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I'l i,iisiiF.i:s MCMVIIl ropVHiQHT, 1908, HY rmni.Kfi srRinNiTR's sons rublishRil .September, IWH TABLK or CONTKNTS Tlie Hermit and the If'ild Woman Thf Laiit A.sxet II 43 In Trust UI 97 The Pretext TV 189 The Verdict 177 The Pot-Boller VI 195 Tlie Best Man VII 241 THE HERMIT AND THE WILD WOMAN ■i' 1 THE HERMIT AND THE WILD WOMAN I THE Hermit lived In a cave in the hollow of a hill. Below him was a glen, with a stream in a coppice of oaks anil nWcrs, and across the valley, half a day's journey distant, a.iother hill, steep and bristling, raised against the sky a little walled town with Ghibelline swallow-tails. When the Hermit was a lad, and lived in the town, the crenellations of the walls had been square-topi)ed, and a Guelf lord had flown his standard from the keep. Then one day a steel-coloured line of men-at-arms rode across the valley, wound up the hill and battered in the gates. Stones and Greek fire rained from the ramparts, shields clashed in the streets, blade sprang at blade in passages and stairways, pikes and lances dripped above huddled flesh, and all the still familiar place was a stew of dying bodies. The boy fled from it in horror. He had seen his father go forth and not come back, his mother drop dead from an arquebuse shot as she leaned from the platform of the tower, his little sister fall with a slit throat across the altar steps of the chajKl— and he ran, ran for his life, [3] I ! ' ! i I 1 THE HERMIT through the slippery streets, over warm twitching bodlet, between legs of soldiers carousing, out of the gates, past burning farms, trampled wheat-fields, orchards stripped and broken, till the still woods received him and he fell face down on the unmutilated earth. lie had no wish to go back. His longing was to live hid- den from life. Up the hillside he found a hollow rock, and built before it a porch of boughs bound with withies. He fed on nuts and roots, and on trout caught with his hands under the stones in the stream. He had always been a quiet boy, liking to sit at his mother's feet and watch the flowers grow under her needle, while the chaplain read the histories of the Desert Fathers from a great silver-clasped volume. He would rather have been bred a clerk and scholar than a knight's son, and his happiest moments were when he ser\'ed mass for the chaplain in the early morning, and felt his heart flutter up and up like a lark, up and up till it was lost in infinite space and brightness. Almost as happy were the hours when he sat beside the foreign painter who came over the mountains to paint the chapel, and under whose brush celestial faces grew out of the wall as if he had sown some magic seed which flowered while you watched it. With the appearing of every gold-rimmed face the boy felt he had won another friend, a friend who wouW come and bend above him at night, keeping the ugly visions from his pillow — visions of the gnawing monsten, about the church- porch, evil-faced bats and dragons, giant worms and winged I*] AND THE WILD WOMAN bristling hoga, a devil'!) 6ock who crept down from the ■tone-work at night and hunted the kouIh of sinful children through the town. With the growth of the picture the bright mailed angels thronged so ^lose about the boy's bed that between their interwoven wings not a snout or a claw could force itself; and he would turn over sighing on his pillow, which felt as soft and warm as if it had been lined with dovn from those sheltering pinions. All these thoughts came back to him in his cave on the cliff-side. The stillness seemed to enclose him with wings, to fold him away from life and evil. He was never restless or discontented. He loved the long sile'>t empty days, each one as Uke the other as pearh in a well-matched string. Above all he liked to have time to save his soul. He had been greatly troubled about his soul since a band of Flagellants had passed through the town, showing their gaunt scourged bodies and exhorting the people to turn from soft raiment and delicate fare, from marriage and money-getting and dancing and games, and think only how they might escape the devil's talons and the great red blaze of hell. For days that red blaze hung on the edge of the boy's thoughts like the light of a burning city across a plain. There seemed to be so many pitfalls to avoid — so many things were wicked which one might have supposed to be harmless. How could a child of his age tell ? He dared not for a moment think of anything else. And the scene of sack and slaughter from which he had fled gave shape and [5] t I Hi THE HERMIT distinctness to that liIcxKl-red vision. Ilcll win like tlint.only a million million times worse. Now he knew how flesh looked when dcvil'-s