'"
Varillo raised himself on one elbow, and stared at the pale face and
smiling mouth of the speaker in fear and wonder.
"'A place where the dead come!'" he echoed. "But you are alive--and
so am I!"
"You may be--I am not," said the monk quietly. "I died long ago!
People who are alive say we are men, though we know ourselves to be
ghosts merely. This place is called by the world a Trappist
monastery,--you will go out of it if indeed you are alive--you must
prove that first! But we shall never come out, because we are dead.
One never comes out of the grave!"
With an effort Varillo tried to control the tremor of his nerves,
and to understand and reason out these enigmatical sentences of his
companion. He began to think--and then to remember,--and by and by
was able to conjure up the picture of himself as he had last been
conscious of existence,--himself standing outside the gates of a
great building on the Campagna, and shaking the iron bars to and
fro. It was a Trappist monastery then?--and he was being taken
charge of by the Trappist Order? This fact might possibly be turned
to his account if he were careful. He lay down once more on his
pillow and closed his eyes, and under this pretence of sleep,
pondered his position.
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