Hardly had he reached the corridor when he heard the angry man thundering on the piano.
* * * * * Before entering Don Clemente's little cell, Benedetto stopped before the great window at the end of the corridor.

Here, a few hours earlier, the master himself had lingered, contemplating the lights of Subiaco, and thinking of the enemy, the creature of beauty, of genius, of natural kindliness, who was perhaps come to strive with him for possession of his spiritual son, to strive with God Himself.

Now the spiritual son felt a mysterious certainty that the woman he had loved so ill, during the time of his blind and ardent leaning towards inferior things, had discovered his presence in the monastery, and would come in search of him.

Seeking deep in his own heart for the Spirit which dwelt there, he gained from it a pious sense of the Divine, which was surely in her also, hidden even from herself; and he felt a mystic hope that, by some dark way, she also would one day reach the sea of eternal truth and love, which awaits so many poor wandering souls.
Don Clemente had heard him coming, and had set his door ajar.

Benedetto entered, and offered him the Abbot's letter.