And they set to work, and built huge stones into the mouth of the cave—
"Leaving them to rest in hope—
Till the Resurrection Day."
And what had become of the other lepers?
Driven by the smoke, they had wandered into the farthest recesses of the cave—once forbidden to Evroult by the hermit.
Whether they perished in the recesses, or whether they found some other outlet, and emerged to the upper day, we know not. No further intelligence of the poor unfortunates reached the living, or has been handed down to posterity.
And now, do my readers say this is a very melancholy chapter? Do they pity, above all, the hermit and Richard, struck down by the pestilence in an act of which Christ would have said, "Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these My brethren, ye did it unto Me"?
The pestilence saved them from the lingering death of leprosy, and even had they lived to grow old, they had been dust and ashes seven centuries ago. What does it matter now whether they lived sixteen or sixty years? The only point is, did they, through God's grace, merit to hear the blessed words, "Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Lord"?
And we think they did.