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Allan Fowler

Beginning iOS AR Game Development

Developing Augmented Reality Apps with
Unity and C#
Allan Fowler
Marietta, GA, USA

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.​apress.​com/​978-1-4842-3617-8 . For
more detailed information, please visit http://​www.​apress.​com/​
source-code .

ISBN 978-1-4842-3617-8 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-3618-5

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-3618-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018964038

© Allan Fowler 2019

Apress Standard

Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book.

Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a
trademarked name, logo, or image we use the names, logos, and
images only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the
trademark owner, with no intention of infringement of the
trademark. The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks,
service marks, and similar terms, even if they are not identified as
such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to whether or
not they are subject to proprietary rights.

While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true
and accurate at the date of publication, neither the authors nor the
editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any
errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no
warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained
herein.

Distributed to the book trade worldwide by Springer

Science+Business Media New York, 233 Spring Street, 6th Floor,
New York, NY 10013. Phone 1-800-SPRINGER, fax (201) 348-4505,
e-mail [email protected], or visit
www.springeronline.com. Apress Media, LLC is a California LLC and
the sole member (owner) is Springer Science + Business Media
Finance Inc (SSBM Finance Inc). SSBM Finance Inc is a Delaware
corporation.
For Hao, Ciaran, & Annah - kia kaha, kia aroha, kia mana
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Introduction

Unity3D

Unity Requirements

Preparing Your Mac

Getting Registered

Download Xcode

Download Unity

Install Unity

Welcome

Setting Up Unity

iOS Development Requirements

The Unity Website

The Unity Community

Chapter 2:​Getting Started

Installing Unity ARKit

The Editor Layout

Preset Layouts

Custom Layouts
The Inspector View

The Project View

Switch Between One Column and Two Columns

Scale Icons

Inspect Assets

Search for Assets

Operate on Assets

The Hierarchy View

Inspect Game Objects

Parent and Child GameObjects

The Scene View

Navigate the Scene

Scene View Options

Scene View Gizmos

The Game View

Maximize on Play

Stats

Game View Gizmos

The Console View

Explore Further
 Unity Manual

Tutorials

Version Control

Chapter 3:​The Unity ARKit

Creating a Scene

Cameras

Transformation

Testing

ARKit Remote

Setting Up the Main Camera

Adding a Component

Tracking the Phone Movement

Build and Run

Saving the Scene

Understanding Scenes

Introducing Visual Inertial Odometry

Feature Points

Point Clouds

Testing

Unity ARKitRemote
 Using ARKit Remote Connection

Plane Visualization

Testing

Summary

Chapter 4:​Hit Testing and Lighting

Hit Testing

Scale

Transformation

The Editor Hit Test Script

Lighting

Positioning the Camera

Summary

Chapter 5:​Making AR Games

Fugu BowlAR Game

Creating a New Scene

Creating AR Assets

Transform the BowlingBall

Adding a Rigidbody

Opening the Asset Store

PhysicsMaterials​
 Creating a (Temporary) Plane

Importing an OBJ file to Unity

Creating a new Project Folder

Adding the Bowling_​Pin to the Scene

Transform Settings for the Bowling_​Pin and

BowlingBall

Adding a RigidBody to the Bowling_​Pin

Adding a Collider to the Bowling_​Pin

Adding a PhysicsMaterial to the Bowling_​Pin

Making the Bowling_​Ball Roll

Editing the PlayerController​Script

Creating Our Own Collider

Remembering the Parents

Making a Parent

Making the Bowling_​Pin fall Over

Summary

Chapter 6:​Introducing Touch

Testing the Game in AR

Some Challenges

Disabling the Plane(t)

 Testing

Implementing Touch Controls

Importing the Unity CrossPlatformInp​ut Package

Adding Touch Controls

Download the Joystick Asset Pack

Creating a Canvas

Adding the Joystick UI to the Canvas

Adding a Script

Testing

On Device Testing

Success

Chapter 7:​Adding Plane Detection and Point Clouds

Creating the Generated Planes GameObject

Creating the Point Cloud GameObject

Setting Up the Main Camera

Setting the Unity AR Video Script Clear Materials

Lighting

Chapter 8:​Final Steps

Creating Prefabs

Adding More Bowling Pins

Instantiating GameObjects at Runtime

Creating an Instantiate_​GameObjects Script

Disabling a GameObject from the Scene

Creating a Game Manager

FindWithTag

Testing
About the Author and About the
Technical Reviewer
About the Author
Allan Fowler

is a Professor in Game Design at Kennesaw State University. Fowler

lives in Atlanta, GA. Fowler is a published author, game designer, and
dedicated educator. Apart from looking after his two children, in his
spare time he makes games and practices martial arts and is a keen
amateur photographer. Dr. Fowler holds a fifth degree black belt in
Shorin-Ryu karate and has competed in State and International
karate tournaments.

About the Technical Reviewer

Felipe Laso

is a Senior Systems Engineer working at Lextech Global Services .

He’s also an aspiring game designer/programmer. You can follow him
on Twitter as @iFeliLM or on his blog .
© Allan Fowler 2019
Allan Fowler, Beginning iOS AR Game Development, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-
1-4842-3618-5_1

1. Introduction
Allan Fowler1
(1) Marietta, GA, USA

In this book, we are going to learn how to create an Augmented

Reality (or AR) Game using the game development software from
Unity (Unity3D 2018 or, more commonly, Unity). In this chapter, we
will go through the process of downloading and installing Unity and
learn about some of the tools that Unity provides. We will also install
an existing AR project from the Unity Asset Store and explore some
of the features of this game. In Chapter 2, we will install the ARKit
and provide an overview of the Unity user interface. In Chapter 3,
we will start using the Unity ARKit and use some of the key
functions. I will also provide a basic overview of visual inertial
odometry and what this means for creating AR projects. We will
make a basic scene to use and test Unity ARKit. In Chapter 4, we
will use some of the more advanced functions in Unity ARKit such as
hit testing and lighting an AR scene. Finally, in Chapter 5, we will put
this all together and make an AR game using the Unity ARKit.
This book has been written for a beginner that has no prior
experience using Unity or making games. The chapters have been
prepared in a sequence to help learn each step. However, if you are
reading this book and already know about Unity or making games,
then feel free to skip whatever chapters you feel you already know.
Unity3D
The Unity game engine is a cross-platform game development tool
for creating both 2D and 3D games. The term cross-platform can
mean different things to different people. As Unity can be used on
macOS, Windows, or Linux, this could be considered a cross-
platform development tool. However, as Unity can be used to
develop games for a games console, personal computer, web
browser, mobile devices, VR systems, etc., this could also be why
Unity is considered a cross-platform development tool.
Unity can be used to create 3D games, that is, the game looks
like it operates in a 3D space (it has an X, Y, and a Z). Unity can
also be used to create 2D games. More recently, Unity has been
used to create VR and AR games or simulations.
In this book, we will use the latest version of Unity, which is
currently 2018.1. However, like most software (and a lot of
hardware), Unity is constantly introducing new features,
functionality, and by the time this book has been printed, there may
be a more current version of Unity available. When Unity makes a
minor change to their software, they will typically add a number (like
2018.1.1). When the update is a bit more substantial, then the
version number will change (like 2018.2). When Unity typically make
a major change, then the version number will change completely
(Unity 1, 2, 3, 4, 5). In July 2017, Unity changed the version
numbering system to the year of release (2017 and now 2018).

Unity Requirements
Before you start learning to make games, you will need to download
Unity and install it on your Mac. Although it is possible to make
games for iOS devices with Unity installed on a Windows Personal
Computer, you will need to use a piece of software called Xcode to
port the Unity code so it can run on a Mac or iOS device. Currently,
Xcode is only available on a Mac. So, if you have a Windows PC,
then at some stage you will need to use a Mac to port the game.
Throughout this book, I will use a Mac; if you are using a Windows
PC, then many of the instructions or directions may not apply to you.

Preparing Your Mac

For iOS development using Unity, you will need a Mac running the
Lion or Mountain Lion of Mac OS X 10.9 or higher and Xcode 7.0 or
higher. Unity 2018 may still run on some older systems, but you will
need the latest version of Xcode, which, as noted, is required for iOS
development. The latest version of Xcode typically supports the
more recent versions of iOS. At the time of writing, the current
version of Xcode is version 9, which is what I’ll be using throughout
this book.

