eking forgiveness
for the morning's sins and grace to do better in the future.

CHAPTER VI. FRA GERVASIO

I did not again see my mother that day, nor did she sup with us that
evening. I was told by Fra Gervasio that on my account was she in
retreat, praying for light and guidance in the thing that must be
determined concerning me.

I withdrew early to my little bedroom overlooking the gardens, a room
that had more the air of a monastic cell than a bedchamber fitting the
estate of the Lord of Mondolfo. The walls were whitewashed, and besides
the crucifix that hung over my bed, their only decoration was a crude
painting of St. Augustine disputing with the little boy on the seashore.

For bed I had a plain hard pallet, and the room contained, in addition,
a wooden chair, a stool upon which was set a steel basin with its ewer
for my ablutions, and a cupboard for the few sombre black garments I
possessed--for the amiable vanity of raiment usual in young men of my
years had never yet assailed me; I had none to emulate in that respect.

I got me to bed, blew out my taper, and composed myself to sleep. But
sleep was playing truant from me. Long I lay there surveying the events
of that day--the day in which I had embarked upon the discovery of
myself; the most stirring day that I had yet lived; the day in which,
although I scarcely realized it, if at all, I had at once tasted love
and battle, the strongest meats that are in the dish of life.

For some hours, I think, had I lain there, reflecting and putting
together pieces of the riddle of existence, when my door was softly
opened, and I started up in bed to behold Fra Gervasio bearing a taper
which he sheltered with one hand, so that the light of it was thrown
upwards into his pale, gaunt face.

Seeing me astir he came forward and closed the door.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Sh!" he admonished me, a finger to his lips. He advanced to my side,
set down the taper on the chair, and seated himself upon the edge of my
bed.

"Lie down again, my son," he bade me. "I have something to say to you."

He paused a moment, whilst I settled down again and drew the coverlet to
my chin not without a certain premonition of important things to come.

"Madonna has decided," he informed me then. "She fears that having once
resisted her authority, you are now utterly beyond her control; and that
to keep you here would be bad for yourself and for her. Therefore she
has resolved t