"Fathers and Brethren," he commanded. "Let us have order and silence. Father Sebastian shall speak with Father Antonio; and, after him, the Father Cellarer. It is time for Compline."
As everybody knew the almost invariable prayers and psalms of Compline by heart, there was no need for fresh candles, and the community began to recite the office. All had resumed their places save Antonio, who moved slowly away to the obscurest corner, near the granary door. There he stood, blending his prayers and praises with those of his brethren for the last time. He joined in the Confession with deep humility, smiting his breast: and when the Hebdomadarius gave the Absolution, Antonio crossed himself as if Calvary itself were before his eyes. In due time the Psalms, the Hymn, the Little Chapter, and Pater Noster had been said, and the monks began the proper Antiphon of the Blessed Virgin, Salve Regina. Repeating the pious words, Antonio quietly opened the granary door; and, at the end of the prayer Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, he slipped forth into the soft night.
Across the courtyard a light was burning in the room where the Abbot still lay in unnatural sleep. Antonio drew near and gazed through the glass. The old man's hands were clasped on his breast, and his garment fell into stiff folds like the alabaster draperies of a mitered effigy on a tomb. Antonio breathed towards the frail body the prayer he had heard at the beginning of Compline, Noctem quietam et finem perfectum: "May the Almighty Lord grant him a quiet night and a perfect end."
As he turned away with a bursting heart he came face to face with Father Sebastian, who had seen his stealthy flight. Sebastian, as usual, was drawing his habit closely round his body. There was more than usual of the consumptive glow on his cheek and of the too bright fire in his eyes. The two men faced each other searchingly.
"Father Antonio," asked Sebastian at last, "is this our Lord's work or the devil's?"
"It is our Lord's," returned Antonio in a firm voice. "Take heed that you do not hinder it."
He brushed past and opened the wicket which led into the high road. But, before he passed out, he seized his friend's thin hand in a fierce grip.
"Sebastian," he said, "ask all my brethren to forgive me and to pray for me. Take care of my breviary, if you can. Good-bye."
A sentry challenged him as he strode forth: but Antonio threw him aside. "I am not your prisoner," he said; and the fellow, bemused by wine and by fatigue, fell back without another word.
Hurrying though Navares he contrived to pass the apothecary's shop unobserved by the throng of leading townsmen who were warmly debating the rights and wrongs of the monks' case. Outside the taverns he was less successful; and in one instance, a lewd insult which was flung after him led to bitter rejoinders and a scuffle. A young man, whose pleasant face contrasted oddly with his words, ran after Antonio to say that the monks ought to have been driven out long ago: but, on the other hand, four separate men offered him hospitality, ranging from a pull of wine to a night's lodging.