"There was nothing but bare life to be hazarded; I had nothing else that I could lose—not even a fair reputation. I had neither father nor mother to mourn me! I had but a brother, and he was one of the band. Perhaps my strongest earthly incentive was the hope of being the means of winning his soul."
"And how were you received by the banditti?" inquired Horace, who regarded this project of planting a "home mission" in the midst of a gang of ruffians as the wildest, most impracticable scheme which enthusiasm had ever devised.
"I was received with a welcome so cordial and warm, that it almost shook my resolution to strip away all deception, and at once avow the reason for my return. I was enabled, however, to speak out the truth—to own that I came not to rejoin the band, to eat bread that was won by robbery, or to touch gold that was stained with blood—to say that if the outlaws desired it, I would tend their sick, and do what other kindly offices I might without wounding my conscience—but that I was now the soldier and servant of One who suffers no compromise with sin."
"I should have liked to have heard such an avowal made to such men," exclaimed Horace, "and to have seen the countenance of Matteo as you spoke! That was indeed walking into the lion's den, and laying your hand on his mane. How was your strange offer received?"
"With bursts of laughter and mocking jests. I believe that some of the banditti deemed that imprisonment had affected my brain."
"I marvel not at that," returned Horace. "Did you not find it hard to stand against the storm of ridicule?"
"So hard that I almost cowered beneath it. I had then, however, nothing beyond such ridicule to bear. The robbers were amused—not infuriated. My conditions were mirthfully accepted. I was elected with shouts as friar and father confessor to the band, and was given full leave to pray and to fast as long as it might suit my pleasure to do so."
"The outlaws doubtless thought," observed Horace, "that your resolution was but some strange passing fancy."
"I doubt not that they thought so," replied Raphael, "and that they promised themselves much diversion from what was to them so novel. But when the robbers found that though they might be in jest, the object of their mockery was in earnest, opposition assumed a different form."
"You were persecuted, threatened, tormented," said Horace, recollecting the lacerated shoulder, and the cruel insults of which he had himself been a witness.