Getting Registered
I highly recommend checking out the Apple Developer website (
https://developer.apple.com/ ) and registering as an iOS
developer. Although it is not an absolute requirement of this book, if
you want to publish games on the App Store, then you will need to
be a registered Apple Developer. The process of registering as an
Apple Developer can take a while, especially if you are registering a
company. The first step is registering as an Apple Developer (which
is currently free), then once you are registered, the next step is
registering as an iOS developer (which is currently $99 per year).

Download Xcode
You won’t need Xcode until much later in the book, but it would be
worth downloading and installing Xcode. You can find the latest
version of Xcode on the Apple Developer website (
https://developer.apple.com/ ).

Download Unity
Now would be a great time to install Unity. Go to the Unity website
at https://unity3d.com and then select Get Unity or type in
https://store.unity.com/ . On this page, you will find the
latest release of Unity (at the time of writing, 2018.1). You can also
find previous releases of Unity on the Unity website.
While there is only a single Unity application, you can subscribe
to different licensing options, depending on your needs and the size
of your company (if you have one). The three licensing options are
currently Personal, Plus, and Pro. To start the download process,
click on the button of the subscription option that suits your needs
(at the time of writing, this will be either Try Personal, Get Plus, or
Go Pro). The file is about 1GB, so it may take a while to download.
While you’re waiting, and you are on the Unity website, take some
time to check out some of the games and demos that have been
published, the community site, and the user forum. These will be
very useful throughout the development of games using Unity.

Install Unity
The file you downloaded from Unity is a Download Installer, which at
the time of writing is named UnityDownloadAssistant.

Running the Download Assistant

When the UnityDownloadAssistant file has been downloaded,
double-click the file to run the Unity Download Assistant. Double-
click the Unity Download Assistant icon to start installing Unity
(Figure 1-1).
Figure 1-1 The Unity Download Assistant
The installer will process through the installation cycle, and when
this is complete, a Unity folder will be placed in the Applications
folder (unless you selected a different location). If you have previous
versions of Unity installed, an installation of a new version may
replace the previous version. I recommend renaming the folder of
the previous version before installing the new version (for example,
Unity2017). This way you can still use both versions of Unity.
The Unity installation folder contains the Unity application and
several support folders and applications (Figure 1-2).
Figure 1-2 The Unity installation folder
One of the most important files in the Unity folder is the Unity
application, which will provide the tools used to create and test your
games. This application is sometimes referred to as the Unity Editor,
which is different from another application, the Unity Runtime
Engine (also known as the Unity Player). The Unity Runtime Engine
is integrated into the final builds, which will enable the game to be
played on the target hardware. When I refer to Unity, I am usually
referring to the Unity Editor. I sometimes will refer to the company
Unity technologies as Unity. But hopefully, the context will be clear.
The Documentation folder contains the User Manual, Component
Reference, and the Script Reference documents. These are also
available on the Unity website (select the Learn link). All of these
files are HTML documents and can be opened in a web browser from
the Unity Help menu system, or they can be opened directly by
double-clicking the file.
The Standard Assets folder contains several files with the
.unityPackage file extension. These are Unity package files that
contain collections of Unity assets, which can be imported into Unity.
It is also possible to create your own Standard Assets and export
these assets to a package file.
There is also the Unity Bug Reporter Application. This application
is typically run directly from within the Unity Editor using the Report
a Bug function. However, this application run directly from the Unity
installation folder.
If you downloaded the Example Project with the Unity
installation, be sure to open this in Unity. If you did not download
this at installation, it still could be downloaded at any time.

Welcome
After Unity has finished installing (and be prepared for it to take a
while), the Unity editor welcome screen will appear with the Unity
Hello! Window (Figure 1-3). The Unity Hello! Window is where you
sign into your Unity account (if you have one). If you don’t have a
Unity account, select the create one link. If you are not currently
connected to the Internet, you can work offline by selecting the
Work offline button.
Figure 1-3 The Unity Hello! screen
The Unity Hello! window will appear when you start up Unity
(Figure 1-3). I highly recommend creating a Unity account, if you
haven’t already created one.
After signing in for the first time, you will see the License
management screen. If you have paid for the licensed version of
Unity, enter your license serial number in the dialog box. If you want
to use the free version of Unity, select the Unity Personal radio
button (Figure 1-4).
Figure 1-4 The Unity license management screen

Setting Up Unity
Before we get into making a game with Unity, this is a good time to
review some of the options and administrative features of Unity.

Changing Skins (Pro Version)

If you have purchased a Pro license of Unity, you will be able to
choose between a light or dark skin. If you are using the free version
of Unity, you will only see the Light Skin.
As most beginner game developers use the free version of Unity,
I will use the light skin for screenshots. The light skin also produces
better screenshots for the paperback version of this book. If you
have the Pro version and want to change the skin, select Preferences
in the Unity menu (Figure 1-5).
Figure 1-5 The Unity Preferences menu
With the Preferences menu open, you can change the skin from
Dark to Light or Light to Dark (Figure 1-6). If you are using Unity
Personal edition, you’re stuck with the Light skin.
Figure 1-6 The General Preferences menu in the Unity Editor
While you have the General Preferences menu open, I would
recommend making sure the Load Previous Project on Startup option
is deselected. This will ensure that Unity loads the project selection
dialog at startup. This will make sure you avoid updating the wrong
version of the project or update the version of Unity you are using
before you are ready.

Reporting Problems
If you continue to use Unity for several years, you will encounter
some bugs (both real and imagined). I have been using Unity since
version 1.6 and have encountered several bugs with Unity. Software
bugs are not unique to Unity. A game development engine is a
complex piece of software and Unity certainly appreciates and values
bug reports. If the bugs aren’t reported, then it’s difficult for Unity to
fix them. The Unity Bug Reporter application provides this feature.
As noted earlier, the Report a Bug Reporter is available in the Unity
installation folder and is available from the Help menu in the Unity
Editor (Figure 1-7).

Figure 1-7 The Report a Bug option in the Help menu

Selecting the Report, a Bug option on the help menu or double-
clicking the Report a Bug application in the Unity installation folder
opens the Unity Report a Bug application (Figure 1-8). The
application provides menu options and dialog boxes for the user to
specify what the problem is related to, how often the problem
happens, the title of the bug, the details of the bug, and an option
to attach any relevant files that will help fix the bug. The Unity Bug
Reporter requires the user to specify an email address so that the
team at Unity can respond to the bug report.
Figure 1-8 The Unity Bug Reporter window

iOS Development Requirements

Earlier in this chapter, I suggested that it would be a good idea to
download Xcode and register for the Apple Developer Program. If
you have not down this already, now would be a good time to stop
and do this.
 The hardware and software requirements for iOS development
and details about the Apple Developer Program are listed on Apple’s
Developer support page ( https://developer.apple.com/ ).
You can also find the requirements and download page for Xcode at
https://developer.apple.com/Xcode/ .

The Unity Website

As Unity Technologies has increased the features and functionally of
Unity, so has the also increased in breadth and depth of content.
There is a lot of information on this website, but I would recommend
looking at the FAQ section ( https://unity3d.com/unity/faq
). There are also some great tutorials, documentation, and videos
that will help you learn to create games in Unity (
https://unity3d.com/unity/faq ).

The Unity Community

In the Help menu, there are links to the official Unity community
sites. This includes the official Unity Forum (
https://forum.unity.com ), which is moderated by Unity staff.
This is a great resource for any game developer. Also on this menu is
a link to Unity Answers, which uses a Stack Exchange format and
includes some control (or moderation) of the questions and answers.
The Unity feedback site ( https://feedback.unity3d.com )
enables developers to request and vote on possible future features.
Welcome to Unity.
© Allan Fowler 2019
Allan Fowler, Beginning iOS AR Game Development, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-
1-4842-3618-5_2

