Basil had never been studious of the Scriptures, and, if ever he had known that they contained such matter as this, it had quite faded from his memory.

He thought of the Holy Book as hostile to every form of earthly happiness, its promises only for those who lived to mortify their natural desires.
Yet here was the very word of God encouraging him in his heart's hope.
Were not men wont to use the Bible as their oracle, opening the pages at hazard, even as he had done?
It was long before he could subdue his emotions so as to turn to the reading imposed upon him.

He brought himself at length into the fitting mind by remembering that this wondrous promise was not for a sinner, a murderer; and that only could he hope to merit such blessing if he had truly repented, and won forgiveness.

Stricken down by this reflection he grew once more humble and sad.
In the afternoon, as he was pacing alone in a little portico near the abbot's tower, the prior approached him.

This reverend man had hitherto paid little or no attention to Basil.