"
"Aye, indeed," sniffed the widow, with a shiver. "If it were not for
the charity of good Christians, what would poor folk do for comfort on
such an evening as this?"
"It was that very thought, my daughter," said the monk, with a sudden
earnestness on his shining face, "that brought me forth even now
through the storm to your cottage."
"Heaven reward you!" cried the widow, fervently.
"Heaven does reward the charitable!" replied the monk. "To no truth do
the Scriptures bear such constant and unbroken witness; even as it is
written: 'He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and
look, what he layeth out it shall be paid him again.'"
"What a blessed thing it must be to be able to do good!" sighed the
widow, piously wishing in her heart that the holy man would not delay
to earn his recompense.
"My daughter," said the monk, "that blessing is not withheld from you.
It is to ask your help for those in greater need than yourself that I
am come to-night." And forthwith the good brother began to tell how
two strangers had sought shelter at the monastery. Their house had
been struck by lightning, and burnt with all it contained; and they
themselves, aged, poor, and friendless, were exposed to the fury of
the storm. "Our house is a poor one," continued the monk. "The
strangers' lodging room was already full, and we are quite without the
means of making these poor souls comfortable. You at least have a
sound roof over your head, and if you can spare one or two things for
the night, they shall be restored to you to-morrow, when some of our
guests depart.
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