesco had felt a strange premonition which had kept him long on his knees before the altar in the chapel.  “Shield him, O Holy Mother, from danger,” he had prayed, “nor let him wander from the lowly path of obedience for pride of that which thou permittest him to know!” And his day-dream of earthly happiness was the spending of his friend’s great gifts in the service of the Holy Church, wherein he should ascend from honor to honor, enlarging her borders and strengthening her rule, attaining at last to the supreme position.

Weeks after Fra Francesco had disappeared from the convent a letter was brought by the gastaldo of Nicolotti, Piero Salin, who, in spite of opposition among the brothers, persisted in delivering it with his own hand, though it was rare that any one outside his usual circle was permitted to hold an interview with Fra Paolo; but Piero’s masterful ways had not left him, and when he willed to do a thing the wills of others counted little.  It was a pity—­because the missive was mysterious, crumpled with long carrying—­and if a trusty member of their own community had delivered it to Fra Paolo in his cell, there might have been some revelation!

But there was none.  Fra Paolo was only a little more grave and silent than of wont; but often now he was so absorbed in government matters that he took less part in the social life of the Servi.

So Piero, laughing at the ease with which he had carried his point for nothing but the asking,—­and it had to be done, since he had promised Marina,—­had his interview alone with Fra Paolo, and passed easily through the group of disappointed friars, under those exquisitely wrought arcades to his gondola, thanking them with nonchalance and pressing them to avail themselves more often of the eager service of his barcarioli, that the blessing of the Madonna might be upon their traghetti, to the discomfiture of their rivals the Castellani.  For Piero was a faithful gastaldo and lost no opportunity of seeking favor for the faction he represented, and there was a certain grace in his proffer, since priests and friars paid no fares.

Fra Paolo left alone read the message which held the tragedy of a life.

“I could not stay in Venice, dear friend of my whole life, to see thee guide our country into such sad error; for so to my heart it seemeth—­may God help us both!

“And when there was no longer hope that my little word might prevail to hold any in that way which alone seemeth to me right—­and thou, with thy great gifts, art using them for State and not for Church, Paolo mio, not for our Holy Church—­I could not stay, because I love thee!  I must have been ever chiding thee had I remained, as if God had made me for no use but to be a thorn in thy flesh—­which I could not believe.