He would punish him as he deserved, pray for him, forgive him.

And yet could he tell him all?
Could he, dare he confess to him the whole truth--the insatiable craving to know the mysteries of learning--to see the great roaring world of men, which had been growing up in him slowly, month after month, till now it had assumed this fearful shape?
He could stay no longer in the desert.

This world which sent all souls to hell--was it as bad as monks declared it was?
It must be, else how could such be the fruit of it?
But it was too awful a thought to be taken on trust.

No; he must go and see.
Filled with such fearful questionings, half-inarticulate and vague, like the thoughts of a child, the untutored youth went wandering on, till he reached the edge of the cliff below which lay his home.

It lay pleasantly enough, that lonely Laura, or lane of rude Cyclopean cells, under the perpetual shadow of the southern wall of crags, amid its grove of ancient date-trees.