Therewith he loosed his hands from Brother Dino's clasp, uttered a short laugh—it was a moan rather than a laugh, however—and fell like a stone into the Italian's arms. Dino supported him for a moment, then laid him flat upon the floor, and was about to summon help, when, turning, he came face to face with the Prior, Padre Cristoforo.
Thirteen years had passed since Padre Cristoforo brought the friendless boy from Turin to the monastery amongst the pleasant hills. Those thirteen years had apparently transformed the smiling, graceful lad into a pale, grave-faced, young monk, whose every word and action seemed to be subordinated to the authority of the ecclesiastics with whom he lived. Time had thrown into strong relief the keenly intellectual contour of his head and face; it had hollowed his temples and tempered the ardour of those young, brave eyes; but there was more beauty of outline and sweetness of expression than had been visible even in the charming boyish face that had won all hearts when he came to San Stefano at ten years old.
Thirteen years had changed Father Cristoforo but little. His tonsured head showed a fringe of greyer hairs, and his face was a little more blanched and wrinkled than it used to be; but the bland smile, the polished manner, the look of profound sagacity, were all the same. He gave one glance to Dino, one glance to the prostrate form upon the floor, and took in the situation without a moment's delay.
"Fetch Father Paolo," he said, after inspecting Brian's face and lifting his nerveless hand; "and return with him yourself. We may want you."
Father Paolo, the monk who took charge of the infirmary, soon arrived, and gave it as his opinion that the stranger was suffering from no ordinary fainting-fit, but from an affection of the brain. A bed was prepared for him in the infirmary, and a lay-brother appointed to attend upon him. Brian Luttrell could not have fallen ill in a place where he would receive more tender care.
It was not until the sick man was laid in his bed that Father Cristoforo spoke again to Dino, who was standing a little behind him, holding a lamp. The rays of light fell full upon Brian's death-like face, and on the black and white crucifix that hung above his bed on the yellow wall. Dino's face was in deep shadow when the Prior turned and addressed him.
"What was he saying when I came in? That his name was John—John——"
"John Stretton, an Englishman," answered Dino, in an unmoved voice. "An Englishman and a beggar."
Padre Christoforo did an unusual thing. He took the lamp from Brother Dino's hand and threw the light suddenly upon the young man's impassive countenance. Dino raised his great, serious eyes to the Prior's face, and then dropped them to the ground. Otherwise not a muscle of his face moved. He was the living image of submission.
"Have you seen him before?" said Padre Cristoforo.