THE VISION OF THE EVENING AND THE MORNING
MEANWHILE, news came to the Monastery of the ill case of the village, for
it lay scarce a league away across the forest; but the pine-trees stood
as guardian angels in between.
The Prior summoned the whole Convent, according to the ruling of Blessed
Benedict when the matter is a grave one, and told the tidings.
Then he went on to give reason for their assembling.
“My Brethren, it is in my heart that we dare not leave these poor,
stricken sheep to die alone without shepherding; moreover, in their fear
and desolation, they may flee to other villages, and so the terror and
pest spread ever further. And I deem that, inasmuch as Charity is
greater than Faith or Hope, so it is greater than obedience also.
Wherefore I purpose to set aside the Rule of our Order in the letter that
I may hold to it in the spirit, and go forth to serve these perishing
brethren; and I will take with me whosoever hears the call of God in this
visitation.”
When he had made an end, there was silence in the Chapter. Break
cloister, the Prior himself urging them thereto? The Convent might
scarce credit its ears.
Prior Hilarius watched his children with a tender smile on his white
face, and a prayer on his lips that love might have its triumph.
Five monks stood up, among them the Sub-Prior, and seven novices sprang
also to their feet.
“Nay, Brother Walter,” said Hilarius, turning to the Sub-Prior, “this
flock must have its shepherd also; thy place is here. But I will take
with me Brother Simon and Brother Leo, who will doubtless suffice at
first for the ministry, and—” smiling at the novices—“all these dear lads
to tend the sick and bury the dead.”
The Sub-Prior ventured on a remonstrance.
“Good Father, it is not fitting that thou should’st go on such an errand;
send me in thy stead, for my life is a small thing as compared with
thine. Moreover these novices, ’tis but the other day the Master gave
them as lazy and ill-conditioned, and—”
The Prior held up his hand.
“Dear Brother, I thank thee for thy love and care for me; but my call has
come. As for these—” he stretched out his hand towards the waiting
novices—“maybe they are in the wrong school, and the Lord hath even
opened the door that they may serve Him, perchance die for Him,
elsewhere. And shall I count myself wiser than Prior Stephen, who set me
without the gate to learn my lesson? Let us go in peace, my children,
for we are about the Lord’s business.”
* * * * *
Very early next day, having eaten of Heavenly manna, the little band
embraced their brethren and set out, laden with food and wine and herbs
from the farmery; and the Prior appointed a place to which the Convent
should send daily all things needed.
The shade of the forest was very welcome in the hot, breathless sunshine,
and the scent of the pine-needles, odorous, pungent, rose at each
footfall from the silent path. The Brethren chanted the Gradual Psalms
as they paced two and two through the sun-lit aisles, full of the Prior’s
memories; and he looked up again to see Our Lady’s robe across the
tree-tops. Then all at once the Psalm broke, and Brother Simon, who was
leading, stayed suddenly.
Under a bush beside the track lay a man, naked save for filthy rags; his
hair and beard matted with moss and leaves; his eyes sunk, his lips drawn
apart in a ghastly grin. Hilarius made haste to kneel beside him, and
lo! sudden remembrance lighted the fast-glazing eyes, but his own
answered not.
“My son, my son,” said the Prior, and his voice was very pitiful, “thou
art indeed in evil case; let me shrive thee ere it be too late.”
He motioned the others to stand back, and raising the heavy head upon his
shoulder, bent close to catch the whisper of the parched lips.
At first no sound came, and then a hoarse word reached him.
“The Convent’s hens!”
The Prior stared amazed; then once more the laboured voice—
“Hast forgot thy theft, and the dancer?”
Hilarius needed no further word; in a moment the years were wiped away.
“Lad, lad, to find thee again, and in such sorry plight! But see, stay
not thy shriving, for the time is short, and the Lord ever ready to
pardon.”
The man strove in vain to speak. At last he said quite clearly: “I
hunger,” and so saying died.
The Prior was greatly moved, and for a while he knelt in prayer, while
the Brethren, amazed, waited his pleasure. Then he rose, and lo! before
him lay the open glade where his schooling had begun, and he had seen a
flower incarnate dance in the wind.
He bade them lift the dead, and lay him in the hollow of the glade under
fallen branches until they could return and give him burial. Then, as
they went on their way, he told the tale of his little maid; and when the
telling was ended, the village they had come to succour was in sight, and
lo! they saw it through a mist.