t that his communion with these holy
men was in seeming only, and it shamed him to contrast their quiet
service of the Eternal with the turbid worldliness of his own thoughts.

During these days the abbot was not seen. Venturing, at length, when he
happened to find himself alone with Marcus, to speak of this, he learnt
that the holy father was not in his wonted health; Marcus added that
the disorder had resulted from the visit of the king. After Totila's
departure, Benedict had passed hours in solitary prayer, until a
faintness came upon him, from which he could not yet recover. Basil was
turning away sadly, when the monk touched his arm, and said in a
troubled voice:

'Many times he has spoken of you, dear brother.'

'Would,' replied Basil, 'that I were worthy of his thoughts.'

'Did he think you unworthy,' said Marcus, 'he would not grieve that you
must so soon go from among us.'

'The holy father has said that I must soon leave you?'

Marcus nodded gravely, and walked away.

Another week passed. By stern self-discipline, Basil had fixed his
thoughts once more on things spiritual, and the result appeared in a
quiet contentment. He waited upon the will of Benedict, which he had
come to regard as one with the will of God. And at length the expected
summons came. It was on the evening of Saturday, after vespers; the
abbot had been present at the office, and, as he went forth from the
oratory, he bade Basil follow him. They entered the tower, and
Benedict, who walked feebly, sat for some moments silent in his chair,
as if he had need of repose before the effort of speaking. Through the
window streamed a warm light, illumining the aged face turned thither
with eyes which dreamt upon the vanishing day.

'So you are no longer impatient to be gone?' were the abbot's first
words, spoken in a voice which had not lost its music, though weakness
made it low.

'My father,' answered Basil, 'I have striven with myself and God has
helped me.'

He knew that it was needless to say more. The eyes bent upon him read
all his thoughts; the confessions, the pleadings, he might have
uttered, all lay open before that calm intelligence.'

'It is true, dear son,' said Benedict, 'that you have fought bravely,
and your countenance declares that, in some measure, victory has been
granted you. That it is not the complete victory of those who put the
world for ever beneath their feet, shall not move me to murmur. The
Lord of the vineya