He motioned the others to stand back, and raising the heavy head upon his shoulder, bent close to catch the whisper of the parched lips.
At first no sound came, and then a hoarse word reached him.
“The Convent’s hens!”
The Prior stared amazed; then once more the laboured voice—
“Hast forgot thy theft, and the dancer?”
Hilarius needed no further word; in a moment the years were wiped away.
“Lad, lad, to find thee again, and in such sorry plight! But see, stay not thy shriving, for the time is short, and the Lord ever ready to pardon.”
The man strove in vain to speak. At last he said quite clearly: “I hunger,” and so saying died.
The Prior was greatly moved, and for a while he knelt in prayer, while the Brethren, amazed, waited his pleasure. Then he rose, and lo! before him lay the open glade where his schooling had begun, and he had seen a flower incarnate dance in the wind.
He bade them lift the dead, and lay him in the hollow of the glade under fallen branches until they could return and give him burial. Then, as they went on their way, he told the tale of his little maid; and when the telling was ended, the village they had come to succour was in sight, and lo! they saw it through a mist.