the
bleeding of the image which had never failed in five years, and had the
image not bled it must have fared ill with the guardian of the
shrine. In punishment for his sacrilegious ministry which must be held
responsible for the absence of the miracle they so eagerly awaited, well
might the crowd have torn me limb from limb.

Next the old man went on to tell me how three days ago there had come to
the hermitage a little troop of men-at-arms, led by a tall, bearded man
whose device was a sable band upon an argent field, and accompanied by a
friar of the order of St. Francis, a tall, gaunt fellow who had wept at
sight of me.

"That would be Fra Gervasio!" I exclaimed. "How came he to discover me?"

"Yes--Fra Gervasio is his name," replied the priest.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"I think he is here."

In that moment I caught the sound of approaching steps. The door opened,
and before me stood the tall figure of my best friend, his eyes all
eagerness, his pale face flushed with joyous excitement.

I smiled my welcome.

"Agostino! Agostino!" he cried, and ran to kneel beside me and take my
hand in his. "O, blessed be God!" he murmured.

In the doorway stood now another man, who had followed him--one whose
face I had seen somewhere yet could not at first remember where. He was
very tall, so that he was forced to stoop to avoid the lintel of the low
door--as tall as Gervasio or myself--and the tanned face was bearded by
a heavy brown beard in which a few strands of grey were showing. Across
his face there ran the hideous livid scar of a blow that must have
crushed the bridge of his nose. It began just under the left eye, and
crossed the face downwards until it was lost in the beard on the
right side almost in line with the mouth. Yet, notwithstanding that
disfigurement, he still possessed a certain beauty, and the deep-set,
clear, grey-blue eyes were the eyes of a brave and kindly man.

He wore a leather jerkin and great thigh-boots of grey leather, and from
his girdle of hammered steel hung a dagger and the empty carriages of a
sword. His cropped black head was bare, and in his hand he carried a cap
of black velvet.

We looked at each other awhile, and his eyes were sad and wistful, laden
with pity, as I thought, for my condition. Then he moved forward with a
creak of leather and jingle of spurs that made pleasant music.

He set a hand upon the shoulder of the kneeling Gervasio.

"He will live now, Gervasio