Benedetto listened with bowed head to the painful words which demanded of him a saintly humiliation; he knelt, without answering, before the cross he had carved on the rock and kissed it eagerly at the point where the tragic arms meet, as if to draw into himself from the furrow in the stone, the symbol of sacrifice, its love, its blessedness, its strength its life and then, rising, he went forth for ever.
* * * * * The sun was disappearing in a whirling mass of smoke-like clouds rising, in the north, behind the village.

The places which, only a short time before, had been astir with people, were now colourless and deserted.
From the turnings of stony lanes, from behind half-open doors, round the corners of poor houses, women were peering.

When Benedetto came in sight they all withdrew.

He felt that Jenne knew of the agony of the sick man who had come to him in search of health, he felt that the hour of triumph had come for his adversaries.

Don Clemente, the Master, the friend, had first asked him to lay aside his habit, and now asked him to go forth from his house, to go forth from Jenne.