Before long, his meal was brought him, and with it a book, bound in
polished wood and metal, which he found to be a Psalter. Herein,
when he had eaten, he read for an hour or so, not, however, without
much wandering of the thoughts. He had fallen into reverie, when his
door opened, and there appeared before him the Abbot Benedict.
Basil started up, stood for a moment in agitation, then sank upon
his knees, with head reverently bowed.
'Rise, rise, my son,' spoke the voice which had so moved him in his
vision of a week ago, a voice subdued by years, but perfectly steady
and distinct. 'Our good brother Marcus assures me that I may talk
with you a little while without fear of overtasking your strength--
nay, sit where you were, I pray you. Thanks be to God, I need not
support for my back.'
So saying, the abbot seated himself on the stool, and gazed at Basil
with a smile of infinite benevolence.
'Your face,' he continued, 'speaks to me of a time very far away. I
see in it the presentment of your father's father, with whom, when
he was much of your age, I often talked.
Pages:
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476