"Cross and Star!" he mused, as he noticed this brilliant and
singular decoration, "an emblem of the fraternity, I suppose,
meaning ... what? Salvation and Immortality? Alas, they are poor,
witless builders on shifting sand if they place any hope or
reliance on those two empty words, signifying nothing! Do they,
can they honestly believe in God, I wonder? or are they only
acting the usual worn-out comedy of a feigned faith?"

And he eyed them somewhat wistfully as their white apparelled
figures went by--ten had already left the chapel. Two more passed,
then other two, and last of all came one alone--one who walked
slowly, with a dreamy, meditative air, as though he were deeply
absorbed in thought. The light from the open door streamed fully
upon him as he advanced--it was the monk who had recited the Seven
Glorias. The stranger no sooner beheld him than he instantly
stepped forward and touched him on the arm.

"Pardon!" he said hastily in English, "I think I am not mistaken--
your name is, or used to be Heliobas?"

The monk bent his handsome head in a slight yet graceful
salutation, and smiled.

"I have not changed it," he replied, "I am Heliobas still." And
his keen, steadfast, blue eyes rested half inquiringly, half
compassionately, on the dark, weary, troubled face of his
questioner who, avoiding his direct gaze, continued:

"I should like to speak to you in private. Can I do so now--to-
night--at once?"