2. Getting Started
Allan Fowler1
(1) Marietta, GA, USA

Hopefully, you might already have a good idea of what Augmented

Reality (or AR) is. As there is some confusion about the difference
between the terms Virtual Reality (or VR), Augmented Reality, and
Mixed Reality, I thought it might be worth trying to clarify what I
mean by AR in this book.
Virtual Reality (VR) is a computer-generated environment that
simulates experience through senses and perception. Unlike a
traditional computer system, VR systems place the user inside an
experience. Instead of viewing a screen in front of them, users are
immersed and able to interact with 3D worlds.
Now, let’s look at Augmented Reality (AR). The general
consensus is that AR is defined as a direct live view of a real-world
environment whose elements are “augmented” by computer-
generated information. The key difference between VR and AR is
that AR includes a live view of the real environment. VR systems
typically do not include a live view of the real environment. The VR
headsets are fully enclosed, and the display is fully computer
generated.
Mixed Reality (MR , although the acronym is rarely used), is a
term that has mostly been used by Microsoft to differentiate their
HoloLens. I feel that Mixed Reality is another form of AR. However,
there is still some debate about this. When I asked my good friends
at Microsoft, they felt that Mixed Reality is somewhere between AR
and VR and fully integrates digital objects into your world, making it
look as if they are really there.
It might surprise you that the terms VR and AR have been
around for many years. While there is considerable debate about the
first use of the term VR (mostly due to an agreed definition on the
term), there is some general consensus that the term was first used
around the 1950s where authors referred to fully immersive systems
or environments. Throughout the U.S. Military and NASA, aircraft
manufacturers used AR systems for training, research, and
development. However, it was not until 2016 that we saw the first
commercially available consumer AR system, the Oculus Rift. The
Occulus Rift was manufactured by Oculus VR (which was eventually
bought out by Facebook for $2,000,000,000).
References to AR have also been made for many years. The
difficulty with agreeing as to then the first reference to AR was made
is also due to an agreed definition of what is AR. In 1989, George
Douglas wrote about a computer-driven astronomical telescope
guidance and control system with a superimposed star field and
celestial coordinate graphics display that appears to be the first AR
system.
More recently, there have been several interesting developments
in AR. Although there were some proprietary systems, the first most
notable development was the introduction of Pokémon Go for
Android and iOS phones. Using the geolocation capabilities and the
integrated camera of the phone, users were able to see a virtual
object appear on the screen to be in the real world.
In this book, I am going to focus on developing an AR game for
iOS. I have chosen iOS for a number of reasons. First, there are a lot
of devices that use iOS. More importantly, Apple is investing in AR
development in both hardware and software. With iOS 11, Apple
included the ARKit. ARKit makes it easy for us to create AR games
and simulations that put virtual objects into the user’s environment.
Through combining information from the devices’ motion sensors
with data from its cameras, ARKit can help an iPhone or iPad analyze
the surroundings. Apple also beefed up the capability of the cameras
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Baxter and compel him to rest in England without forcing me to break my
vows."

"Your vows, your precious vows, always your vows!" she cried, in
anger and great contempt.

"Yes," he retorted instantly, "my vows, always my vows. They are

precious to me indeed, and I will beg you not to speak of them lightly."

She faced him with increasing anger. But, before she could speak,
Antonio suddenly repented himself of his sharpness.

"Isabel," he said, in quieter tones. "Think. You despise me for keeping

my vows. But suppose I had vowed my vows to you. And suppose I should
break them, for some other woman. What then?"

"I would kill her. And you too."

For a moment her wrathful excitement hindered her logical perceptions;

but as soon as she recognized his meaning she cried:

"It's different, all different! I'm real; your Bride isn't. Besides, She has
deserted you. She's run away, or She's dead. You are free."

"No, Isabel," he said. "Think again. Suppose to-day I should vow my

vow to you. Suppose your father, or someone else, should pluck you
suddenly from my side so that I could never find you again. Nay, more.
Suppose you were untrue to me and that you abandoned me. Would you
have me say: 'She has gone. I shall never see her again. To-morrow I will
seek another bride?' No, Isabel, no. If you say Yes, I shan't believe it. I
know your soul too well. Even if you broke yours, my vow would still be
there, and you would despise me for not keeping it. Am I right or wrong?"

He had unguardedly lowered his tones to a perilous tenderness, and he

was unconsciously gazing at her with the gaze she could never resist. Her
lips lost their hardness and began to tremble, and her eyelids drooped over
her eyes.
 Antonio involuntarily recoiled from the danger. He knew in an instant
that his fate was quivering in the balance. His heart had bled at every harsh
word he spoke to her; and he knew that to sweep away the last shaken ruins
of his defenses, she needed only to throw herself weeping into his arms. He
knew that if she should once sob out, "Antonio, Antonio, don't send me
away," his doom would then and there be sealed.

All this Antonio knew. But Isabel did not know it. His sudden
movement of recoil stung her back into anger.

"Are you right or wrong?" she echoed bitterly. "You're right, of course.
You always are. Even when you're wrong fifty times over, you can argue
yourself into the right. I call it cowardly."

He exhaled a deep breath. The peril was past. Her scorn he could
withstand.

"I have come to the end," she cried. "The very end. Listen. You are
blighting my life, but I won't let you blight your own. Mark me well. This
place is mine. These lands are mine. I have the right to go to-night and to
set the whole abbey ablaze; and where will your work be then?"

The threat did not alarm him; but the cruelty of it, coming from such
lips as hers, cut him to the marrow. He was on the point of retorting that the
place was not hers at all, and that her father had deceived her on a wretched
point of money. But her anguish was bitter enough without this new
mortification; so he held his peace.

"I can make a bonfire of it this minute," she went on passionately. "I
hate it. How I should love to see it blaze! But I won't. And I won't sell this
place. And when I've left it on Thursday, I'll never come back till you seek
me on your knees. Never!"

Still Antonio held his peace. Isabel picked up her little bag. But she did
not turn immediately towards home. She stood awaiting his final word.
When it failed to come her indignation rose to its climax.
 "No!" she cried. "I've altered my mind. I will come back. I foresee the
end. You will never seek me. You hate me. But I will come back. You'll go
on slaving, slaving, starving, starving, praying, praying, and breaking hearts
in the name of God. But I will come back. You'll succeed. You'll regain the
abbey. You'll fill it with monks. But remember. I will come back. On the
day of your triumph, I will be there. It isn't only you Southern people who
love revenge. I will be there. I will come back!"

Antonio had been silently praying for sudden grace in his own dire
need; but he ceased to pray for himself and prayed with all his soul for her.
She turned to go.

They stood facing one another as they had stood so often during these
two bitter days of their ordeal. Try as he would the monk could not conceal
his agony of holy love; and under the spell of his gaze the devil of
revengeful hate which had entered into Isabel rent her poor heart and fled
away. They looked at each other a long time. Then, in a breaking voice, she
said softly:

"Antonio. I don't hate you. I love you. This is the very last time. Do you
send Isabel away? Is it true that I must go?"

With a sharp moan of anguish and with hands thrust out for mercy he
gave his answer.

"For the love of Jesus Christ," he cried. "Go! And may the merciful God
help us both!"

He closed his eyes in desperate prayer. But God and the Virgin Mother
and the whole company of heaven seemed to have forsaken him. No light
shown, no supernal fortitude came down. Instead of a vision of ministering
angels, his mind's eyes saw only Isabel. Isabel, standing there. Isabel,
weeping. Isabel, wounded to death by his cruel sword. Isabel, hoping
against hope for his mercy. Isabel, his Isabel, rarer than gold, lovelier than
the dawn, purer than snow, waiting to dart like a bird into the nest of his
love.
 He could fight no longer. Stepping one staggering step forward he held
out his arms and opened his eyes.

She had vanished.

A moment later he caught sight of her pressing up the path above him.
She was going swiftly, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. Now
and again a ray of the sinking sun shone upon her hair, till she seemed a
queen crowned or a saint glorified.

With all his heart Antonio yearned to leap after her, to capture her like a
shy creature of the woods, and to bear her back in triumph, seated on his
shoulder as she had sat after the thunderstorm. But his limbs refused to
obey. His feet seemed to have been rooted for centuries in the granite. He
could not move an inch.

Two cypresses, which they had often halted to admire, hid her from his
sight. A groan, which he could not stifle, broke from the monk. There was
one more point in the path, one only, where she could reappear. Would she
turn round? Would she look back? As he waited, red-hot pincers seemed to
be working and worming within him as if they would have his heart out of
his body. He felt as if he were bleeding at every pore.

She reappeared. She did not turn round. She did not look back. She was
gone.
 BOOK VI

"ITE, MISSA EST"

Having charged José to place himself at the disposal of Mrs. Baxter,

Antonio took the road for Villa Branca about an hour after sunrise. Utter
weariness had brought a few hours' sleep to his eyelids; but he felt unrested
and unrefreshed. By the time he reached Santa Iria fatigue compelled him to
hire a horse.

While his mount was a-saddling the monk sat musing outside the wine-
shop. What was Isabel doing? Of what was she thinking? Had she slept?
Was she truly hating him at last? Would she come once more to the
cascade?

