The Debatable Land

ndham and the Broth

lla dripped in the rain, and the skirts of his robe flapped against his white stockings. He had in his mind no more than presently the opening of the door in the brick wall of a cloister court, the sleepy roll of the vesper service, refection, complines, a little private, comp

lla, making no comment. Father Andrew chuckled and sighed. Giving and taking were a simple incident, if giving were

are you

o with you," af

did you c

ppo

here's

know. He

have decided himself, from any earthly information, where Lappo wa

Wind

mm-And Lappo wasn't

on'

ody k

s they

me! You don't say so! I

o"-speaking in the way of quiet

yes.

Wind

the other whenever he was giving himself advice, or found himself driven to some conclusion which could not be soothed or softened by any more

the street that murmured sadly with the rain, into th

, whose black eyes glowed and dreamed, and felt himsel

. "A door is closed behind it. Consec

f with peppers in it. He was used to thinking of salads when he should not be thinking

ior. "How often is it that the highest that is spi

young person without origin, it was a thing to be expected of the Superior's holy and profound discernment. The Superior's spiritual enterprise was ever extraordinary. He was of such as had from the beginning fought in the vanguard of the Church, and been her glory and adornment. For himself, Father Andrew discerned little further than to feel that his duty of distributing the bro

happier than most, in the shuffle of fate, manage to be. It would be difficult to show they were not. The monastery bell clinked at small intervals of the day and night, and slippered feet were ever going whispering down the corridors on the heels of the sliding moment, to place some office of performance or prayer accurately in its little division of time. And this method and regulation of hours, so old, so grown fro

aining sides, a brick wall ten feet high the fourth, and a thick wooden door led through this into the street. The court was asphalted, except for a strip under

. One of his vivid memories was the delivering before brothers Francis and Andrew, with violence and tears, the oration, "Tandem aliquando, Quirites," with indignation because both chuckled without intermission, and would not see the importance of condemning Catiline. Francis had general charge of the monastery school, which was filled and emptied daily through

-minded, apt to forget his rule and be late, and not understand why the Superior persisted in modifying his discipline. He feared the Superior estimated his sins too lightly, and died in the year '52, when Gard was seventeen. Gard had to play the organ at offices after that, and to go daily three blocks up the avenue to the church of the Sacred Trinity, and

by he compose music to a circus in hefen, vich vas de mass you play yesterday. Aber you mus' play de Bach fugue severe. Maybe you make a good monk, but you haf too much luxury in your bones to play de Bach fugue, hein? No? Play den, p'tit

alking to and fro; and Gard used to imagine the room full of spirits and misty angels, listening-all of them-breathless, astonished, and a little frightened; for there could not be any one who was not afraid of the Superior, unl

at this time, had drowsy eyelids, and wakeful gray eyes under them. He laughed with a bass voice, liked brothers Francis and Andrews, and Fritz Moselle, and worshipped the Superior, but preferred to dodge him. The preference was probably a sin, one which Brother Francis claimed to have prayed for in himself some twenty years without effecting. He discovered that the Superior, Francis, and Fritz Moselle had each severally a distinct point of view, and that you could tell beforehand in what direction their interpretat

rd, it seems, a high, thin fluting, ineffably sweet, which seemed to imply that just beyond those blue hills, or those white breakers, or a few turns of the next street, there lay an extraordinary region overrun with

t take the vows, Father Andrew acted as if it wer

e! That is, I

and with his soft palm,

Gard said. "I'l

or." And he scuttled away in alarm, murmuri

if not, what was there to tell the Superior, more than to make a bare statement of his rooted ingratitude, his incorrigibly evil nature, and his resolve to go? Probably there was not another such case in the history of orders, and he would be excommunicated. He knew the Superior had meant him to be pecu

e Annunciation, a writing-table with a crucifix over it, a bookcase with, by Gard's frequent counting, one hundred and twelve

on the subj

he vows, father. I'm afrai

pasm of pain crossed his face.

mine was pointed out to me thirty years ago, when I was your age. I imag

urprise. The Superio

of your own will. You will think it best, then, to leave

e church, father. Th

faiths and systems of philosophy, and have had, perhaps, in their time a certain fragile beauty. He probably uses such terms as 'art' and 'cos

t that my hopes and your issues are in His hands, where

still a

g men I have returned home less a man,' saith St. Thomas à Kempis; but the spirit of our time does not speak

ly-somehow-got away and stood in the corridor alone. His eyes were full of blinding tears, and yet there was a

al. Brothers Andrew and Francis kissed his cheek and turned away

er his arm. The asphalt was wet with the mist. Francis's flower-bed had only a few crooked, brown, uncannily-shaped stalks, like dry mummies' hands thrust through the mou