As he was thus kneeling and wrestling with himself, a sudden knock at his door startled him.  He had made it a point, never, at any hour of the day or night, to deny himself to a brother who sought him for counsel, however disagreeable the person and however unreasonable the visit.  He therefore rose and unbolted the door, and saw Father Johannes standing with folded arms and downcast head, in an attitude of composed humility.

“What would you with me, brother?” he asked, calmly.

“My father, I have a wrestling of mind for one of our brethren whose case I would present to you.”

“Come in, my brother,” said the Superior.  At the same time he lighted a little iron lamp, of antique form, such as are still in common use in that region, and, seating himself on the board which served for his couch, made a motion to Father Johannes to be seated also.

The latter sat down, eying, as he did so, the whole interior of the apartment, so far as it was revealed by the glimmer of the taper.

“Well, my son,” said Father Francesco, “what is it?”

“I have my doubts of the spiritual safety of Brother Bernard,” said Father Johannes.

“Wherefore?” asked the Superior, briefly.

“Holy father, you are aware of the history of the brother, and of the worldly affliction that drove him to this blessed profession?”

“I am,” replied the Superior, with the same brevity.

“He narrated it to me fully,” said Father Johannes.  “The maiden he was betrothed to was married to another in his absence on a long journey, being craftily made to suppose him dead.”

“I tell you I know the circumstances,” said the Superior.

“I merely recalled them, because, moved doubtless by your sermon, he dropped words to me to-night which led me to suppose that this sinful, earthly love was not yet extirpated from his soul.  Of late the woman was sick and nigh unto death, and sent for him.”

“But he did not go?” interposed Father Francesco.

“No, he did not,—­grace was given him thus far,—­but he dropped words to me to the effect, that in secret he still cherished the love of this woman; and the awful words your Reverence has been, speaking to us to-night have moved me with fear for the youth’s soul, of the which I, as an elder brother, have had some charge, and I came to consult with you as to what help there might be for him.”

Father Francesco turned away his head a moment and there was a pause; at last he said, in a tone that seemed like the throb of some deep, interior anguish,—­

“The Lord help him!”

“Amen!” said Father Johannes, taking keen note of the apparent emotion.

“You must have experience in these matters, my father,” he added, after a pause,—­“so many hearts have been laid open to you.  I would crave to know of you what you think is the safest and most certain cure for this love of woman, if once it hath got possession of the heart.”