At last the word
came that voices were heard in the distance; and monks and novices
hastened two and two to the gate. On the wind was borne the sound
of a chant.
"'Tis a dirge for those that are gone," said Brother Anselm; and
crossing themselves, the Brothers chanted out the sonorous
response:
"Et lux perpetua luceat eis."
As they reached the open gate, the little band they waited for came
slowly down the forest pathway.
Four Brothers, only four; and lo! on their shoulders they bore a
rude bier of pine-branches.
This was the gathering of Brother Hilarius. Sweet-scented boughs
for his last bed; Mary's lilies aglow for tapers tall; the censer
of the forest swung by sun and wind; and the glory of the face of
the Lord.
He had called his children to him in the late night-watches, and
having kissed and blessed them, he bade them turn him to the east,
for his time had come; and they obeyed in sore grief and perplexed.
Prior Hilarius lay and watched for the light, and as dawn parted
night's veil with the long foregleam of the coming day, he shut his
eyes like a tired child and went home.
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