THE PHYSICIAN OF SOULS. 39 



beardless chorister ! A heaven for a man ! By my spurs, it 

 were a fitter for yonder Butterfly/' 



" Stay, my good lord/' said the monk,, eagerly catching his 

 patron's hand in one of his own, while he pointed with the 

 other to the large White Butterfly, which had just entered the 

 window ; ' ' you talk, my lord, of that Butterfly in scorn ; 

 but know that the Butterfly is heaven's own emblem of the 



/ 



immortal soul ! ' 



If the baron had been standing he would have turned upon 

 his mailed heel with a pshaw ! As it was, he turned upon 

 his bed with a groan. He knew as much about emblems as 

 he knew about the philosopher's stone. The monk also 

 turned away despairingly ; for his alchemy seemed vain to 

 extract one drop of penitence (life's true elixir) from his 

 patron's stony heart. So, at least, it then appeared; but 

 Father Ambrose, however unsuitable his tools, or unskilful his 

 mode of handling them, had been working in the zeal of real 

 piety, and therefore had not worked alone. 



The baron awoke next morning with calmer pulse, and in 

 calmer mood than usual. The leech exulted in the success of 

 his remedies, and as he retired from his morning visit pressed 

 the rushes on the floor of the chamber with audible tread. 

 The Physician of souls also welcomed the patient's clearer 

 brow and softened tone ; but, more modest than his brother in 

 the art of healing, took no credit to himself for the smoothing 

 of the troubled waters; and fearing the calm would prove 



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