pincers tore it, how the shrieks of the damned soimdei', and how ronsting bodies sniellcd. How could a Christian sfiare one moment of his days and nighti from the long long stniggle to keep safe from the wroth to come? Gradually the horror faded, leaving only a tranquil pleasure in the minute performanrc of his reli);ious duties. His mind was not naturally given to the oontemplation of evil, and in the blessed solitude of his new life his thoughts dwelt more and more on the beauty of holiness. His desire was to be perfectly good, and to live in love and charity with his fellows; and how could one do this without flee- ing from them? ■-', first his life was difficult, for in winter he was put to great straits to feed himself; and there were nights when the sky was like an iron vault, and a hoarse wind rattled the oak-wood in the valley, and a fear came on him that was worse than any cold. But in time it became known to his townsfolk and to the peasants in the neighbouring val- leys that he had withdrawn to the wilderness to lead a godly life; and after that his worst hardships were over, for pious persons brought him gift.s of oil and dried fniit, one good woman gave him seeds from her ganlen, another spun for him a hodden gown, and others would have brought him all manner of food and clothing, had he not refused to ac- [6] AND THE WILD WOMAN ccpt nnythiiif; hut for his hnre newlii. The womnn who ha(l given him tho Mvth showed him iilso how to build a httle garden on the noiithem ledge of his elifT, and all one sum- mer the Hermit carried up soil from the «lreamsiile, ami the next he carried up water to keep his garden green. Afl' r that the fear of sohtude passed from him, for he was S( busy all day that at night he had much ado to fight off the demon of sleep, which Saint Arsenius the Abbot has denounced as the chief foe of the solitary. His memory kept good store of prayers and li^'^nies, liesidcs long passages from the Mass and other offices, and he mnrked the hours of his day by different act:i of devotion. On Sundays and feaiit days, when the wind \"as set his way, he could hear the church bells from his native town, and these hel|x-d him to follow the worship of the faithful, and to bear in mind the seasons of the liturgical year; and what with carrying uj water from tht river, digging in the garden, gathering fagots for his fire, observing his religious duties, and keeping his thoughts continually on the salvation of his soul, the Hermit knew not a moment's idleness. At first, during his night vigils, he had felt a fear of the stars, which seemed to set a cruel watch on him, as though they spied out the fr.'ilty of his heart and took the measure of his littleness. But cnc day a wondering clerk, to whom he chanced to give a night's shelter, explained to him that, in the opinion of the most learned doctors in theology, the stars were inhabited bv the spirits of the blessed, and ■[7] ii ii THE HERMIT this thought brought gtttl aolace to the Hermit. Even on winter nighta, when the eaglei Kreamed among the peakii, •nd he heard the long howl o( wolve* about the aheep- cotes in the valley, he no longer felt anjr fear, but thought of thow aounda a* representing the evil voicei of the world, and hugged himuif in the aecluiion of hii cave. Some- time*, to keep himaelf awake, he compoied laudf in honour of Christ and the saint), and they seemed to him so pleas- ant that he feared to forget them, so after much debate with himself he decided to ask a friendly priest, who sometimes visited him. to write them down; and the priest wrote them on comely sheepskin, which the Hermit dried and prepared with bis own hands. When the Hermit saw them written they appeared to !.im so beautiful that he feared to commit the sin of vanity if he looked at them too often, so he hid them between two smooth stones in L ^ cave, and vowed that he would take them out only once in the year, at Easter, when our Lord has risen and it is meet that Christians should rejoice. And this vow he faith- fully kept; but, alas, when Easter drew near, he found he was looking forward to the blessed festival less because of our Lord's risirg than because he should then be able to read his pleasant lauds written on fair sheepskin; and thereupon he took a vow that he would not look on the lauds till he lay dying. So the Hermit, for many years, lived to the glory of God and in great peace of min '. [8] AND THE WILD WOMAN n /^NK iliiy he rpMilvcil to iwt fHilli on u vinil |o Ihc Saiiil ^^ of Ihc HiK'k, whii lived iiii llic oilier side of llie iiii- tains. Traveller liud hruuf>lil the Hermit r»'|H)rt of this soHlnry, how lie liveil in holinciut iind nuslerily in a dcacrt place among the hills, where «now lay all winter, and in