"This my son was dead and is alive again," sang his heart. The
porter, afraid, hasted after him with the keys, and had scarce time
to do his office ere the sunburnt vagabond was clasped in the
Prior's arms. It was a harvesting indeed.
That night Hilarius went across to the Prior's house to tell the
tale of his journeyings. He found him seated in a great oak chair
by the open window; the sky was ablaze with stars, and the flame of
the oil lamp jarred like a splash of yellow paint on the moonlight
which flooded the room; the Prior's eyes smiled measureless
content, and the murmured "Laus Deo" of his lips voiced the
gladness of his heart. Thus, in the shelter of peace and a great
love, Hilarius told his tale, while the forest waved a welcome to
him over the Monastery wall, and the late lilies burned white in
the garth below.
The Prior sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes fixed on the
lad's face, pale against the dark wainscot; and Hilarius told of
his journeyings, and all that befell, even as it hath been recorded
in this chronicle; and the Prior's eyes were wet as he heard of the
little maid.
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