"Yet you live here, from year's end to year's end all alone, Padre
mio," said Paolina, timidly.

"Not quite so, daughter," replied he. "Brother Barnaba, a lay
brother of our order, is my companion. But he is ill with a touch of
ague at present."

"And how early would it be not inconvenient to you, Padre mio, to
open the church for me?" asked Paolina.

"I spoke not of your being early on my account, daughter. If you
come here at sunrise, you will find the gate open, and me where you
found me this morning; and if you come at midnight you will find the
same."

"At midnight, father!" said Paolina, with a glance of surprise and
pity.

"Last October I was down with the fever," returned the monk; "but
since that time I have not failed one night to be on my knees where
the blessed St. Romauld knelt at the stroke of midnight. But I have
not had his reward;--doubtless because I am not worthy of it."

"What was the reward of St. Romauld, father?" demanded Paolina.

"His midnight prayers were rewarded by the vision of St. Apollinare
in glory, who spoke to him, and gave him the counsel he sought.
Night after night, and hour after hour, have I knelt and prayed. And
I have heard the moaning of the wind from the Adriatic among the
pines of the forest yonder, and I have seen the great crucifix above