When the door had closed, he sat for a few minutes with head bent, then roused himself, glanced at the clepsydra which stood in a corner of the room, and turned a page or two of the volume lying before him.

Presently his attention was caught by the sound of fluttering wings; on the window sill had again alighted the two doves, and again they seemed to regard him curiously.

The aged face brightened with tenderness.
'Welcome,' he murmured, 'ye whose love is innocent.' From a little bag that lay on the table he drew grains, and scattered them on the floor.

The doves flew down and ate, and, as he watched them, Benedict seemed to forget all the sorrows of the world..