’Deodatus, pray for me, that I may have strength to do that which I see to be the best.’

It was no forced humility.  Very beautiful in Basil’s eyes showed the piety and calm which here surrounded him, and his reverence for the founder of this house of peace fell little short of that with which he regarded the Saints in heaven.  Never before—­unless it were at certain moments when conversing with the Lady Silvia—­had he felt the loveliness of a life in which religion was supreme; and never, assuredly, had there stirred within him a spirit so devout.  He longed to attain unto righteousness, that entire purity of will, which, it now seemed to him, could be enjoyed only in monastic seclusion.  All his life he had heard praise of those who renounced the world; but their merit had been to him a far-off, uncomprehended thing, without relation to himself.  Now he understood.  A man, a sinner, it behoved him before all else to chasten his soul that he might be pleasing unto God; and behold the way!  For one who had sinned so grievously, it might well be that there was no other path of salvation.

This morning he went forth with the monks to labour.  Brother Marcus conducted him to a plot of garden ground where there was light work to be done, and there left him.  Willingly did Basil set about this task, which broke the monotony of the day, and, more than that, was in itself agreeable to him.  He had always found pleasure in the rustic life, and of late, at his Asculan villa, had often wished he could abide in quiet for the rest of his days amid the fields and the vineyards.  Working in the mellow sunlight, above him the soft blue sky of early autumn, and all around the silence of mountain and of forest, he felt his health renew itself.  When the first drops of sweat stood upon his forehead he wiped them away with earthy fingers, and the mere action—­he knew not why—­gave him pleasure.

But of a sudden he became aware that he had lost something.  From the little finger of his left hand had slipped his signet ring.  It must have fallen since he began working, and anxiously he searched for it about the ground.  Whilst he was thus occupied, Marcus came towards him, carrying a great basket of vegetables.  Not without diffidence, Basil told what had happened.

’You will rebuke me, holy brother, for heeding such a loss.  But the ring is very old; it has been worn by many of my ancestors, to them it came, and from one who suffered martyrdom in the times of Diocletian.’

‘Then, indeed, I did well,’ replied Marcus, ’to leave it on your finger during your sickness.  I looked at it and saw that it was a Christian seal.  Had it been one of those which are yet seen too often, with the stamp of a daemon, I should have plucked it off, and perhaps have destroyed it.  The ring of a blessed martyr I Let us seek, let us seek!  But, brother Basil,’ he added gravely, ’has there passed through your heart no evil thought?  I like not this falling of the ring.’