In answer to this last question he could hardly restrain himself from

leaping on the half-ready horse and galloping off like a whirlwind to her
presence. At the moment of his leaving the farm-house, two hours before,
this all-day expedition to Villa Branca had seemed the height of prudence;
but he suddenly saw it as the depth of cowardice and brutality. She would
come to the cascade, in vain; and, later on, she would learn from José's lips
how he had turned tail and run away. Antonio cringed and burned. A
moment later, however, he knew that he had done right. She would not be at
the cascade.

"To-morrow," he said to himself, with a dull pain gnawing in his cold

and heavy heart, "I shall see her for the last time. She will make no sign.
She will say good-bye as if there has been nothing between us. Blessed
Mother of God, help us to the end!"

He took out Sir Percy's letter and perused it once more to distract his
thoughts. He read:

Dear Senhor da Rocha,—

A post just to hand apprises me of your gentility to my daughter and her

governess. The fact that I fully expected such courteous behavior on your
part does not diminish my gratitude in respect of it; and I beg you to believe
in the sincerity of my regret that I shall be unable to present my
acknowledgments in person.

I indulge the hope that a proposal which I am about to make may not be
unacceptable to you. From our mutual friend Mr. Austin Crowberry I learn
that you wished to purchase the abbey domain, but that your offers were
unacceptable to the Minister of Finances.

I have paid a deposit of £500 to the chief of the Fazenda at Villa

Branca, and am engaged to pay £300 on New Year's Day and the balance
(£2500) in five half-yearly instalments. As I have become closely associated
with an enterprise which will involve my residing alternately in Lisbon and
London, I should find it convenient to transfer to yourself my whole bargain
as regards the abbey. That is to say, I forfeit the £500 already paid and
leave you to find £2800 on the dates above referred to. I also ask your
acceptance of the larger articles of English furniture recently placed by me
in the guest-house, and I have instructed Jackson, my man, to bring away
personal luggage only.

As my movements are erratic, perhaps you will indulge me by

completing the business with my agents, Messrs. Lemos Monteiro and
Smithson, Rua do Carmo, Lisbon, who have written to Villa Branca
preparing the officials for your visit. Failing your approval I will make
other arrangements; but, meanwhile, I beg that you will add to your
unfailing kindness by taking care of the keys, and that you will believe me to
be

Your obliged and obedient servant,

Percival Kaye-Templeman.

Once in the saddle, with the well-beloved music of horse-hoofs in his

ears, Antonio found it easier to abstract his mind from bitter thoughts. He
applied his whole brain to problems of finance. Two thousand five hundred
pounds in two years and a half. At first it had staggered him; but he was
going to take the risk. His own and José's hard cash hoardings would pay
the New Year's Day instalment nearly twice over. By mortgaging the farm
and the sea-sand vineyards, and by pledging his personal credit he could
pay the July five hundred and keep two or three hundred towards the
instalment due the following January, making up the balance from the year's
wine-sales. Fifteen hundred pounds would remain payable; and this sum he
hoped to raise in due course by a bold stroke involving a mortgage on the
abbey itself.

The chief of the Fazenda received his visitor effusively. This time the
monk was not required to lean against a pile of stolen books. He sat in the
chief's own chair and was offered wine of the chief's own stealing. As three
hundred pounds of Isabel's money had stuck to the chief's fingers the great
man was more than willing to accept Antonio in Sir Percy's place; for he
had just learned that the Englishman would be unable to meet his
obligations, and he was mortally afraid of a reopening of the transaction in
Lisbon. He even threw out mysterious hints as to further concessions which
might be arranged. Antonio listened attentively. His conscience allowed him
to plan the outwitting of the Portuguese Government as regards money
which was not honestly theirs. But as soon as he perceived that the official
was bent on more pickings for himself the monk became obtuse. He was
not willing to assist any man in the work of more completely damning his
soul; and, although Antonio clearly foresaw that he was making an enemy
and preparing sore troubles for himself in the future, he steadfastly held out
against temptation.
 The autumn day was drawing to its twilight when Antonio, having given
up his horse at Santa Iria, trudged up the path to his own door. Half the way
home Isabel had queened his whole mind. On leaving Villa Branca he had
sought to preoccupy himself with the most complicated arithmetic; but,
little by little, Isabel had reclaimed her empire. As he mounted the doorstep
his heart thumped heavily. Had she written? Had she sent a message by
José? Or, most terrible and beautiful possibility of all, would he find her
sitting in the house, as in her rightful place?

He entered. There was no Isabel enlightening the dim and cheerless

room. He hurried to the table whereon, José was accustomed to leave the
letters. There was nothing. His heart chilled and shrank. Still, there was to-
morrow. Yes. He was certain to see her to-morrow.

José stamped in noisily and handed Antonio two keys.

"They have gone," he said.

So sharp a blade of anguish pierced his soul that Antonio let the keys
fall on the brick floor.

"Gone?" he echoed. "Who? When? Why? Where?"

"The English senhoras," answered José. "They started about three

o'clock, to Lisbon."

Antonio sank down upon a coffer. He had used up the last of his
strength in tramping from Santa Iria, and he had eaten nothing all day.

"I don't understand it very well," continued José. "I reached the guest-
house at half-past eight. I thought they weren't to leave until to-morrow. I
worked under the Senhor Jaxo. He didn't hurry himself at all. Joanninha
brought us cold meat and white bread and strong wine. Joanninha is the
cook. She has the longest tongue, your Worship, in Portugal. She made me
angry, talking about your Worship."

"About me? How?" asked Antonio. He felt sick and faint.

 "She heard me say that your Worship would attend the senhoras to-
morrow morning. She said: 'Where is his Excellency to-day? I suppose he's
gone to see Senhor Jorge's Margarida.' I said: 'No, his Worship has
something better to do. He has gone to Villa Branca to mind his own
business, and it would be a good thing if everybody else would do the
same.' There was an English servant in the room, called Ficha. She's maid
to the Senhorita Isabel. Joanninha translated to her what I'd said, and they
both laughed, and I was very angry."

"What has this to do with the senhoras going away in such a hurry?"
asked Antonio. But, even as he finished putting the question, his own fears
supplied the answer.

"It's nothing to do with the senhoras hurrying away at all," said José
humbly. "I beg your Worship's pardon for repeating such nonsense. All I
know is that some bells rang and the Senhor Jaxo went out, and when he
came back he was in a great rage. Joanninha told me that the Senhorita
Isabel had decided to go to her illustrious father at once, and that nobody
dared oppose her."

"Did you see the senhoras? Were they well?"

"I think they were well, because I heard them quarreling," José
answered. "The dark senhora, the old one, has a temper that made me
tremble, your Worship. They went away, the senhoras and the servants in
two old shut-up carriages, but they are going to hire a better carriage on the
way. I saw the old senhora, when she handed me the keys. She sent you a
long message, but I don't think Joanninha could translate it properly. So I
asked would she write, but she didn't. They locked all up and gave me the
keys. Then they went away. They didn't say when they will come back. I
think, your Worship, that they are all mad."

"José," said his master, after a long silence, "I have eaten nothing all
day. Let me break my fast. Afterwards I have something to tell you. Prepare
me what you can while I change my clothes."

He climbed the steep and narrow stairs painfully. His cold tub revived
him, and his old clothes gave him ease. But, as he lifted his worn cloak
from its hook, the wound in his heart burst open afresh. He remembered
how often Isabel had sat, in all her daintiness, upon that same cloak's clean
but rusty folds; and how, on her own confession, she had "cried and cried
and cried like a baby" at the sight of its threadbareness.

By the time he descended José had grilled two small trout and was
placing a bottle of good white wine upon the table. Antonio's heart was
wrung anew at the thought of the simple fellow's unfailing devotion. Isabel
had come and had gone; but José remained, loving and serving his strange
master with a dumb love passing the love of women. The monk forced his
faithful disciple to sit down at table with him and to take his fair share of
the dainty fish and the animating wine. When they had finished eating and
drinking he said:

"José, I have been a good deal in and about the guest-house and the
abbey since we saved the azulejos, and many strange things have happened.
The end of it all is this. Here are the keys of the guest-house. Upstairs, in
the green box, I have all the keys of the abbey. To-day, as you know, I have
been to Villa Branca. We are in legal possession of the abbey domain, and
everything in it. Within three years we must raise three thousand pounds.
With God's help it can be done. The English people will never come back."

