distant lights fires in an enemy's camp? He made the sign of the cross,
and entered his narrow cell, for a short rest until two o'clock, the
hour of assembly in the choir.

Benedetto took the road to the Sacro Speco. Beyond the further corner
of the monastery he crossed the dry bed of a small torrent, reached the
very ancient oratory of Santa Crocella on the right, and climbed the
rocky slope which tumbles its stones down towards the rumbling Anio and
faces the hornbeams of the Francolano, rising, straight and black, to
the star-crowned cross on its summit. Before reaching the arch which
stands at the entrance to the grove of the Sacro Speco, he left the
road, and climbed up towards the left, in search of the scene of his
last vigil, high above the square roofs and the squat tower of Santa
Scolastica. The search for the stone where he had knelt in prayer on
another night of sorrow distracted his thoughts from the mystic fire
which had enveloped him, and cooled its ardour. He soon perceived this
and was seized with a heavy sense of regret, with impatience to rekindle
the flame, enhanced by the fear of not succeeding in the attempt, by
the feeling that it had been his own fault, and by the memory of other
barren moments. He was growing colder, ever colder. He fell upon his
knees, calling upon God in an outburst of prayer. Like a small flame
applied in vain to a bundle of green sticks, this effort of his will
gradually weakened without having moved the sluggish heart, and left him
at last in vague contemplation of the even roar of the Anio. His senses
returned to him with a rush of terror! Perhaps the whole night would
pass thus; perhaps this barren coldness would be followed by burning
temptation! He silenced the clamour of his fervid imagination, and
concentrated his thoughts on his determination not to lose courage. He
now became firmly convinced that hostile spirits had seized upon him. He
would not have felt more sure of this had he seen fiendish eyes flashing