"
"At midnight, father!" said Paolina, with a glance of surprise and
pity.
"Last October I was down with the fever," returned the monk; "but
since that time I have not failed one night to be on my knees where
the blessed St. Romauld knelt at the stroke of midnight. But I have
not had his reward;--doubtless because I am not worthy of it."
"What was the reward of St. Romauld, father?" demanded Paolina.
"His midnight prayers were rewarded by the vision of St. Apollinare
in glory, who spoke to him, and gave him the counsel he sought.
Night after night, and hour after hour, have I knelt and prayed. And
I have heard the moaning of the wind from the Adriatic among the
pines of the forest yonder, and I have seen the great crucifix above
the high altar sway and move in the moonlight when it comes
streaming through the southern windows; and sometimes I have hoped--
and prayed--and hoped--but no vision came!"
The old monk sighed, and dropped his head upon his bosom; and
Paolina gazed at him with a feeling of awe, mingled with a suddenly
rising fear, that the tall and emaciated old man, whose light-blue
eyes gleamed out from beneath his cowl, was not wholly right in his
mind. She would have been more alarmed had she been aware that the
old Padre Fabiano of St. Apollinare was generally considered in
Ravenna to be crazed by all those who did not, instead of that, deem
him a saint.
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