Warm winds whispered through the pale night, and moonbeams shimmered mockingly over the ancient stones of the nunnery. Inside slept Chastity like a drift of snow in a cave in summer. Behind the grilled window of a tower chamber in candle burned. A young friar saw it and smiled as he walked up and down in the walled-in garden of the nunnery. The wan night air, fragrant with the scent of flowers, caressed him. Old repressions and half-forgotten dusty dont's quickened his pleasure in the escapade. If one could only catch this fragile essence and then only paint the moonlight. If one could breath into it the glamour of expectant love.

The candle in the tower winked out. All was stillness. The friar turned toward the building and stood motionless. Presently a latch clicked, and a woman hurried across the moonlit award and slipped into his arms. They kissed, and then stood for a long time whispering. At intervals, in the pale light, their faces fused. His the eager artist's, burning with creation; her's with a strange detachment--one day to be immortalized in pigment. At last they moved apart and then stole quickly down the garden path to a door in the old wall. The man opened it, the woman stopped through. He followed her, pulling the door behind him without turning. Over the garden wall, borne back on the fragrant darkness of the night wind, drifted the sensuous laughter of the lovers.

This morning at 11.00 the Vagabond goes to the Fogg Large Room to hear Professor Opdyke lecture on Fra Lippo Lippi.