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But now, when he looked at the clouds and the sun behind them, he saw no God; he saw the desert plain, the barrenness of the earth, the overladen, wretched donkey staggering under his pannier, and the broad-hatted peasant urging him on. He looked at the sunset and tried to imagine the Trinity that sat there, but he saw nothing. And he asked himself,–

‘Why should there be a God?’

He started up with a cry of terror, with his hands clasped to his head.

‘My God! what have I done?’

He sank to his knees, humiliating himself. What vengeance would fall on him? He prayed passionately. But again the thought came; he shrieked with terror, he invoked the Mother of God to help him.

‘Why should there be a God?’

He could not help it. The thought would not leave him that all this might exist without. How did he know? How could anyone be sure, quite sure? But he drove the thoughts away, and in his cell imposed upon himself a penance. It was Satan that stood whispering in his ear, Satan lying in wait for his soul; let him deny God and he would be damned for ever.

He prayed with all his strength, he argued with himself, he cried out, ‘I believe! I believe!’ but in his soul was the doubt. The terror made him tremble like a leaf in the wind, and great drops of sweat stood on his forehead and ran heavily down his cheek. He beat his head against the wall, and in his agony swayed from side to side…. But he could not believe.

III

And for two days he had endured the torments of hell-fire, battling against himself–in vain. The heavy lines beneath his eyes grew blacker than the night, his lips were pale with agony and fasting. He had not dared to speak to anyone, he could not tell them, and in him was the impulse to shout out, ‘Why should there be?’ Now he could bear it no longer. In the morning he went to the prior’s cell, and, falling on his knees, buried his face in the old man’s lap.

‘Oh, father, help me! help me!’

The prior was old and wasted; for fifty years he had lived in the desert Castilian plain in the little monastery–all through his youth and manhood, through his age; and now he was older than anyone at San Lucido. White haired and wrinkled, but with a clear, rosy skin like a boy’s; his soft blue eyes had shone with light, but a cataract had developed, and gradually his sight had left him till he could barely see the crucifix in his cell and the fingers of his hand; at last he could only see the light. But the prior did not lose the beautiful serenity of his life; he was always happy and kind; and feeling that his death could not now be very distant, he was filled with a heavenly joy that he would shortly see the face of God. Long hours he sat in his chair looking at the light with an indescribably charming smile hovering on his lips.

His voice broken by sobs, Brother Jasper told his story, while the prior gently stroked the young man’s hands and face.

‘Oh, father, make me believe!’

‘One cannot force one’s faith, my dear. It comes, it goes, and no man knows the wherefore. Faith does not come from reasoning; it comes from God…. Pray for it and rest in peace.’

‘I want to believe so earnestly. I am so unhappy!’

‘You are not the only one who has been tried, my son. Others have doubted before you and have been saved.’

‘But if I died to-night–I should die in mortal sin.’

‘Believe that God counts the attempt as worthy as the achievement.’

‘Oh, pray for me, father, pray for me! I cannot stand alone. Give me your strength.’

‘Go in peace, my son; I will pray for you, and God will give you strength!’