summer the sun beat down cruelly. The Saint, it a|>|icarcd, had vowed that he would withdraw from the world to a s|iot where there was neither shack- nor water, lest he should Ix- templed to take his ease and think leu continually ijwn his Maker but wherever he went he found a spreading tree or a gushing fountain, till at last be climbed to Ihc bare heights where nothing grows, and where the only water comes from the melting of the snow in spring. Here he found a tall rock rising from the ^round, and in it he scooped a hollow with his own hands, lo' Hir- ing for five years and wearing his fingers to the hone. Then he seated himself in the hollow, which faced the west, so that in wintc r he should have small warmth of the sun and in summer be consumed by it; and there he had sat with- out moving for years beyond number. The Hermit was greatly drawn by the tale of such austeri- ties.which in his humility he did not dream of emulating, but desired, for his soul's good, to contemplate and praise; so one day he bound sandals to his feet, cut an alder staff from the stream, and set out to visit the Saint of the Rock. [U] i: »■■♦, THE HERMIT It was the pleasant season when seeds are shooting and the bud is on the tree. The Hermit was troubled at the thought of leaving his plants without water, but he could not travel in winter by reason of the snows, and in summer he feared the garden would suffer even more from his absence. So he set out, praying that rain might fall while he was away, and hoping to return again in five days. The peasants in the fields left their work to ask his blessing; and they would even have followed him in great numbers had he not "old them that he was bound on a pilgrimage to the Saint of the Rock, and that it behooved him to go alone, as one sohtary seeking an- other. So they resiieeted his wish, and he went on and entered the forest. In the forest he walked for two days an.1 slept for two nights. He heard the wolves crying, and foxes rustUng in the covert, and once, at twilight, a shaggy brown man , -"d at him through the leaves and galloped away with a soft padding of hoofs; but the Hermit feared neither wild beasts nor evil-doers, nor even the fauns and satyrs who linger in unhallowed forest depths where the Cross has not been raised; for he said; "If I die, I die to the glory of God, and if I hve, it must be to the same end." Only he felt a secret pang at the thought that he might die without seeing his lauds again. But the third day, without misadventure, he came out on another valley. Then he began to climb the mountain, first through [10] AND THE WILD WOMAN brown woods of beech and oak, then through pine and broom, and then across red stony ledges where only a pinched growth of lenlisk and briar spread over the bald rock. By this time he thought to have reached his goal, but for two more days he fared on through the same scene, the sky close over him and the green earth receding far below. Sometimes for hours he saw only the red glistering slopes tufted with thin bushes, and the hard blue heaven so close that it seemed his hand could touch it; then at a turn of the path the rocks rolled apart, the eye plunged down a long pine-clad defile, and beyond it the forest flowed away to a plain shining with cities and another mountain-range many days' journey away. To some eyes this would have been a terrible spectacle, reminding the wayfarer of his remoteness from his kind, and of the perils which lurk in waste places and the weakness of man against them; but the Hermit was so mated to solitude, and felt such love for all created things, that to him the bare rocks sang of their Maker and the vast distance bore witness to His greatness. So His servant Journeyed on unafraid. But one morning, after a long climb over steep and difficult slopes, the wayfarer halted a! a bend of the way; for below him was no plain shining with cities, but a bare expanse of shaken silver that reached to the rim of the world; and the Hermit knew it was the sea. Fear seized him then, for it was terrible to see that great plain move [11] i \ I ;\ i 1 THE HERMIT like 11 heaving bosom, and, as he loolvcil on it, the earth seemed also to heave beneath him. But presently he re- membered how Christ had walked the waves, and how even Saint Mary of Egypt, a great sinner, had erossed the waters of Jordan dry-shod to receive the Sacrament from the Abbot Zosimus; and then the Hermit's heart grew still, and he sang as he went down the mountain; "The sea shall praise Thee, O Lord." All day he kept m eing it and then losing it; but toward night he came to a deft of the hills, and lay down in a pine- wood to sleep. He had now been six days gone, and once and again he thought anxiously of his herbs; but