"What is this woman to you?"
"You have heard--my sister."
Correntian turned to the Abbot with an indescribable gesture of his head.
"I ask our venerable father--I ask all the brethren here in conclave--Has a Benedictine a sister?"
"No!" was the slow and soft reply--as if reluctantly spoken--from every man.
Conrad of Ramüss struck himself on the brow, and a bitter, burning tear forced its way from under his drooping lids. One minute of deep agonised silence, one brief struggle, and then the proud young head bowed humbly before the Abbot--"Punish me, my father--I had indeed forgotten myself."
"Ask your brother's forgiveness on your knees," said the Abbot sadly, "and for not having yet quite torn your heart free from all the earthly ties that hang about it, so that the evil demon of wrath could stir you up against your spiritual brother for the sake of an earthly sister--this you must expiate by a fortnight's nightly penance."
The young man kissed the Abbot's hand. "I thank you, father, for so mild a punishment." Then he knelt down before the offended monk and pressed the hem of his robe to his lips, "Forgive me, Brother."
The inflexible man raised him with the usual formula, "May God forgive you even as I do."
The brethren stood round in silence; not a face betrayed what one of them thought, but the culprit sank back on his seat as if exhausted, and cold sweat stood in drops on his forehead. Correntian went on, as if nothing had happened.