es might not sufficiently atone
for the sinful pleasures of his past life, of which he had a vivid and
growing remembrance. The thought was ever present with him that he
might not be predestined to die in the odour of sanctity.

In this anguish of heart he went forth one day into the wood which
lies on the top of the mountain of La Verna, beyond the Friary, and
ran up and down, stumbling among the roots of the trees and calling
aloud with sighs and tears, "Little wretch, thou art lost! Abominable
sinner Angelo, how shalt thou find a holy death?"

To him, in this distraction, comes the Warden with three of the elder
friars and asks him what has befallen him.

"The fear of dying in my sins," cries Angelo.

"You have the comfort of the Gospel, my son," says the Warden.

"It is not enough for me," sobs Angelo, beating his wounded breast.
"You know not how great were my pleasures in the world!"

With that he starts away again to wander through the wood, but the
Warden restrains him, and soothes him, and speaks comfortably to him;
and at last Angelo makes his request that he may have a certain cave
in the woods for his dwelling and be enclosed there as a recluse to
await the coming of a holy death.

"But, my son," objects the Warden, "what will the Friary do without
the example of your devotion and your service?"

"I will pray for you all," says Angelo; "night and day I will give
myself to intercession for the order of friars minor."

So the Warden consents, and Angelo, for the time, is satisfied.

Now, the top of the mountain of La Verna is full of rude clefts and
caverns, with broken and jagged rocks. Truly, it were a frightful
place to behold but for the tall trees that have grown up among the
rocks, clasping them with their roots, and the trailing vines and
gentle wild flowers and green ferns that spring abundantly around them
as if in token of kindness and good-will and bounty.

All these were much beloved of St. Francis, who heard every creature
cry aloud, saying "God made me for thee, O man." So great was his
affection for them that he would not have his little friars cut down a
whole tree for firewood, but bade them only lop the branches and let
the tree live in joy. And he taught them to make no garden of
pot-herbs only, but to leave room always for the flowers, for love of
One who was called "the rose of Sharon," and "the lily of the valley."

But this was not the mind of Angelo, who stumbled to his rec