lusery
blindly, intent only on the thought of his death, and never marking
the fine lace-work of the ferns that were broken by his passing nor
the sweet fragrance of the flowers crushed beneath his feet.

The cave which he had chosen lay a little beyond that most sacred
cavern where St. Francis had fasted and where the falcon had visited
him every morning, beating her wings and singing to rouse him softly
to matins, and where at last he had received in his body the marks of
the Holy Cross.

It was on the side of the mountain looking toward the west, and in
front of it was a narrow, deep, and terrible chasm, which could only
be crossed by a log laid in the manner of a bridge. But the cave
itself looked out beyond into the wide and fruitful Val d'Arno, with
the stream of silver coiling through it, and on the other side the
wooded mountains of Valombrosa and Pratomagno.

Of this Angelo saw nothing, as he passed by the log bridge into the
cave. The three friars who went with him walled up the entrance with
stones, except for an opening at the height of a man's breast; and
they returned, taking away the log at his request and casting it down
the cliff. After that the food of Angelo was thrown across the chasm
into the opening of the cave, and to drink he had a small spring of
water trickling among the rocks a drop at a time, and he lived as a
recluse considering only how to make a saintly end.

His thoughts were thus fixed and centred upon his own great concern,
to a degree that made the world turn to nothing around him. Even the
Friary seemed to lie at an infinite distance, and the prayers which he
had promised to offer for it were more in word than in desire. There
was no warmth in them, for all the fire of his soul had burned into
one thought which consumed him. Day and night he cried, "O wicked
life, let me go into a holy death!"

But he came no nearer to his goal, nor could he find any assurance
that he was elect and chosen to attain it. On the contrary his anxiety
increased and misery became his companion. For this reason: in his
dreams he dwelt continually upon the most sinful pleasures of his past
life, and they grew upon him; but in his waking hours he considered
and measured the greatness of his penances, yet without ever arriving
at the certainty that they balanced his offences.

Now, you are not to suppose that the past life of Angelo, though vain
and worldly and streaked with evil, had been altogether wov