he said to himself: "What though my garden perish, if I see a holy man face to face and praise God in his company?" So he was never long cast down. Before daylight he was afoot under the stars; and leav- ing the wood where he had slept, began climbing the face of a tall cUff, where he had to clutch the jutting ledges with his hands, and with every step he gained, a rock seemed thrust forth to hurl him back. So, footsore and bleeding, he reached a high stony plain as the sun dropped to the sea; and in the red light he saw a hollow rock, and the Saint sitting in the hollow. The Hermit fell on his knees, praising God; then he rose and ran across the plain to the rock. As he drew near he saw that the Saint was a very old man, clad in goat- skin, with a long white beard. He sat motionless, his bands [12] I i AND THE WILD WOMAN on his knees, and two red eye-sockets turned to the sunset Near him was a young boy in skins who brushed the flies from his face; but they always came back, and settled on the rheum from his eyes. He did not appear to hear or see the approach of the Hermit, but sat quite still till the boy said: "Father, here is a pilgrim." Then he lifted up his voice and asked angrily who was there and what the stranger sought. The Hermit answered: "Father, the report of your holy practices came to me a long way off, and being myself a solitary, though not worthy to be named with you for god- liness, it seemed fitting that I should cross the mountains to visit you, that we might sit together and speak in praise of solitude." The Saint replied: "You fool, how can 'wo sit together and praise solitude, since by so doing they put an end to the thing they praise?" The Hermit, at that, was sorely abashed, for he had thought his speech out on the way, reciting it many times over; and now it appt J to him vainer than the crac!:- ling of thorns under a pot. Nevertheless he took heart and said: "True, Father; but may not two sinners sit together and praise Christ, who has taught them the blessings of solitude?" But the other only answered: " If you had really learned the blessings of solitude you would not squander them [13] i 4 THE HERMIT in idle wandering." And, the Hermit not knowing how to reply, he said again: "If two sinners meet they can best praise Christ by going each his own way in silence." After that he shut his lips and cortinued motionless while the boy brushed the flies from his eye-sockets; but the Hermit's heart sank, and for the first time he felt the weariness of the way he had travelled, and the great dis- tance dividing him from home. He had meant to take counsel with the Saint concerning his lauds, and whether he ought to destroy them; but now he had no heart to say more, and turning away he began to go down the mountain. Presently he heard steps run- ning at his back, and the boy came up and pressed a honey-comb on him. "You have come a long way and must be hungry," he said; but before the Hermit could thank him he hastened back to his task. So the Hermit crept down the mountain till he reached the wood where he had slept be- fore; and there he made his bed again, but he had no mind to eat before sleeping, for his heart hungered more than his body; and bis tears made the honey-comb bitter. [14] AND THE WILD WOMAN in /^N the fourteenth day he came to his own valley and saw the walls of his native town against the sky. He was footsore and heavy of heart, for his long pilgrimage had brought him only weariness and humiliation, and as no drop of rain had fallen he knew that his garden must have perished. So he climbed the cliff heavily and reached his cave at the angelus. But there a wonder awaited him. For though the scant earth of the hillside was parched and crumbling, his gar- den-soil shone with moisture, and his plants had shot up, fresh and glistening, to a height they had nevsr attained. More wonderful still, the tendrils of the gourd had been trained about his door; and kneeling down he saw that the earth had been loosened between the rows of sprouting vegetables, and that every leaf dripped as though the rain had but newly ceased. Then it appeared to the Hermit that he beheld a miracle, but doubting his own deserts he refused to believe himself worthy, and went within doors to ponder on what had befallen him. And on his bed of rushes he saw a young woman sleeping, clad in an out- landish garment with strange amulets about her neck. The sight was fuU of fear to the Hermit, for he re- called how often the demon, in ten- pting the Desert Fathers, had taken the form of a woman ; but he reflected that, since there was nothing pleasing to him in the sight of this [13] .' Ii m THE HERMIT female, who was brown 09 i" nut and lean with waj-faring, he ran no great danger