Hilarius went back to the courtyard, his soul full of trouble.
Gentle Brother Hilarius painted and loved, and was beloved of all his world.
It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along the green grass which bordered the highway.
Hilarius shuddered; but perhaps the hawk had nestlings waiting open-mouthed for food?
“Nay, but perchance some evil befell him,” said gentle Hilarius.
