Benedetto drank.
"I thank God," he said, "for your kindness and for the blessing of the milk."
He embraced the man, and years afterwards the herder, Nazzareno Mercuri, used to tell that while Benedetto held him in his arms, he, Nazzareno did not seem to be himself; that his blood first turned to ice and then to fire; that his heart beat hard, very hard, as it did the first time he received Christ in the Sacrament; that a terrible headache which had tormented him for two days suddenly disappeared; that then he had realised he was in the arms of a saint, a worker of miracles; and that he had fallen on his knees at his feet! In reality he did not fall on his knees, but stood as one petrified, and Benedetto had to say twice to him: "Now go, Nazzareno; go, my dear son." Having despatched him thus lovingly on his way to the Sacro Speco, he himself started towards Santa Scholastica.
In the light of day the rocky slope held no spirits either good or evil. The mountains, the clouds, even the dark walls of the monastery, and the tower itself looked heavy with sleep in the pale dawn. Benedetto entered the Ospizio, and stretching himself on his poor couch, without removing his wet garments, he crossed his arms on his breast, and sank into a deep sleep.