iu looking at her. At Brst he took her for a wandering Egj'ptian, but as he looked he per- ceived, among the heathen charms, an Agnus Dei in her bosom; and this so surprised him that he hem over and called on her to wake. She sprang up with a start, but seeing the Hermit's gown and staff, and his face above her, lay quiet and said: " I have watered your garden daily in return for the beans and oil that I took from your store." "Who are you, and how come you here?" asked the Hermit. She said: "I am a wild woman and Uve in the woods." And when he pressed her again to tell him why she had sought shelter in his cave, she said that the land to the south, whence she came, was full of armed companies a. J bands of marauders, and that great license and blood- shed prevailed there; and this the Hermit knew to be true, for he had heard of it on his homeward journey. The Wild Woman went on to tell him that she had been hunted through the woods like an animal by a band of drunken men-at-arms, Landsknechts from the north by their bar- barous dress and speech, and at length, starving and spent, had come on his cave and hidden herself from her pur- suers. ** For," she said, " I fear neither wild beasts nor the woodland people, charcoal burners, Egyptians, wandering minstrels or chapmen; even the highway robbers do not [10] AND THE WILD WOMAN touch me, bocn\ise I am poor and brown; but tliese armed men flown with wine are more terrible than wolves and tigers." And the Hermit's heart melted for he thought of his little sister lying with her throat silt across the altar, and of the scenes of blood and rapine from which he had fled into the wilderness. So he said to the stranger that it was not fitting he should house her in his cave, but that he would send a messenger to the town, and beg a pious woman there to give her lodging and work in her house- hold. "For," said he, "I jierceive by the blessed image p.wut your neck that you are not a heathen wilding, but a child of Christ, though so far astray in the desert." "Yes," she said, "I am a Christian, and know as many prayers as you; but I will never set foot in city walls again, lest I be caught and put back into the convent." "What," cried the Hermit with a start, "you a-e a runa- gate nun?" And he crossed himself, and again thought of the demon. She smiled and said: "It is true I was once a clois- tered woman, but I will never wiUingly be one again. Now drive me forth if you like; but I cannot go far, for I have a wounded foot, which I got in climbing the cliff with water for your garden." And she pointed to a cut in her foot. At that, for all his fear, the Hermit was moved to pity, and washed the' cut and bound it up; and as he did so he [17] 'ijii ■fl THE HERMIT bethought him that perhnps his strange visitor had been sent to him not for his soul's undoing but for her own sal- vation. And from that hour he yearned to save her. But it was not fitting that she should remain in his cave; so, having given her water to drink and a handful of lentils, h'j raised her up, and putting his staff in her linnd guided her to a hollow not far off in the face of the cliff. And while he was doing this he heard the sunset bells across the valley, and set about reciting the Angelun Domini nunti- arit Maria; and she joined in piously, her hands folded, not missing a word. Nevertheless the thought of her wickedness weighed on him, and the next day when he went to carry her food he asked her to tell him how it came about that she had fallen into such abominable sin. And this is the story she told. rv T WAS born (said she) in the north country, where the winters are long and cold, where snow sometimes falls in the valleys, and the high mountains for months are white with it. My father's castle is in a tall green wood, where the winds always rustle, and a cold river runs down from the ice-gorges. South of us was the wide plain, glowing with heat, but above us were stony passes where eagles nest and the storms howl; in winter fires roared in our chimneys, and even in summer there was [18] AND THE WILD WOMAN always a cool air off the gorges. But when I was a child my mother went southward in the great Empress's train and I went with her. Wc travelled manv dnyn, across plains and mountains, and saw Rome, where the 1'o|k' lives in a golden paloce, and many other cities, till we came to the great Emiwror's court. There for two years or more wo lived in pomp and merriment, for it was a wonderful court, full of mimes, magicians, philosophers and poets; and the Empress's ladies siwnt their days in mirth and music, dressed in light silken garments, walking in gardens of roses, and bathing in a cool marble tank, while the Emperor's eunuchs j/uurded the approach to the