onstitute my fortune, and they are due to the institution
that has sheltered me so kindly and nursed me back to life and health. I
have vowed these coins to your alms-box; when they are given, I shall
make a fresh start in the world--as the architect of my own fortunes."

"You will then be penniless!" said the priest, in rather a curious tone.

"Entirely so."

There was a short silence. Brian's fingers played idly with the coins,
but he was not thinking about them; his dreamy eyes revealed that his
thoughts were very far away. Padre Cristoforo was biting his forefinger
and knitting his brows--two signs of unusual perturbation of mind with
him. Presently, however, his brow cleared; he smoothed his gown over his
knees two or three times, coughed once or twice, and then addressed
himself to Brian with all his accustomed urbanity.

"Our Order is a rich one," he said, with a smile, "and one that can well
afford to entertain strangers. I will not tell you to make no gifts, for
we know that it is very blessed to give--more blessed than to receive. I
think it quite possible that we can give you such work as you desire.
But before I do so, I think I am justified in asking you with what
object you take it?"

"With what object? A very simple one--to earn my daily bread."

"And why," said the priest leaning forward and speaking in a lower
voice--"why should your father's son need to earn his daily bread in a
little Italian village?"

Again Brian's face changed colour.

"My father's son?" he repeated, vaguely. The coins fell to the ground;
he sat up and looked at the Prior suspiciously. "What do you know about
my father?" he said. "What do you know about me?"

The Prior pushed back his chair. A little smile played upon his shrewd,
yet kindly face. The Englishman was easier to manage than he had
expected to find him, and Father Cristoforo was unquestionably relieved
in his mind.

"I do not know much about you," he said, "but I have reason to believe
that your name is not Stretton--that you were recently travelling under
the name of Brian Luttrell, and that you have a special interest in the
village of San Stefano. Is that not true, my friend?"

"Yes," said Brian slowly. "It is true."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PRIOR'S OPINION.

The Prior's face wore an expression of mild triumph. He was evidently
prepared to be questioned, and was somewhat surprised when Brian turned
to him gravely and addressed him in cold and serio