One white rose remained in his fingers. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it reverently. Then he laid it down before the gilded gateway of the sanctuary, with the thought in his mind that perhaps her foot might touch it as she passed and make it sacred. Then he lit a taper at a lamp, and in obedience to the order given him by Father Hieronymus the previous night, he carried the tiny flame to each of the candles on the altar, till all were lighted. This task done, he prostrated himself on the steps before the shrine and prayed aloud.
"Heaven," he supplicated--"Heaven, against whom I have sinned so deeply, hear my prayer for the white child who has led Thy light into my dark. Shield her from danger. Keep holy her who is holy."
As his voice died away into silence, he still knelt with bent head and clasped hands, so steeped in penitential thoughts that he did not hear the sea-door open, did not hear the entrance of a man, grizzled, bronzed, eagle-faced, ascetic, clad in the brown robe of his order. Father Hieronymus paused for a moment, seeing with gratification the kneeling figure before the altar. It would be the sweetest triumph of a life of ceaseless struggle with the Prince of the Power of the Air to save alive the soul of the distracted fool.
Hieronymus advanced to the kneeling figure. "My son," he said, gently.
Robert leaped to his feet at the sound of the familiar voice, and moved to meet Hieronymus.
"Father, when we came to you a month ago and begged for shelter, I told you how I lied to save the girl, pretending to be plague-stricken."
Hieronymus inclined his head. "And I absolved you."
Robert spoke in a lower voice, almost a whisper. "I told you, too, that I was Sicily, Robert himself, lapped in this hideous shape."
Hieronymus raised a warning hand. "Does that delusion still vex you?" he asked, sadly.
Robert bowed his head. "My spirit is free from many delusions," he whispered; "but I did not tell you that I, unlovely as I am, I love Perpetua. Her hand has led me, her voice has inspired me. If ever I be saved she will have saved me."
The grave face of Hieronymus looked kindly pity upon the fool in the friar's gown.
"God chooses the time and the way. An earthly love may win the grace of Heaven."