matter of the confessional," said Fra Paolo, returning and
speaking low, "if but thou didst believe with me that, _as a sacrament_,
it is oftenest unwise and best left unpractised, thy difficulties might
be fewer."

"Nay, Paolo mio, tempt me not. I would I might believe it, but my
conscience agreeth to my vow."

"As thou believest, so do; 'for whatsoever is not of faith is sin,'"
said Fra Paolo solemnly. "That was a strong word spoken of doctrine to
guard the conscience. I would I might scatter all the noble words of
that noble Apostle Paul among the people and the priests, in our own
tongue!"

"Sometimes thou seemest so like a rebel I know not why I come to thee in
trouble"--Fra Francesco looked at him with grieving eyes--"except that
in thine heart thou art indeed true."

"So help me God--it is my prayer!" Fra Paolo answered. "And for thee and
me alike, however we may differ, there is this other helpful word in
that same blessed book which they will not let the starving people
share--'God is faithful who will not suffer you to be tempted above that
ye are able, but will with the temptation also make a way to escape,
that ye may be able to bear it.' May God be with thee!"

"And Christ and the Holy Mother have thee in their keeping!" Fra
Francesco answered, with a yearning look in his loving face, in a tone
that lingered on the sweet word "mother" and almost seemed to hint of an
omission, as they clasped hands and parted.

This was the last time they had had speech together; but on the evening
of the day when Venice had declared her loyalty to her Prince by
unanimous vote, there was much animated talk of the matter in the
refectory. Fra Francesco had joined the group and listened silently. But
as the call to _compline_ rang through the cloisters and the friars
scattered, he had turned his face to Fra Paolo, who read thereon a very
passion of love, reproach, and pain which he could not forget. "When the
duties of the Council press me less," he thought, "I will seek him out
and reason with him."

But after that night the gentle friar was seen no more in Venice, and
inquiry failed to develop a reason for his flight. They missed him in
the Servi, where already they were beginning to gather up the pale
happenings of his convent life with the kindly recollection which tinged
them with a thread of romance, as his brothers of the order rehearsed
them in the cloistered ways where he would come no more; for to him some