When a lad he had frequently served at Mass, and was acquainted with most of the ordinary details of monastic life.

The worst that could happen to him might be to be called upon in the course of his travels to hear the dying confession of some poor wretch who had been stabbed after a game of _mora_.

His case was altogether not so bad as might seem, considering the far greater evils he had escaped.
At the Porta San Lorenzo the gates were closed as usual, but the dozing watchman let Del Ferice out of the small door without remark.

Any one might leave the city, though it required a pass to gain admittance during the night.

The heavily-ironed oak clanged behind the fugitive, and he breathed more freely as he stepped upon the road to Tivoli.