The one behind the curtain had raised a finger to her lips as if commanding silence. Then the draperies were pulled together with a jerk and the figure was gone.
Another cold breath of air swept through the room, causing candles on either side of the crystal ball to flicker. Again Penny heard the soft creak, creak of wood as footsteps retreated.
She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. Had her imagination played tricks upon her?
Slowly she turned her eyes upon Father Benedict, whose back had been toward the curtained door.
“Another picture is forming in the crystal ball,” he muttered. “I see a man walking through a lonely wood. But what is this? Evil persons lie in wait behind the tall pine trees. Now they are waylaying him!
“They fall upon him and beat him with their cudgels. Woe is me! They leave him lying on the ground. The man is dying—dead. Oh, evil, evil! I can read no more in the glass today!”
Arising quickly, and brushing a hand over his glazed eyes, Father Benedict leaned for a moment against the damp plaster wall.
“Excuse me, please,” he apologized. “What I saw was most unnerving.”
The monk poured himself a drink of water and lighted a lamp on the center table.
“Now I can see again,” he said in a more natural tone. “A reading always is an exhausting experience.”