but these are flown away, for they found no water in the hollows of the
carven well-head. And behold. Lord! my soul falls silent like the bells,
is darkened like the holy Marys, and runs dry like the well. Why, Jesus
my God! why is my heart arid, and dark, and dumb, when Thou art its
dayspring, and the song of birds, and the water-brook flowing from the
hills?"

Fra Mino dreaded to return to his cell, and thinking prayer would dispel
his melancholy and calm his disquiet, he passed into the Monastery
Church by the low door leading from the cloister. Silence and gloom
filled the building, raised more than a hundred and fifty years before
on the foundations of a ruined Roman Temple by the great Margaritone. He
traversed the Nave, and went and knelt in the Chapel behind the High
Altar dedicated to San Michele, whose legend was painted in fresco on
the wall. But the dim light of the lamp hanging from the vault was
insufficient to show the Archangel fighting with Satan and weighing
souls in the balance. Only the moon, shining through the great window,
threw a pale ray over the Tomb of San Satiro, where it lay under an
arcade to the right of the Altar. This tomb, in shape resembling the
great vats used at vintage time, was more ancient than the Church and in
all respects similar to a Pagan sarcophagus, except that the sign of the
Cross was to be seen traced in three different places on its marble
sides.

Fra Mino remained for hours prostrate before the Altar; but he found it
impossible to pray, and at midnight felt himself weighed down under the
same heaviness that overcame Jesus Christ's disciples in the Garden of
Gethsemane. And lo! as he lay there without courage or counsel, he saw
as it were a white cloud rise above the tomb of San Satiro, and
presently observed that this cloud was made up of a multitude of