He closed his eyes wearily. When he half-opened them he saw José by

the light of the one candle, bowing his head and silently repeating thankful
prayers. The monk quailed. For himself, as well as for José, this ought to be
a night of praise and rejoicing. Yet Antonio found it the darkest hour of his
life. The abbey keys seemed no more than a few bits of metal. Or, if they
were more than bits of metal, they were the keys of a prison, the keys which
were locking Isabel outside his life.

He took his candle and went to bed. But, despite his weariness, he could
not sleep. Where was she? In what rough inn, amidst what discomforts and
indignities, was she lying? If he jumped up at once and tramped southward
until he could find a horse, when would he overtake her? To-morrow, he
calculated, about noon. He imagined himself thundering after her chariot,
like a highwayman in a picture. He pictured her pretty alarm, her radiant
joy, her gracious forgiveness, their ecstasy of reunion.
 Suddenly the monk remembered with a shock that he had not said all his
Office. Busy or idle, sick or well, glad or sad, he had never failed to recite it
before. He still had None, Vespers, and Compline to say. Lighting the
candle and opening his breviary he began to repeat the holy words. But he
had not uttered half a dozen sentences before he shut the book with a snap.

Half an hour later he arose, put together all the keys, and went down
stairs. The new moon had not set, and its brightness lured him forth from
his narrow room into the peace of the night. As a matter of course he took
the path to the abbey.

Although the ruts of wheels, her wheels, made him shiver he did not
turn back. He opened the chapel with the long key she had so often handled,
and sitting down in his old stall, he tried to say the rest of None; but a white
form, her form, hindered him, and a soft, glad voice, her voice, cried:
"Antonio, Antonio, Antonio—what a beautiful name!" He groped his way to
his own cell, and he could almost see and hear her opening his cupboards.
He hastened through the cloisters and escaped into the wood by the secret
door.

Some dead leaves fled before him, their tripping sound was no lighter
than the fall of her elfin feet. The moon suddenly peeped at him through a
clearing; and he saw her moon-white shoulders. The chirrup of a brimming
brook struck upon his ear; and he seemed to be carrying her once more in
his arms, while she murmured: "Listen, Antonio, all the world is singing."

He knew that the guest-house must tear his wound wide open, and that
he ought to hurry home to the farm; but an irresistible influence drew him
on. He reached the broad path. He stood under the casement whence she
had flung the white rose. It was still ajar.

He turned the key in the lock and entered the ghostly and silent house.
There was enough moonlight in the salon to show him the blue ottoman
whereon she had so often sat. He hurried out of the room with a heart ready
to burst.

At the foot of the stairs he paused. They led to her chamber. Could he
bear to cross its threshold, to lean out of the window as she had leaned out
after the thunder, and to look at the bed where she had lain sobbing for his
sake? He knew he could not bear it. But his intellect had ceased to govern
him and he ascended the stairs.

A broad moonbeam lit up every corner of her chamber. Like a man

dazed he lurched to the window. There were the roses and there were the
thorns. He turned to gaze at her couch. The fine linen had been taken away;
but there was the place where she had lain, there was the pillow which her
golden head had pressed. What had her last night been? Had she hated him
or did she love him still? Had she cursed God or had she prayed?

For a moment his mind turned the question over in a numb, impersonal
way. Then he came back with a rush to himself and, in a single moment, his
chalice of agony welled up and brimmed over. He flung himself down on
his knees and stretched out desperate hands and hungry arms across the
narrow bed.

Although long minutes passed his dry-eyed, stony anguish remained.

But at last his inward, spiritual man spoke. Was he committing a grievous
sin? Was he breaking, in spirit, a vow which he was only keeping in the
letter? Had he forsaken the Creator for a creature?

Slowly, but very surely, his conscience framed the answer. No, he had
not sinned. In all his desire of her there was still nothing of the carnal mind.
He was racked and scorched by anguish, not because he had lost her love,
but because he had been forced to break her heart by refusing her his own.
She was a child, a poor lonely child with neither man nor woman to love
her, nor any God to console her; and he, Antonio, had flung her back into a
still blacker frost and sharper famine, to pine and wither without love and
without faith. Yet, in all this, he had simply obeyed God. He had obeyed the
God who commanded Abram to offer up Isaac, the God who "spared not
His own Son, but freely gave Him up for us all."

The moonbeam softly faded from the chamber. But Antonio did not
move. His weary limbs and exhausted brain could resist no longer; and, still
kneeling against her pillow with his arms outstretched across her bed, he
fell asleep.
 II

When the monk awoke day was dawning. For a while memory failed
him. But as soon as he understood that he was in Isabel's room he leaped up
and hastened downstairs.

He knew that he ought to go straight home. But his feet, despite their
soreness, turned towards the stepping-stones. He retraced the path by which
she had left him, hardly thirty-six hours before. Past the cypresses, through
the mimosas, he went; and before the sun rose he was standing in the icy
spray of the thunderous waterfall. He longed to plunge into the crystal pool;
but her invisible presence abashed him, and with an ever-sharpening pain he
hurried away.

As he regained the farm, he found José burning some dead leaves. Why
could he not tear down these clinging memories of Isabel from his heart, as
José could tear down ivies from the trees, and fling them a-top of the
glowing, fuming pyre? The gust of pale, acrid smoke which nipped his
nostrils was bitter-sweet.

After a dip in the brook he drank some of the sham coffee and forced
down a hunk of coarse bread. But when he faced his routine he found that
he could neither work nor pray. The black and red letters in his breviary
danced impishly before his eyes; and when he took up a pen to write out
some accounts he marked the paper with more blots than figures. Both door
and window were wide open to the morning breeze; yet the room suffocated
him.

At last a plan formed in Antonio's brain and he did not delay its
execution. Stuffing a piece of bread in his pocket he sought out José and
said:
 "To-morrow my hard work will begin. To-day I am going to Navares.
After to-night I will not leave you so much alone."

He set out, striding northward with long strides. Every stride was a
symbol of his renunciation; for he knew that by this time Isabel would have
left her inn and that every moment was taking her farther southward to
Lisbon. On he pressed. As landmark after landmark came in sight a flood of
old memories diluted his bitter potion of new-brewed sorrow. He lived over
again the afternoon of his dusty march from the monastery amid a throng of
monks and soldiers and the evening of his solitary return. But not for long.
An hour before the white houses of Navares shone in the morning sun
Isabel had once more become the sole tenant of his mind.

The doors of the Navares' corn-factor's granary, where the monks had
held their council, were wide open; but Antonio did not pause to look
inside. As on the night of his flight, he hurried through the town and only
rested when he came to the knoll where he had bivouacked twice before.
Thence, after munching a little bread, he took the short cut through the
maize-fields to the village of the old cura; for the old cura's grave was the
goal of his hasty pilgrimage.

By an irony of fate a rustic wedding had drawn the whole population to

the church and churchyard. Their mirth so mocked the pilgrim's mood that
he had a mind to go away. But he mixed with the throngs until his
resentment at their gaiety was turned to thankfulness for the excess of
human joy over human sorrow. At last a horn was blown from the door of a
neighboring barn, and the crowd swept out of the churchyard like
stampeding buffaloes.

The plain grave of the old cura lay in a sheltered corner on the north
side of the chancel. Pious hands had brightened it with a yellow and purple
nosegay that very morning. Antonio did not kneel down. He simply
uncovered his head and strove to pray. For five minutes it was like chewing
chaff. Some devil whispered in the monk's ear that his errand was not only
silly, but in doubtful taste. The old cura was a saint, no doubt; but what had
so rough a diamond to do with so soft and lustrous and exquisite a pearl as
Isabel? Thus spake the devil, but Antonio refused his ear. Knowing that
prayer comes with praying, he prayed on.
 Not until he had replaced his hat on his head and was about to go were
his prayers answered. But when the answer came, it was an answer indeed.
It almost struck him down, like the great light which struck down Saul on
the way to Damascus, and he was forced to lean against the church wall. It
was an answer which both healed the worst of his grief and showed him the
most of his duty in a single flash. It thrust into his hand a golden key to the
whole mystery of Isabel, past and future.

Like a man whose shoulders have suddenly been eased of a burden he

swung out homewards, holding his head high. Without knowing it, he
talked to himself aloud, uttering broken phrases of hope and thankfulness.
Yes, he had found the key, the master-key to all that had happened. As he
strode along he recalled his association with Isabel from the beginning, and
there was no lock his key did not fit.

