“Then One came swiftly and laid healing hands on the boy Robert; but I fled, for I might not see Him; and I awoke sore troubled—ay, and the trouble is on me still.
“My Brethren, I can but tell the vision as it came to me. Great is the rule of Benedict, our Father, and in it stripes, grievous and many as our sins, have their rightful place; but mayhap we forget that love, and love alone, should strike. Ay, and I mind me how Prior Stephen, my Father, said that to be monk a man must learn before all things to hunger and to love. Love should draw the water and build the fire, till the field and attend the sanctuary; and hunger we should cherish in our hearts, hunger for righteousness and for the souls of our brethren, for this is the hunger of God.
“Men come over lightly to the Lord’s work; and lo! pride and emulation, jealousy and discontent, spring up and thrive, and the end is shame and confusion.
“I speak as to my children; it is in my heart that the Lord is at hand: let us see that we love while there is yet time.”
Then he turned to the novices and stretched out his hands to where they stood amazed, and it may be ashamed—not after this manner was Brother Adam wont to rebuke them.
“And ye, who are, as it were, the babes of our Order, give heed to your ways, neither bring unwilling hands to this service. Better far go forth, yea, even to death, than mock the Lord with froward feet and a heart that is full of vanity. Remember the sacrifice which Cain offered and the Lord rejected, for he gainsayed the voice of the Lord and disobeyed His Commandment; wherefore the wrath of God fell upon him.
“I who speak now, speak in love; give ear to my words, and let fear befriend you; for the coming of the Lord is as a thief in the night, and lo! stripes bitter and many await that servant whom the Master finds sleeping.”
Then the Prior, having made an end of speaking, raised his hand to bless, and went forth in silence; and no man stirred in his place, for they knew that the Lord had spoken and were afraid.
CHAPTER VI
THE HUNGER OF DICKON THE WOODMAN
June was at an end, and men cried aloud for rain. The hedges were white, the fields scorched and brown; the leaves fell from the trees as at autumn’s touch; the fruits scarce formed hung wry and twisted on the bough; the heavens burnt pitiless, without a cloud.