Antonio tried in vain to argue. He exhibited the fifty pounds, which he had brought with him as a first installment, to cold eyes; for the Personage saw no way of sticking to the money himself. The deeds of the little farm, which Antonio was for showing as proofs that he was a man of substance, were waved aside; and when he began to speak of giving references to solid and reputable citizens of Oporto and London, the Personage had ceased to listen. A bell rang, a clerk appeared, some remarks were exchanged, and Antonio, without being able to say that he had received insults or even inattention, somehow found himself in the glaring street.
He rode home with a troubled face. Righteous anger, bitter disappointment, gnawing fear possessed him in turn. But, as he entered his little home and began to unpack the few things he had bought for its furnishing, his spirits rose. The knife and fork with which he ate his plain supper had wooden handles; his goblet was of almost opaque glass an eighth of an inch thick; the coarse tablecloth was more brown than white, and his lamp was a candle stuck in a bottle. Nevertheless he supped happily, even gaily; and it was with sustained fervor that he recited what remained of his Office.
Strenuous days followed. From the late November sunrise to the early November sunset Antonio labored harder than a navvy. The making of the new vineyard was his principal care: and by the end of the year the toughest part of the job had been soundly done. Only on a Sunday did the toiler rest from his labors. On the morning of that day he would hear Mass in the over-gilded village church; and, in the evening, when darkness fell, he would crawl along the torrent's bed into the abbey kitchen, and thence steal softly to his old stall in the chapel. There he would recite Compline from memory: and afterwards, prostrate before the empty tabernacle, he would beseech his Lord to fulfil those last and grandest words of the Abbot's prophecy: "I see Antonio standing before the high altar. I see him holding up our great chalice. I see him offering the Holy Sacrifice for us all."
BOOK III
MARGARIDA
I
Towards nightfall on the feast of the Three Kings the heavens were opened. From every inch of the somber sky descended cold, straight rain until the roads were rivers and the hill-sides began to sing.
When the storm burst Antonio was in the abbey chapel, saying Vespers in his old stall. He had duly observed the great festival of the Epiphany, abstaining from servile work and hearing Mass at the village: and, as on Sundays, he was rounding off the holy day by saying his Office in the choir. But the vehemence of the storm alarmed him. He rose hastily, and made his way through the darkling cloisters and corridors.
As he neared the kitchen a roaring sound filled Antonio's startled ears. It was the torrent. Although he had rammed the sluice-gate well home only half an hour before, the stream was racing through the kitchen in a foaming flood.
"The sluice-gate has broken," said Antonio to himself. "The timbers must have rotted all of a sudden. But there's just time to get out."