As they reached the open gate, the little band they waited for came slowly down the forest pathway.
Four Brothers, only four; and lo! on their shoulders they bore a rude bier of pine-branches.
This was the gathering of Brother Hilarius. Sweet-scented boughs for his last bed; Mary’s lilies aglow for tapers tall; the censer of the forest swung by sun and wind; and the glory of the face of the Lord.
He had called his children to him in the late night-watches, and having kissed and blessed them, he bade them turn him to the east, for his time had come; and they obeyed in sore grief and perplexed. Prior Hilarius lay and watched for the light, and as dawn parted night’s veil with the long foregleam of the coming day, he shut his eyes like a tired child and went home.
It was his heart, Brother Simon thought; but the Sub-Prior cried through his tears:—
“Nay, nay, it was God a-hungered for His dear son.”
They bore the Prior into the white-clad Church, and laid him on his forest-bed under the great Christ; and the novices, seeing the tender smile on the beautiful face, whispered one to another, “The Prior hath found his little maid.” And the Convent made Hilarius a wondrous fair tomb of alabaster inlaid with gold, and carved him lying thereon with Mary’s lilies across his breast.