Even the problem which had tried his faith most sorely was solved. In
confiding to him her story of the mysterious influence which he had begun
to exercise over her, four years before she saw his face, Isabel had declared
that their lives were interfused in an irresistible destiny. She had spoken of
this as a fact more undeniable than the sun and moon. She evidently
believed with her whole soul that God's hand had brought them together.
Yet Antonio, all through her pleading, had remained more persuaded than
ever that the selfsame God had called him to the celibate life. And the
apparent impossibility of reconciling these two equally clear, equally honest
convictions had kindled a fiery ordeal for the monk's faith. The only way
out of it seemed to be that all inward illumination was a delusion—totum
corpus tenebrosum, "the whole body full of darkness"—and that perhaps
there was no Divine Enlightener at all. But this wonderful new thought
which had come to him at the old cura's grave explained everything. He
thrust it into the most complicated wards of his spiritual doubts, and it
turned as smoothly as the damascened key was wont to turn in the lock of
the chapel. The doors of Isabel's soul rolled open before his eyes, and a
bright light shone into the furthest cranny.

As for his duty to her in the present and in the future, he understood it
no less certainly than he understood her chaste love for him in the past.
And, as soon as this duty was plain, he made haste to begin doing it; for it
was a duty of prayer, of specific, faithful, heroic, loving, unceasing prayer.
He prayed as he walked, with increasing exultation.

So rapt was he by his holy work that Antonio hardly noticed the
difference between the dusty, lonely road and the cobbled streets of noisy
Navares. He pressed southward without a pause. Was he not going home?
After a day and a night of banishment had not the farm once more become
the tranquil home of his body, and had not the chapel once more become the
rapturous home of his soul? He strode the last long league of his homeward
journey as if it had been the first; and when he met José at the gate his face
was shining like an angel's.

True to his word, Antonio rose early the next morning and threw
himself body and soul into hard work. Now that the abbey domain had
come under his care, there were hundreds of things to be done. As the sunny
and well-drained slopes were exceptionally suitable for the culture of a
profitable amber-colored wine, Antonio decided to double the area of the
monk's old vineyard immediately. In order to effect this extension and to
repair the damage done by seven years' neglect, it became necessary to
engage nearly a score of helpers, half a dozen of whom would have to be
retained in permanent employ. José, with one resident laborer, continued to
live at the farm, while the monk quietly resumed occupation of his own cell
in the monastery.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Antonio dined at the farm with

José; and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, José dined with his
master beside the stream in the monastery kitchen. At these week-night
meals, the conversation was usually a review of the day's operations and a
debate as to the work of the morrow; but on Sundays, when dinner was
eaten ceremoniously in the guest-house, such topics were not mentioned,
and the talk was of the great world's doings as chronicled in Antonio's
English paper, of Portugal's troubles, and, above all, of churchly and holy
things.

Not only during these Sunday talks, but also throughout their work-a-
day intercourse, José was conscious of a change in Antonio. Hitherto, the
monk had simply accepted the shaggy fellow's dumb affection; but, after
the day of his visit to the old cura's grave, he began to show that he requited
it as well. The last remains of his aloofness vanished, his speech grew
gentler, and he became more watchful of José's health and comfort. Nor was
the monk's manner changed towards José alone. In all things and to all
persons he was more tender and less cold.

On the long winter evenings the two men busied themselves with blue
pigments and white glazes, until they succeeded in fabricating tolerable
copies of the two broken azulejos. When this was achieved, they began a
series of experiments, with a view to distilling a new liqueur from
eucalyptus. By rashly gulping down a mouthful of the first pint, José almost
burned out his tongue. Nevertheless, they persevered; and, in the long run,
the monkish talent for cordial-making enabled Antonio to mollify the
harshness of the fiery elixir, and to render it palatable. In January they
shipped samples to agents in fever-cursed regions of Spanish America, and
offered to supply the liqueur in bulk at a high price.

Meanwhile, Antonio was waxing stronger in faith, and hope, and love.
Every day he recited the whole of his Office in his old stall, sometimes with
José's assistance, sometimes alone. He began also to hear Mass in the
village church every Wednesday and Friday, and to say the whole rosary
every Sunday afternoon. In meditating on the fifteen Mysteries, he
habitually applied them to the case of Isabel; and, somehow, these thinkings
never became trite or stale. In pursuance of his plan for Isabel's well-being,
he redoubled his prayers, and offered half his Mass-hearings and
communions with the same intention.

The winter passed and the spring came; and still he had not heard a
word from her or about her. Sometimes a memory of her would suddenly
overwhelm him. When he dined at the farm with José there seemed to be
always three persons, not two, at the table. He felt that she was sitting at his
right hand, where she had sat when he gave her the painted bowl; and so
strong was his sense of her presence that he would often halt in the midst of
a sentence, as if to ask her pardon for the dryness of the talk. After the
morrow of her flight, he never visited the stepping-stones, although he
repeatedly gave José minute instructions for the conserving of the pool's
beauties. As for Isabel's chamber, he locked it up, and never re-entered it.
Yet, in spite of this reverence for everything she had touched, he never
moped or repined. He confided Isabel, as he had confided the fate of the
abbey, to the might and love of God.

When July came, he made a novena in honor of Saint Isabel, the holy
queen of Portugal, whose silver shrine was the glory of the Poor Clare's
great convent opposite Coimbra, on the heights above the Mondego. And in
August he received a long letter from young Crowberry. Seven of its eight
pages were concerned with England's theological and ecclesiastical affairs:
but in the midst of the page devoted to personal matters, the young man had
written:

Of course, you know that Isabel has taken her father to live at
Weymouth. I never see them; but I hear they are both well, and that Sir
Percy has become quite reasonable and docile. Have they told you how she
put her foot down and sent away that Excellent Creature, Mrs. Baxter? If
she hadn't pulled up Sir Percy I'm told he would have died. Now, what did
you really and truly think of Isabel? Did you see much of her, or did she
sulk? Tell me when you write.

Antonio wrote a long letter in reply; but he did not tell young
Crowberry what he really and truly thought about Isabel, nor did he so
much as mention her name. His novena was answered. It was enough for
him to know that Sir Percy lived, and that she was well.

The grape-harvest in September was a good one, and it was only by

cutting an hour from his sleep-time that the monk could fill full his
appointed measures of work and prayer. Then came October, with its
vintage of memories. On the anniversary of Senhor Jorge's serao Antonio
could be serene; for Margarida had just been happily married to a handsome
and honorable young man of Leiria, the son of a prosperous builder. But
with the approach of the anniversary of his first meeting with Isabel he
grew troubled; and, to divert his thoughts, he departed hurriedly for Lisbon,
where he had business to transact with the shippers of his wines and
cordials. In Lisbon he learned that a journey to England would be to his
advantage. But England meant Isabel; so, on the anniversary of her flight
from the guest-house, he turned his back on the capital and hastened home.

By mortgaging his farm the monk succeeded in paying the third

instalment of the abbey's price. He faced the New Year with less than
twenty pounds of ready money, and with the obligation to find five hundred
by the first of July. A request for a more flexible arrangement was flung
back at him by the Fazenda official with vindictive contempt. As the spring
advanced, Antonio laid his plan for the immediate outright purchase of the
abbey on a fifteen hundred pound mortgage before four separate persons;
but without exception they either could not or would not entertain it. In
these circumstances he felt bound to cut down his gifts to village charities
and his bounties to the hangers-on of the countryside. As a result, José came
home one day with a black eye, received while he was punishing three
village loafers for calling the Senhor da Rocha a skin-flint and a miser.

By May-day Antonio's sales of stock and the pledging of his credit had
brought him in only three hundred pounds, and there was nothing left that
he could pawn without crippling himself hopelessly in the near future. But
he was not cast down. He was doing his utmost, and he calmly left the rest
with God.
 III

Very early one morning, at the end of May, Antonio heard light
footsteps passing his cell. Although he sprang up immediately from bed he
could not open his door in time to see the intruder's face or form. He caught
no more than half a moment's glimpse of a slender and darkly garbed figure
disappearing round the angle of the corridor.

Having scrambled into his clothes, he started in pursuit. The light tap-
tap of shod feet on the stones told him that his visitor was making for the
chapel. The monk, who was barefooted, followed noiselessly.

Peeping into the chapel through the little door amid the azulejos,
Antonio saw a tall spare man kneeling before the altar. Even if his back had
not been turned to Antonio it would have been impossible to see his face,
because he was hiding it in his hands. The stranger wore a long black cloak,
uncomfortably thick and heavy for the torrid Portuguese summer. But it was
plain that he did not find it too warm. With long, thin, death-pale hands, he
drew its folds more closely round his body; and, as he did so, the familiar
movement revealed his identity to Antonio.

