rtaken of the
Eucharist, Basil was bidden to the priest's room. This time it was the
prior himself who received him, and with an address which indicated the
change in the position of the penitent, now become an ordinary guest.

'Lord Basil, your follower, Deodatus, is minded to fulfil the prophecy
of his name, and tells me that it would be with your good will. Are you
content to deprive yourself of his service, that he may continue to
abide with us, and after due preparation, take the vows of our
community?'

'Content,' was the reply, 'and more than content. If ever man seemed
born for the holy life, it is he. I entreat you, reverend father, to
favour his desire.'

'Be it so. I have spoken of this matter with the lord abbot, who has
graciously given his consent. Let me now make known to you that, at
sunrise to-morrow, your attendants who have been sojourning at Casinum,
will await you by the gate of the monastery. I wish you, dear lord, a
fair journey. Let your thoughts sometimes turn to us; by us you will
ever be remembered.'

Long before the morrow's sunrise, Basil was stirring. By the light of
his little lamp, he and Deodatus conversed together, no longer as
master and servant, but as loving friends, until the bell called them
to matins. The night was chill; under a glistening moon all the valley
land was seen to be deep covered with far-spreading mist, whereamid the
mount of the monastery and the dark summits round about rose like
islands in a still, white sea. When matins and lauds were over, many of
the monks embraced and tenderly took leave of the departing guest. The
last to do so was Marcus, who led him aside and whispered:

'I see you have again put on your ring, as was right. Let me, I beg of
you, once more touch it with my lips.'

Having done so with the utmost reverence, he clasped Basil in his arms,
kissed him on either cheek, and said, amid tears:

'Lest we should never meet again, take and keep this; not for its
worth, for God knows it has little, but in memory of my love.'

The gift was a little book, a beautifully written copy of all the
verses composed by the good Marcus in honour of Benedict and of the
Sacred Mount of Casinum.

Holding it against his heart, Basil rode down into the mist.

CHAPTER XXVIII

AT HADRIAN'S VILLA

Rome waited. It was not long to the setting of the Pleiades, and there
could be no hope that the new army from the East would enter Italy this
year. Belisa