I
The moon shone fitfully through the clouds on to the weary face of
Brother Jasper kneeling in his cell. His hands were fervently clasped,
uplifted to the crucifix that hung on the bare wall, and he was praying,
praying as he had never prayed before. All through the hours of night,
while the monks were sleeping, Brother Jasper had been supplicating his
God for light; but in his soul remained a darkness deeper than that of
the blackest night. At last he heard the tinkling of the bell that
called the monks to prayers, and with a groan lifted himself up. He
opened his cell door and went out into the cloister. With down-turned
face he walked along till he came to the chapel, and, reaching his seat,
sank again heavily to his knees.
The lights in the chapel were few enough, for San Lucido was nearly the
poorest monastery in Spain; a few dim candles on the altar threw long
shadows on the pavement, and in the choir their yellow glare lit up
uncouthly the pale faces of the monks. When Brother Jasper stood up, the
taper at his back cast an unnatural light over him, like a halo, making
his great black eyes shine strangely from their deep sockets, while
below them the dark lines and the black shadow of his shaven chin gave
him an unearthly weirdness. He looked like a living corpse standing in
the brown Franciscan cowl--a dead monk doomed for some sin to wander
through the earth till the day, the Day of Judgment; and in the agony of
that weary face one could almost read the terrors of eternal death.
The monks recited the service with their heavy drone, and the sound of
the harsh men's voices ascended to the vault, dragging along the roof.
But Jasper heard not what they said; he rose and knelt as they did; he
uttered the words; he walked out of the church in his turn, and through
the cloister to his cell. And he threw himself on the floor and beat his
head against the hard stones, weeping passionately. And he cried out,--
'What shall I do? What shall I do?'
For Brother Jasper did not believe.