prepared for him in introducing these beautiful women secretly into the monastery.  Being so completely a man of God, he overcame the evil one without an effort; but it is not given to us all to overcome as he did, and a zephyr from the outer world may waft us an evil which must be atoned for by long penitence in our lonely cells.  Not that I liken you to a tempter,” he added, seeing her confusion and distress:  “you have only forgotten that we are servants of God and must think of nothing but our duty in serving him.”

“Oh, padre, I would give everything if I had not forgotten it!  You must think of me as a good woman, for indeed I deserve it.”

“I do think of you as such, and am sure the lesson will not be forgotten,” was the crumb of comfort upon which she fed all the rest of the day and for several days following, during which Fra Lorenzo had not reappeared.  The fountain-scene had not been mentioned to her friends, so one day at dinner Margaret said, “Do the offices for the dead generally require so much time, that Lorenzo does not return?”

“Fra Lorenzo is here,” was the answer.  “He was only absent one night.  He is very much occupied:  that is why you do not see him.”

The next day they were to be shown the library, and at the hour set the signora went to the padre’s reception-room to see if he were ready.  He was just reaching for the key, when a peasant appeared, his hand bleeding from a cut which had nearly dissevered the thumb.  This necessitated a delay, and the padre went down with him to the dispensary.  “While you are waiting,” he said, “perhaps you would like to go up into the pavilion, where you can look over the Maremma to the sea.  Go up that stair,” and he pointed to the end of a corridor, “to the first landing, then turn to the left.”

As she went up the stair her eye was caught by a carved ceiling at the top of it.  “I suppose I ought to go that far,” she thought, and up she went, until she found herself in a room frescoed with portraits of the distinguished men of the order.  In the middle of one wall was a magnificently-carved folding-door, with fruits and flowers and twining foliage with rare birds sitting among the tendrils.  She was examining these details, when she discovered that the door was ajar.  A slight push, and she was in a large, beautiful hall, where three lofty vaulted aisles were supported by slender marble columns with richly-carved capitals.  At the end of the centre aisle a staircase in the form of a horseshoe led to a gallery.  The walls up-stairs and down, sparsely filled with books, told her she was in the library.

“It will be all the same to the padre,” she thought, “if I wait here instead of in the pavilion,” and she was half-way down the hall, her eyes glued to the shelves, when she came suddenly upon Fra Lorenzo sitting before a table covered with manuscripts in the niche of a deep window.  He must have been aware of her presence from the first, for his eyes were fixed upon her with a look of intense expectancy.