The End Of The Path | MusicalTheatreResourceCenter

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And the canvas over the heart of the Virgin was cut in a long, clean stroke--and opened in a disfiguring gash. Beneath it, on a little stand, lay a slim-bladed, vicious knife, covered with dust. Blagden wonderingly stooped to pick it up--and a voice spoke out of the darkness behind him. "I would not touch it, Signor," it said, and Blagden wheeled guiltily. A man was standing in the shadow, almost at his elbow. He was old, the oldest man Blagden had ever seen, and he wore the long brown gown of a monk. His face was like a withered leaf, lined and yellow, and his hair was silver white. Only the small, saurian eyes held Blagden with their strange brilliance. The rest of his face was like a death mask. "Why not?" said Blagden. The monk stepped forward into the dim light, crossing himself as he passed the picture. He looked hesitatingly at the younger man before him, searching his face with his wonderfully piercing eyes. He seemed to find there what he was searching for, and when he spoke Blagden wondered at the gentleness of his voice. "There is a story. Would the Signor care to hear?"

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