. I, too, love you. Perhaps I was selfish in
loving you, but I wanted for God your soul and the souls you were
leading to Him."

The old man arose. He put out his hand to grope his way back to the
door. It touched Ramoni, sitting rigid. He did not stir. The hand
reached over him, caught the lintel of the door and guided the blind
man to the hall. Then Ramoni stood up. Without a word he followed the
other. When he had overtaken him he laid his hand gently on the blind
man's arm and led him back to his cell.

When he came back the door of the chapel was open. Ramoni, going
within, found Pietro there, prostrate at the foot of the altar. Ramoni
knelt at the door, his eyes brimming with tears. He did not pray. He
only gazed upon the far-off tabernacle. And while he knelt the Great
Plan unfolded itself to him. He looked back on Marqua as a man who has
traveled up the hills looks down on the valleys. And, looking back, he
could see that Pietro's had been the labor that had won Marqua. There
came back to him all the memories of his servant's love of souls, his
ceaseless teaching, his long journeys to distant villages, his zeal,
his solicitude to save his superior for the more serious work of
preaching. Pietro had been jealous of the slightest infringement on
his right to suffer. Pietro had been the apostle. Before God the
conquest of Marqua had been Pietro's first, since he it was who had
toiled and claimed no reward.

A great peace suddenly mantled the troubled soul of Father Ramoni, and
with it a great love for the old General whose hand had struck him. He
thought of the painting hanging near where he knelt--"Moses Striking
the Rock." The features of Father Denfili merged into the features of
the Law Giver, and Father Ramoni knew himself for the rock, barren and
unprofitable. He fell on his face, and then his prayer came:

"Christ, humble and meek, soften me, and if there be aught of living
water within, let me give one drop for thirsty souls yet ere I am
called."

He could utter no other prayer.

Morning found both master and servant, now servant and master, before
the altar where both were servants.

III.

It was fifteen years later when the brethren of the little Community
of San Ambrogio gathered in their chapel to sing the requiem over
their founder and first General, Father Denfili, who died, old and
blind, after twenty years of retirement into obscurity. But there
were more than his brethren there. For all