It was Father Sebastian.

Antonio hurried forward and knelt at his side. But Sebastian did not
move, nor did he cease praying for four or five minutes; and when at last he
turned towards Antonio it was without the slightest sign of surprise. Rising
painfully, he left the altar and made a gesture, inviting Antonio to follow
him.

As Sebastian had stood next to Antonio in juniority among the choir-

monks, the stalls of the two men were side by side. Sebastian sat down in
his old place and Antonio did likewise. The chapel was dim; but the
younger man could see that the elder's body had wasted almost to a
skeleton. Yet there was nothing repellent about him. The bloom on his
cheeks and the fire in his eyes had the solemn beauty of a sunset in an
autumnal forest. When he began to speak his voice was so soft and sweet
that it seemed to come from some far-off holy height.

"To-day, Father Antonio," he said, "completes the ninth year since you
sat on the cloister roof and heard the hoofs of the horsemen who had come
to thrust us from this house. And, this morning, it is just nine years since
you were raised to the priesthood. I asked our Lord to give me strength for
the journey, so that I might spend this anniversary with you. He has heard
me."

"Who told you that I was here?" Antonio asked.

Sebastian did not reply. But there was that in his eyes which gave
Antonio a sufficient answer. Here was a saint who walked in the light.

"Nine years," mused Sebastian aloud. "And you have not yet said your
first Mass."

"No," replied Antonio. "But God is good. Every year He enables me to

send a little cask of wine for the altar to a poor church in England. Six days
a week I work amid wine; and is not wine the matter of His great
Sacrament? It consoles me to know that although I cannot say Mass, I can
serve His table. Although I cannot, like Mary, his mother, bear Him in my
hands, I can be like those other Marys at the sepulcher. Emerunt aromata ut
venientes ungerent Jesum: 'They brought sweet spices that they might
anoint Jesus.'"

"He is not a God of the dead, but of the living," said Sebastian, in sweet,
far-off tones. "We do not offer a dead Christ. Say rather that you are like
that favored unknown to whom He sent two disciples saying, Ubi est
diversorium ubi pascha cum discipulis meis manducem: 'Where is the
guest-chamber where I may eat the Passover with My disciples?' But come.
Our time together is short, and there is much to say. First of all, I have
brought your breviary which you charged me to keep."

He pointed to a package lying on the Prior's seat. Antonio rose and took
it with joyful gratitude. When he returned to his stall he said:
 "Suffer my questions first. Whence do you come? Where have you lived
these nine long years?"

"For a few months I was with the English fathers in Lisbon," Sebastian
answered. "They were kind; but when it became plain that the Portuguese
Benedictine congregation must come to an end, I crossed Spain and sought
asylum at the Montserrat, where men used to believe the Holy Grail was
treasured. There was much work for me to do there in the School of Music;
and I found strength to do it, for we lived like eagles high up in the pure air,
three thousand feet above the sea. But Madrid followed the example of
Lisbon. Greedy eyes were cast on our possessions. They accused us of
being Carlists, just as in Portugal they accused us of being Miguelistas: and
only eighteen months after leaving this abbey, I was again an exile. Since
then I have dwelt in three religious houses; and every one of them has been
suppressed."

"Can it be," asked Antonio uneasily, "that the Orders are themselves to
blame, as men say? Here we dwelt in simplicity and piety, living by our
own labor and feeding the poor. But was this house an exception? Had the
majority of other monks indeed sunk into gluttony and sloth?"

"In every monastery from which I have been driven," said Sebastian,
"our evictors poured regrets and compliments upon us. It was always the
misdeeds of 'others,' for which we had to suffer. But whenever I questioned
an exiled community, I found they had received the same compliments.
Those mysterious 'others' have still to be found. According to the statesmen,
all religious houses individually are fountains of light and blessing to their
neighbors; but collectively they are a dark curse on the nations."

"Unbelieving men are determined to mulct us of all we have," said

Antonio, "and therefore they must needs invent crimes to suit our
punishment. They hang us first and indict us afterwards."

"They oppress us," agreed Sebastian, "in the great and sacred name of
liberty. But the avarice of godless men is the mainspring of it all. I have
seen five houses confiscated 'for the good of the People'; and in not one
case have the People received a third of the plunder. But enough of this. Tell
me your own story."
 "Where is the Prior?"

"He is dead. He died in Belgium."

"The Cellarer?"

"He is dead. He died in Brazil."

"Father Isidoro?"

"He is dead. He died in Spain."

With a sinking heart, Antonio named the choir-monks one by one; and,
after each name, Sebastian answered: "He is dead." Father Sebastian
believed that Brother Cypriano was still alive; but, of the Fathers, only he
and Antonio were left.

"Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine," murmured Antonio.

"Et lux perpetua luceat eis," Sebastian responded.

"To-morrow morning," added Sebastian, "will be the anniversary of the

Abbot's last Mass. If our Lord will give me strength I shall say Mass at this
altar once more."

After a pause, Antonio began to relate his history from the moment of
his quitting the council at Navares. Every fact that threw light on his
operations for regaining the abbey he stated with precision. But he did not
mention Margarida, and he referred to Isabel only as Sir Percy's moneyed
daughter. When he had finished, Sebastian looked at him with steadfast
pitiful eyes and said:

"These have been great sacrifices and cruel hardships for the sake of our
Lord, and they will not be in vain. But you have not told me all. My brother,
I feel that you have kept silence concerning your most costly sacrifice, your
bitterest ordeal. Why not tell me all?"

Antonio's pride rebelled. The desire to ease his heart by pouring out its
hoard of solitary grief was strong; but his gentleman's instincts of reticence
were stronger. For some time he remained silent. But an inward voice
sternly bade him speak; and he spoke.

He told the short tale of Margarida. Then he unfolded the whole case of
Isabel, glossing over nothing. He scrupulously added an account of his
actions and feelings on the night and morrow of her flight. When he had
finished he sat with bowed head and waited for Sebastian's judgment. But
Sebastian remained silent.

"You do not speak," said Antonio. "Perhaps I have given you the
impression that my ordeal was carnal, and that this English maiden was a
direct emissary of Satan. If you think so, I have spoken blunderingly
indeed."

"Satan exists and he is busy enough," returned Sebastian. "But in trying

to find the cause of any strange thing that happens I have learned to think of
Satan last. Nearly all our temptations arise from our own self-love and
carelessness. Many other temptations are God's provings and perfectings of
our spiritual mettle. Satan is not omnipresent and his angels are only a
shrunken legion. But have patience. Let me think."

He resumed his meditation. At last he turned and said:

"This was not a temptation from the devil. Neither did it spring from
corruptness in your heart or in hers. I am persuaded that our Lord's work is
somehow in it all. Perhaps you will never know in this world what work it
is; but that is not your affair."

"Sometimes," said Antonio slowly, "it troubles my conscience. As I told

you just now, I didn't hold out to the very end. I gave way within my heart;
but when I opened my eyes she had vanished."

"You do wrong to be troubled," said Sebastian. "You held out to the

bitter end of the trial God had appointed you. When you told this Isabel
finally to go, she went. That was the end. All that happened afterwards was
mere reaction."
 "The next day," persisted Antonio, "I did not say my Office. My heart
bled for her as it never bled for the Abbot, or for you, Sebastian, or for this
place."

"It bled for her, not for yourself," Sebastian explained. "In profane love,
the lover who thinks he is grieving for the beloved is only grieving over his
own loss of her, over his own short bereavement, or over his own
humiliation and discomfiture. With you, Antonio, it was not so. You did not
wish to take; you wished to give."

"Do not make me out a saint when I know I am a sinner," said Antonio,
almost sharply. "If she had been old, and tart, and ugly, would my heart
have bled for her all the same?"

"Perhaps not," Sebastian retorted. "But, if she had been old and ugly,
neither would there have been much virtue in giving her up. Do not
complain of her beauty. You had heroic work to do, and her beauty helped
you to do it better. In England there are Puritans who would say that these
azulejos and these gilded carvings must hinder us from doing the Work of
God."

"I do not follow you," said Antonio.

"Tell me," Sebastian asked abruptly, "how you stand with the payments
you have bound yourself to make."

Antonio drew from his breast an account over which he had pored and
pored for a month without making the adverse balance a vintem less.
Sebastian conned it attentively from beginning to end. Then he said:

"Follow me to my old cell and bring me paper and ink."

