What sights were in store for him? Would he find the brook-side farm as trim as the old cura's presbytery, with a new master tending the orangery and the vineyard? And what of the monastery? Perhaps children were playing in and out of the cells, while beasts chewed maize-leaves in the cloisters. For more than two years Antonio had lacked news of the abbey's fate. Indeed, only twice since his northward flight had he heard a word about it. The man from Lisbon, to whom he owed his start in the house of Castro, had told Antonio that the Lisbon authorities were not forcing the sale of this particular property because they did not wish to revive the scandal of Ponte Quebrada and the stolen treasures. But this was two summers ago: and much might have happened since then. Recumbent under the pines Antonio began to revolve plans of action in case either the farm or the abbey should have passed into other hands. But he soon desisted from his thinking. After all, had not the same problem pressed upon him many a time in Oporto, and had he not always solved it in the same way? To keep the holy place inviolate until the monk's toil and self-denial should enable him to return--this surely was God's part of the work. Antonio rose to his feet, confident that he was not too late. The clock was striking five when he cantered through Navares. As he passed the tavern where he had been insulted, and the white barns of the corn-merchant, he seemed to be revisiting hardly recognizable scenes; for the failing light of the November afternoon was not like the June evening of the monks' exodus. Most of the vines beside the roads had been stripped of their leaves, and such foliage as remained was discolored and tattered. And there was something melancholy in the autumn fields, where giant gourds of many colors lay on the bare earth among the drooping maize-plants. He pressed on. Very soon he reached the spot where the Prior had met the courier from Lisbon: but he was hardly sure of it in the gloom. The darkness deepened, and his little white horse trotted through it, glimmering like a ghost. At last the pleasant voice of hurrying waters hailed him through the dusk. He had reached the farm. No light, no sound, met Antonio's straining eyes and ears as he climbed the knoll. Leaving his horse to graze, he advanced eagerly into the midst of the silent buildings. They were still deserted. He pushed through rank growths into the orangery, and as he touched one of the pale orbs above his head he knew that the farm had lain all the time uncared-for and untilled. With a full heart he gave thanks to God.