passed by heavy stone columns supporting a ceiling in round Romanesque arches on their way toward the one spot of light which came from a lucerna that stood on one end of a very long table spread for supper.  They were looking around bewildered for their places, when they were not a little startled to hear the padre say, “Signore, this is Fra Lorenzo, my son in the Lord.”  The signora was of course the least surprised, for she recognized her apparition.  They received a silent salutation from a young spiritual-looking monk, with the handsomest face, they afterward agreed, they had ever seen.  The four cats, Piro, and another shaggy monster of a dog completed the company and shared the visitors’ supper, preferring their soup and chicken to the Saturday-evening fare of the monks of boiled beans and olive oil.  The strangely-mixed party found much to interest each other, and, as the signora laughed once or twice merrily over the division of the chicken-bones between the dogs and the cats, she found Fra Lorenzo’s eyes fixed upon her with a look of wonder; at other times he kept his eyes on his plate and uttered not a word.  The chicken was followed by figs and peaches, cheese and Vino Santo, which the signora drank out of a tall glass with the arms of the order engraved on it.

When they returned to their salon, the padre followed them to say, “You were surprised at Fra Lorenzo’s appearance,—­I think a little startled, too.  He is gentle and good as an angel, and this is the first time he ever inspired fear in any one,—­poor boy!  He is my nephew, and I have had him with me ever since his infancy, when his parents died.  I am his guardian, and have made him a priest and Benedictine as the best thing I could do for him, although his rank and talents would enable him to play a distinguished role in the world.  But, thanks be to God, he is a devout follower of Christ, and a most useful one.  He is now twenty-five years of age; and I do not think we have a better decipherer of manuscripts in the Church than he, since he is conversant with most of the Oriental tongues, although so young.  I sometimes fear God will visit me for bestowing too much affection upon the boy.  I strive against it, but he remains the light of my eyes.  If it be a sin, God forgive me.”

As the signora was putting out the light at her bedside, her eyes fell upon the basin of holy water hanging above it.  She wondered who had dipped his fingers last in it, and if any one had ever before slept in that bed without first kneeling before the ivory crucifix above the praying-stool.  And with these conjectures she fell asleep.  It seemed to her that she had been lying there only a short time when she heard a distant door open and shut softly, then another and another, all the way down the corridor, until the sound seemed very near; then a breath of wind struck her cheek, which came through the outer door of her boudoir, which she had forgotten to lock, and which