"Her face?" he said. "Father, what does this mean?"
The monk gave a start, and seemed to rouse himself from a dream.
"Pardon me," he said, gently; "I am growing an old man, and I have had much to bear. I spoke without thought. Let me tell you the story of Dino's death."
As far as he knew it, as far as he guessed it, he told the story. And when Brian uttered some strong ejaculation of anger and grief at its details, Father Cristoforo bowed his head upon his breast, folded his hands, and sighed.
"I was wrong," he said. "You do well to rebuke me, my son; for I was wrong."
"You were hard, you were cruel," said Brian, vehemently.
"Yes, I was hard; I was cruel. But I am punished. The light of my eyes has been taken from me. I have lost the son that I loved."
"You will see him again," said Elizabeth, softly. "You will go to him some day."
"The saints grant it. I fear that I may not be worthy. To him the high places will be given; to me—to me——But he will pray for me."
Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. The old man's form was bent; his face was shrunken, his eyes were dim. As she rightly guessed, it was the sorrow of Dino's death that had aged him in this way.