her. Yet he denies it shamelessly to my face."

"Said I ever a word of that?" I appealed me to the friar. "Why, that was
after Rinolfo left us. My tale never got so far. It is quite true. I did
sit beside her. The child was troubled. I comforted her. Where was the
harm?"

"The harm?" quoth he. "And you had your arm about her--and you to be a
priest one day?"

"And why not, pray?" quoth I. "Is this some new sin that you have
discovered--or that you have kept hidden from me until now? To console the
afflicted is an ordination of Mother Church; to love our fellow­creatures
an ordination of our Blessed Lord Himself. I was performing both. Am I to
be abused for that?"

He looked at me very searchingly, seeking in my countenance--as I now
know--some trace of irony or guile. Finding none, he turned to my mother.
He was very solemn.

"Madonna," he said quietly, "I think that Agostino is nearer to being a
saint than either you or I will ever get."

She looked at him, first in surprise, then very sadly. Slowly she shook
her head. "Unhappily for him there is another arbiter of saintship, Who
sees deeper than do you, Gervasio."

He bowed his head. "Better not to look deep enough than to do as you seem
in danger of doing, Madonna, and by looking too deep imagine things which
do not exist."