gardens. Oh, those baths in the marble tank, my Father! I used to lie awake through the whole hot southern night, and think of that plunge at sunrise under the last .stars. For we were in a burning country, and I pined for the tall green woods and the cold stream of my father's valley; and when I had cooled my body in the tank I lay all day in the .scant cypress shade and dreamed of my next bath. My mother pined for the coolness till she died; then the Empress put me in a conv nt and I was forgotten. The convent was on the side of a bare yellow hill, where bees made a hot buzzing in the thyme. Below was the sea, blazing with a million shafts of light; and overhead a blind- ing sky, which rcHected the sun's glitter like a huge baldric of steel. Now the convent was built on the site of an old pleasure-house which a holy princess had given to our [19] il ■ ■i'l 1 ,l\ I ii, THE HERMIT Order; nn.l a part of ll.e house was left slan.Iing, with iU court and garden. The nuns had built all about the garden: bfl Ihey lefi the cypresses in the middle, and the long marble tank where the Princess and her ladies had bathed. The tank, however, as you may conceive, was no longer used as a bath, for the washing of the body is an indulgence forbidden to oloislerej virgins; and our ^blx-ss, who was famed for her austerities, boasted that, like holy Sylvia the nun. she never touched water save to bathe her finger- tips before receiving the Sacrament. With such an example before them, the nuns were obliged to conform to the same pious rule, and many, having been bred in the convent from infancy, regarded all ablutions with horror, and felt no temptation to ring up, and dragging down the dres.. fling myself on my knee, U-forc the Cross, and entreat our Lonl to give me the gift „f holiness, that I might e»cai>e the everlasting fires of hell, of whic^h this heal was a foretaste. For if I could nol en.lurc the scorching of a summer's day, with what coi.slaney could I meet the thought of the flame that dieth not? This longing to cscni«! the heal of hell made me apply myself lo a devoutcr way of living, and I reflected that if my bodily distress were somewhat eased I should be able to throw myself with grcter zeal into the practice of vigils and austerities. And at length, having set forth to the Abbess that the .sultry air of my cell induced in me a grievous heaviness of sleep, I prevailed on her to l«ige me in that part of the building which overlooked the garden. For a few days I wis happy, for instead of the dusty mountainside, and the sight of the sweating peasants and their asses, 1 looked out on dark cypresses and rows of budding vegetables. But presently I found I had not bru -red myself. For with the approach of midsummer the garden, being all enclosed with buildings, grew as stifling as my eeU. .Ul the green things in it withered and dried [81] I 1' * I? t V THE HERMIT oir, IrnvinK tppiicliM of biire ml wiHli, a h..re wa., no moon, but the ,ky u„. f„„ of ,.ar,. A. fi"t .he garden w„, all blackne,,; but a, I looked I «.w a fa,n. twinkle between the oypre,,.trunks. and I knew it wa, the starlight on the tank. The water! The water- I, wa, there clo^, to me-^„,y a few bolt, and bar, were iwtween us. . . . The ,K,rtre„ wa, a heavy ,leeper. and I knew where 3he hung her key,. I ,t„le .hither. «i.ed the kev, and .Tept ba,.foot down the long corridor. The bolt, of ".he cloister- door were „iff and heavy, and I dragged a. .hem .il, my wn,., were bursting. Then I turned the key and it t«3] ' !! IT THE HERMIT CTicle, from whom she had often received food and comfort; and her worst danger, as [26] AND THE WILD WOMAN he learned with shanae, had c„n,e f^n .,. „>„,,,„, „ wand „„„,,_,_^^ ^^^ _^^ ._^_^ . o of Ch nstendo™; ean^-ing ,he,T ribald idlene. f.on, one — e^ .o another, and leaving on .he. wa, „ ..ad o t"'"'- """^ and wor.e. On™ or ,„,.« .he Wi, Wo^anh^dneaH, ,„..„..„ .He. hand. ...had lei aved by her own qu.ck wi. and skill in wooderafc. Once o she assured .he He™i., she had found ref.,^ .i,h a' ZZ T '" "" " ''^•' "' '""'^^ -"' 'heir sha,gv nujhngs;a„dn.hiseaveshehadseenas.ockorido; wood, ex.re™ely sealed and ancien.. befo« which ,he and the wdd bees' honeycomb. She .old him also of a hill-viHage of weavers, where she hve jany weeks, and learned .o pi, their .rade in re. n cobblers charcoal-burners or goatherds came a. mid- n.ght and taugh. s.range doctrines i„ the hovels. V^ . t hey t,„ght she oould no. clearly .ell. save tha. .hey C hev^d each sou, c„„,d commune directly with its Maker, wthou. need of priest or i„.ercessor; and she had heard fromsome of .heir disciples .ha. .here are .wo Gods „ e of good and one of evil, and .ha. .he God of evil h 's M lovmg-kmdness toward poor j^rsons and wayfa^rs; so 1 