“The curse of God upon the land —­ the curse of God!” said the Father, in a low, solemn tone, as he led the way, bearing in his hands the Holy Sacrament with which to console the dying.  “Men have long been forgetting Him.  But He will not alway be forgotten.  He will arise in judgment and show men the error of their ways.  If in their prosperity they will not remember Him, He will call Himself to their remembrance by a terrible day of adversity.  And who may stand before the Lord?  Who may abide the day of His visitation?”

Moving along with these and like solemn words of warning and admonition, to which his followers paid all reverent heed, the woodland path was quickly traversed, and the clearing reached which showed the near approach to the village.  There was a break in the forest at this point, and some excellent pasture land and arable fields had tempted two farmers to establish themselves here, a small hamlet growing quickly up around the farmsteads.  This small community supplied the Brothers with some of the necessaries of life, and every soul there was known to the Father.  Some dozen persons had come to the Monastery gates during the past two days, stricken and destitute, and had been taken in there.  But all these had died and no others had followed, and Father Paul was naturally anxious to know how it fared with those left behind.

Raymond and Roger both knew the villagers well.  The two years spent within the walls of the Brotherhood had made them fully acquainted with the people round about.  The little hamlet was a pretty spot:  a number of low thatched cottages nestled together beside the stream that watered the meadows, whilst the larger farmsteads, which, however, were only modest dwelling houses with their barns and sheds forming a background to them, stood a little farther back upon a slightly-rising ground, sheltered from the colder winds by a spur of the forest.

Generally one was aware, in approaching the place, of the pleasant homely sounds of life connected with farming.  Today, with the golden grain all ready for the reaper’s hand, one looked to hear the sound of the sickle in the corn, and the voices of the labourers calling to each other, or singing some rustic harvest song over their task.  But instead of that a deadly and death-like silence prevailed; and Raymond, who had quickened his steps as he neared the familiar spot, now involuntarily paused and hung back, as if half afraid of what he would be forced to look upon when once the last turning was passed.

But Father Paul moved steadily on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left.  There was no hesitation or faltering in his step, and the two youths pressed after him, ashamed of their moment’s backwardness.  The sun had managed to pierce through the haze, and was shining now with some of its wonted brilliancy.  As Raymond turned the corner and saw before him the whole of the little hamlet, he almost wished the sun had ceased to shine, the contrast between the beauty and brightness of nature and the scene upon which it looked being almost too fearful for endurance.