He rose with so much difficulty that Antonio had to support him; but
once fairly on his feet he moved quickly over the pavement. At the door of
the cell Antonio left him; but before he had finished cutting a new quill and
replenishing the sand-sprinkler in his own room, Sebastian rejoined him.
Sitting down painfully at the tiny table he swiftly wrote a very short letter.
Without reading it over he folded it, sealed it with a small brass seal which
he drew from his pocket, and addressed it to a Spanish nobleman in a small
town of the Asturias.

"Let this be despatched at once," he said. "There is no time to lose."

"A post leaves Navares in three days," replied Antonio. "José shall take
the letter there this morning."

"It is well," said Sebastian. "And when this José returns, let me see him
as soon as he is rested."

The cell was brighter than the chapel, and Antonio perceived that his
friend was become almost as insubstantial as a ghost. He called to mind a
passage from a new English poet about a man who, having wasted to a
shadow, was ready to be resumed into the Great Shadow, the shadow and
blackness of death. But Sebastian seemed rather to be a pure white flame,
waiting to be drawn into the Great Light.

"You have not broken your fast," cried Antonio in shame and alarm.
"You must eat. I have good wine. You must rest. You must sleep. When the
heat is over we will talk again, and you shall see José."

"It has been meat and drink and rest and sleep to see you again, Father
Antonio, and to hear what you have told me," the other answered. "But you
are right. I must sleep. I will obey your orders."

At breakfast Sebastian ate and drank nothing save an ounce or two of

bread and an egg beaten up in white wine. When the meal was over he
declined Antonio's pressing offer of a comfortable bed from the guest-
house, and lay down on the straw mattress in his own cell. There he soon
fell into so profound a sleep that he did not hear Antonio drenching the
window with bucketful after bucketful of water to counteract the blazing
heat.

At night José, wearing his best coat and his most diffident manner,
dined with the two monks in a corner of the refectory. Sebastian, with bright
eyes and glowing cheeks, did most of the talking. He praised the wine and
the food, although he touched little of either; and throughout the repast he
was full of an eager cheerfulness such as Antonio had never seen in him
before. After dinner he drew from José an exact account of his mental and
spiritual state: for Antonio had told him of the poor fellow's desire to
become a monk.

"José," he demanded, at the end of his questioning, "You have learnt

Latin. Can you translate, Irascimini: et nolite peccare?"

"I can, Father," answered José proudly. "It means, 'Be angry and sin
not.'"

"So it does. You did well to be angry with the greedy and lazy good-for-
nothings who spake evil of Father Antonio. But you did ill to thrash them
and to come home with that black eye. Go on being angry with sin; but
learn to love sinners."

"Can't I be a monk, Father? May I not have the habit?" pleaded José, in
consternation. "I am glad I thrashed them; but I'm sure I shan't need to
thrash them again."

"The habit is a comfort and a help," Sebastian replied, "but we must not
give it you to-night. Live as you have been living, in the love of our Lord
and in obedience to Father Antonio. For the present you can wear no habit
more acceptable to God than the coat in which you do your daily duty about
the farm. Do not hang your head. I foresee that an abbot will once more rule
within these walls, and that you, José will die as one of his family. Have
patience."

A sudden change came over Sebastian as he ceased speaking. The hectic

bloom faded from his cheeks, and the heavy lids drooped over his
preternaturally bright eyes. A moment later he sank forward against the
table. Antonio and José sprang at once to his help. He had swooned. They
made haste to bear him bodily to his cell. It was an easy task; for beyond
the weight of his cloak there seemed to be hardly anything to carry. After
they had laid him on his bed and dashed water from the torrent in his face,
he revived and said faintly:
 "Thanks, thanks, thanks, I am well. Leave me. I shall say mass to-
morrow at five o'clock. Leave me."

He fell into another unnatural sleep. But Antonio did not leave him. All
through the short warm night he watched and prayed. At last the dull chant
of the Atlantic was drowned under the glittering trills of near blackbirds.
Day dawned. The sun rose above Sebastian's Spain; and the sleeper awoke.

He answered the traditional Benedicamus Domino with so ringing a Deo

gratias that Antonio thought a miracle had happened. Sebastian looked
stronger and healthier than ever before. Even José, who had been sleeping
heavily on the corridor floor, was aroused by Sebastian's two words.

They repaired to the chapel. There Father Sebastian heard the

confessions of his two companions. Without delay he proceeded to the
sacristy. Antonio followed him and began to lift from its drawer one of the
less costly vestments which had never been taken away. It was green and
gold, as appointed in the Ordo for that day. But Sebastian, having bidden
him replace it, drew forth a black chasuble, simply embroidered with a
plain white cross. Antonio felt justly rebuked. When the Abbot was dead,
and the Prior and all the fathers save two, surely it was meet that the
survivor's Mass should be a Mass of requiem.

From his pocket-case, Sebastian took the unconsecrated wafers which

he had brought from Lisbon. He finished his vesting and preparation and
they re-entered the chapel. José was kneeling devoutly on the lowest step of
the sanctuary. Outside, hundreds of birds were in full boisterous song.

Father Sebastian went to the foot of the altar and began to say Mass. He
uttered the words quickly and clearly, and made the genuflections without
difficulty. Indeed, Antonio, as he poured water over the white and fleshless
fingers at the psalm Lavabo, marveled more than ever at the miracle of his
friend's sudden strength. At the commemoration of the dead, the intensity of
Sebastian's recollection seemed to make the whole chapel thrill and throb,
like a bed of reeds in a wind.

After he had given the most holy Body to Antonio and to José,
Sebastian concluded the Mass and returned to the sacristy with a firm tread.
He laid aside the sacred vestments and came back to his old stall in order to
make his thanksgiving. Antonio, also in his old stall, knelt at Sebastian's
side.

The ascending sun cleared the top of the hill and shone into the chapel.
The diadem of the Holy Child blazed with glory. In all the trees happy birds
redoubled their songs.

Half an hour passed. José, arising noisily, made Antonio open his eyes.
But Father Sebastian knelt without moving against the sloping book-board.
José clattered out. Still Father Sebastian did not move. Antonio waited,
revering his friend's ecstasy of communion with his Lord. He waited long.
But meanwhile a broad sunbeam had been working westward; and at last it
poured its burning gold upon the bended head.

Antonio was stepping softly forward to screen his friend from the fierce
ray when a sudden instinct bade him kneel down and look into Sebastian's
face. But Sebastian's wide-open, rapturous eyes did not gaze into Antonio's;
nor were they beholding any earthly thing. So beautiful was the sight that
Antonio's exclamation was more a shout of joy than a cry of fear. Into his
mind there rushed the words of Isaias which had been Sebastian's favorite
scripture in the old days, Regem in decore suo videbunt oculi ejus: "His
eyes shall see the King in His beauty; they shall behold the land which is
very far off."

Antonio and José buried the body of Sebastian that night on the sunny
side of the cloister, between the third and fourth pillars, just under the tile-
picture of Enos, with its legend, Ambulavit cum Deo et non apparuit, quia
tulit eum Deus: "He walked with God and was no more seen, for God took
him."
 IV

On the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, just thirty days after Sebastian's
death, Antonio heard Mass in the village church. Forty-eight hours were left
to him before his payment to the Villa Branca Fazenda became due. In the
strong-box at home he had only three hundred and twelve pounds towards
his debt of five hundred. Nothing had been received from Sebastian's friend
in Spain, although sufficient time had elapsed for a reply to reach the farm.
Nevertheless, Antonio rose from his knees at the end of Mass and took his
way homeward with a serene spirit.

From the point where he and José had seen the ruts of young
Crowberry's wheels nearly two years before, the monk heard thumping
hoofs. He gazed down the road and saw an advancing cloud of dust. A few
moments later he made out the milk-white Branco which had succeeded
coal-black Negro as the Navares' post-horse. Thomé, the postman, drew
rein and handed Antonio two letters.

The first was from young Crowberry. It ran:

Dear Friend da Rocha.

You will be sorry to hear that my father died last week, suddenly. I know
you will pray for him; and I hope you will pray for me too.

Strange to say, Sir Percy also passed away last week, two days after my
father. I saw it in the papers, but I know no details. At Christmas my father
saw him at Weymouth, and he seemed well.

As our affairs are tangled, I have much to do. Write to me soon. My

thoughts turn to you very often nowadays. Tell me how you do, all round. I
remain, your sincere friend. Edward Crowberry.
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