"At once?" he inquired.
"At once."
"May I first go and wash in the torrent?"
The master smiled:
"Go, wash in the torrent." Bathing in the water which sometimes, after
heavy rains, sings in the Pucceia Valley to the east of the monastery,
and cuts in rivulets across the road to the Sacro Speco, below Santa
Crocella, was the only physical pleasure in which Benedetto allowed
himself to indulge. It was still sprinkling; mist smoked slowly in the
deep valley; the trembling shallow waters complained to Benedetto as
they hastened across the road, but rested quiet and content in the
hollow of his hands; and through his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his
neck, they infused deep into his heart a sense of the sweet chastity of
their soul, a sense of Divine bounty. Benedetto poured the water over
his head copiously, and the spirit of the water entered into his
thoughts. He felt that the Father was sending him forth upon new paths,
but that He would carry him in His mighty hand. He reverently blessed
the creature through which so much light of grace had come to him,
the most pure water! Then he bent his steps towards the Ospizio.
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