THE HERMIT that she grieved for them wlien one day ii Dominican moiil< appeared with a company of soldiers, seizing some of the weavers and dragging them to prison, while others, with their wives and babes, fled to the winter woods. She fled with them, fearing to be charged with their heresy, and for months they lay hid in desert places, the older and weaker, when they fell sick from want and exjiosure, being de- voutly ministered to by their brethren, and dying in the sure faith of heaven. All this she related modestly and simply, not as one who joys in a godless life, but as having been drawn into it through misadventure; and she told the Hermit that when she heard the sound of church bells she never failed to say an Ave or a Pater; and that often, as she hiy in the darkness of the forest, she had hushed her fears by re- citing the versicles from the Evening Hour: Kcrp V.I, Jjyrd, as the apple nj the ei/r. Protect vs under the shadow of Thtj winrjs. The wound in her foot healed slowly; and the Hermit, while it was mending, repaired daily to her cave, reason- ing with her in love and charity, and exhorting her to re- turn to the cloister. But this she still refused to do; and fearing lest she attempt to fly before her fool was healed, and so expose herself to hunger and ill-usage, he promised not to betray her presence, or to take any meas- ures toward restoring her to her Order. He bep ii indeed to doubt whether she had any calling [28] AM) THE WILD WOMAN to tlie life enclosed; yet her innoeenoy of ,„i„d ,„„de him feel that she might be won back to holy living if only her freedom were assured. So after many inward struggles (since his promise forbade his taking counsel with any concerning her) he resolved to let her stay in the cave till some light should come to him. And one day, visiting her about the hour of Nones (for it be- came his pious habit to say the evening offi<,- with her), he found her engaged with a little goatherd, who in a sudden seizure had fallen from a rock above her cave, and lay senseless and full of blood at her feet. And the' Hermit saw with wonder how skilfully she bound up his cuts and restored his .senses, giving him to drink of a liquor she had distilled from the simples of the moun- tain; whereat the boy opened his eyes and praised God, as one restored by heaven. Now it was known that this lad was subject to possessions, and had more than once dropped lifeless while he heeded his flock; and the Hermit, knowing that only great saints or unclean necromancers can loosen devils, fcred that the Wild Woman had exorci.,ed the spirits by means of unholy spells. But she told him that the goatherd's sickness was caused only by the heat of the sun, and that, such seizures being common in the hot countries whence she came, she had learned from a wise woman how to stay them by a decoction of the carduus be.-.edtctue, made in the third night of the waxing moon, but without the aid of magic. [29] ■I ' 1 1 I 111 ! I lt:'l THE HERMIT **But," she continued* "you need not fear my bringing scandal on your holy retreat, for by the arts of the same wise woman my own wound is well-nigh healed, and to- night at sunset 1 set forth." The Hermit's heart grew heavy as she spoke, and it seemed to him that her own look was sorrowful. And suddenly his perplexities were lifted from him, and he saw what was God's purpose with the Wild Woman. *' Why," said he, " do you fly from this place, where you are safe from molestation, and can look to the saving of your soul ? Is it that your feet weary for the road, and your spirits are heavy for lack of worldly discourse?" She replied that she had no wish to travel, and felt no repugnance to solitude. " But," said she, " I must go forth to beg my bread, since in this wilderness there is none but yourself to feed me; and moreover, when it is known that I have healed the goatherd, curious folk and scandal- mongers may seek me out, and, learning whence I come, drag me back to the cloister." Then the Hermit answemd her and said; "In the early days, when the faith of Christ was first preached, there were holy women who fled to the desert and lived there in solitude, to the glory of God and the edification of their sex. If you are minded to embrace so austere a life, contenting you with such sustenance as the wilder- ness yields, and wearing out your days in prayer and vigil, it may be that you shall make amends for the great sin [30] AND THE WILD WOMAN you have committed, and live and die in the peace of the Lord Jesus." He spoke thus, knowing that if she left him and returned to her roaming, hunger and fear might drive her to fresh sin; whereas in a life of penance aid reclusion her eyes might be opened to her iniquity. He saw that his words