clucking and
strutting at the sandalled feet of the black-robed, silent, lay-brothers
who brought them food--all these things acted like an anodyne upon
Brian's stricken heart. There was a life beside that of feeling; a life
of passive, peaceful repose; the life of "stocks and stones," and happy,
unresponsive things, amidst which he could learn to bear his burden
patiently.

He saw little of Dino during his illness; but, as soon as he was able to
go into the garden, Dino was permitted to accompany him. It was plain
from his manner that no unwillingness on his own part kept him away. The
English stranger had evidently a great attraction for him; he waited
upon his movements and followed him, silently and affectionately, like a
dog whose whole heart has been given to its master. Brian felt the charm
of this devotion, but was too weak to speculate concerning its cause. He
was conscious of the same kind of attraction towards Dino; he knew not
why, but he found it pleasant to have Dino at his side, to lean on his
arm as they went down the garden path together, to listen to the young
Italian's musical accents as he read aloud at the evening hour. But what
was the secret of that indefinable mutual attraction, that almost
magnetic power, which one seemed to possess over the other, Brian
Luttrell could not tell. Perhaps Dino knew.

This friendship did not pass unobserved. It was quietly, gently,
fostered by the Prior, whose keen eyes were everywhere, and seemed to
see everything at once. He it was who dispensed Dino from his usual
duties that he might attend upon the English guest, who smiled benignly
when he met them together in the cloister, who dropped a word or two
expressive of his pleasure that Dino should have an opportunity of
practising his knowledge of the English tongue. Dino could speak English
with tolerable fluency, although with a strong foreign accent.

But the quiet state of affairs did not last very long. As Brian's
strength returned he grew restless and uneasy; and at length one day he
sent a formal request to the Prior that he might speak to him alone.
Padre Cristoforo replied by coming at once to the guest-chamber, which
Brian occupied in the daytime, and by asking in his usual mild and
kindly way what he could do for him.

The guest-room was a bare enough place, but the window commanded a fine
view of the wide plain on which the monastery looked down. The blinds
were open, for the morning was deliciousl