Five monks stood up, among them the Sub-Prior, and seven novices sprang also to their feet.
“Nay, Brother Walter,” said Hilarius, turning to the Sub-Prior, “this flock must have its shepherd also; thy place is here. But I will take with me Brother Simon and Brother Leo, who will doubtless suffice at first for the ministry, and—” smiling at the novices—“all these dear lads to tend the sick and bury the dead.”
The Sub-Prior ventured on a remonstrance.
“Good Father, it is not fitting that thou should’st go on such an errand; send me in thy stead, for my life is a small thing as compared with thine. Moreover these novices, ’tis but the other day the Master gave them as lazy and ill-conditioned, and—”
The Prior held up his hand.
“Dear Brother, I thank thee for thy love and care for me; but my call has come. As for these—” he stretched out his hand towards the waiting novices—“maybe they are in the wrong school, and the Lord hath even opened the door that they may serve Him, perchance die for Him, elsewhere. And shall I count myself wiser than Prior Stephen, who set me without the gate to learn my lesson? Let us go in peace, my children, for we are about the Lord’s business.”
Very early next day, having eaten of Heavenly manna, the little band embraced their brethren and set out, laden with food and wine and herbs from the farmery; and the Prior appointed a place to which the Convent should send daily all things needed.
The shade of the forest was very welcome in the hot, breathless sunshine, and the scent of the pine-needles, odorous, pungent, rose at each footfall from the silent path. The Brethren chanted the Gradual Psalms as they paced two and two through the sun-lit aisles, full of the Prior’s memories; and he looked up again to see Our Lady’s robe across the tree-tops. Then all at once the Psalm broke, and Brother Simon, who was leading, stayed suddenly.
Under a bush beside the track lay a man, naked save for filthy rags; his hair and beard matted with moss and leaves; his eyes sunk, his lips drawn apart in a ghastly grin. Hilarius made haste to kneel beside him, and lo! sudden remembrance lighted the fast-glazing eyes, but his own answered not.
“My son, my son,” said the Prior, and his voice was very pitiful, “thou art indeed in evil case; let me shrive thee ere it be too late.”