moved her, and she seemed about to consent, and embrace a life of holiness; but suddenly she fell silent, and looked down on the vaUey at their feet. "A stream flows in the glen below us," she said. "Do you forbid me to bathe in it in the heat of summer?" "It is not I that forbid you, my daughter, but the laws of God," said the Hermit; "yet see how miraculously heaven protects you-for in the hot season, when your lust i3 upon you, our stream runs dry, and temptation will f« removed from you. Moreover on these heights there is no excess of heat to madden the body, but always, before dawn and at the angelus, a cool breeze which refreehes it like water." And after thinking long on this, and again receiving his promise not to betray her, the Wild Woman agreed to embrace a life of reclusion; and the Hermit feU on his knees, worshipping God and rejoicing to think that, if he saved his sister from sin, his own term of probation would be shortened. [31] I u .■if I 'J" UK IIKUMIT VI 'T^HKRKAFTER for two ji-aM tlie Hermit and the -'- Wild Woman lived side by side, meeting I "ethei to pray on the great feast-days of the year, but on all other days dwelling apart, engaged in pious practices. At first the Hermit, knowing the weakness of woman, and hcT little aptitude for the life apart, had feared that he might be disturbed by the nearness of his penitent; but she faithfully held to hij commands, abstaining from all sight of him save on the Days of Obligation; and when they met, so modest and devout was her demeanour that she raised his soul to fresh fervency. And gradually it grew sweet to him to think that, near by though unseen, was one who performed the same tasks at the same hours; so that, whether he tended his garden, or recited his chap- let, or rose under the stars to repeat the midnight office, he had a companion in all his labours and devotions. Meanwhile the report had spread abroad that a holy woman who cast out devils had made her dwelling in the Hermit's cliff; and many sick persons from the valley sought her out, and went away restored by her. These poor pilgrims brought her oil and flour, and with her own hands she made a garden like the Hermit's, and planted it with corn and lentils; but she would never take a trout from the brook, or receive the gift of a snared wild-fowl, for she said that in her vagrant life the wild creatures of the wood had [38] AND THE WILD WOMAN befriended her, and a, she had ,lept in peace am >ng then,, so now she would never suffer them to be nmlesled. In the third year came a plague, and death walked the cities, and many iK)or peasants fled to the hills to esoa]* 't. These the Hermit and his ,»nitent failhfullv tended and so skilful were the Wild Woman's ministralions that the report of them reached the town across the valley and a deputation of burgesses came with rich otfcrlng, ond besought her to descend and comfort their sick. The' Hermit, seeing her depart on so dangerous a mission would have accompanied her, but she bade him remain and tend those who fled to the hills; and for many days his heart was consumed in prayer for her, and he feared lest every fugitive should bring him word of her death. But at length she returned, wearicj-out but whole and covered with the bl««ings of the townsfolk; and there- after her name for holiness spread as wide as the Ilermifs. Seeing how constant she remained in her chosen life and what advance she had made in the way of ,K^rfection' the Hermit no^. !elt that it behooved him to exhort her again to return to the convent; and more than once he resolved to speak with her, but his heart hung back. At length he bethought him that by failing in this duty he ■mperilled his own soul, and thereupon, on the next feast- day, when they met, he reminded her that in spite of her good works she still hved in sin and excommunicate, and that, now she had once more tasted the sweets of godli- [38] h; 11 ii THE HERMIT new, it was her duty to mnlem her fault and give berwlf up to her ierlors. She heard him meekly, but when he had »|)oken she was silent and her tears ran over; and loiiking at her lie wept also, and said no more. And they prayed together, and re- tumef n w„maii\ l„Hly-Hr..l on the Imnk liiv Ihi- \M Wiiiniin'ii K'lwri anil NimliiN. Fear .in.l rnp- |k««-,m.,I t|,c l|erniil'» hcnrt, nn.l he sUhm[ as on,. «nitl,.>, dmnb. .-..vrriiiK I'in <■><•» from Ihc ,hnm,-. riul ll„. ,onK of tho «|M'r..a.l„nK pilKrini,, """'"'■'' '''-f »"-' "I'ltrer, aiul h.- .rid ariKril), In the Wild Woman (o rome forth and hide herv^lf fr„„, the people. She mad.- no answer, but in the dusk he .saw her liniln »w«y with the ,«aur,p water, and her eves were lnrne,| to him as if in nioek.rv. . the siRhl fury fi I hi.n, an.l elambering over the r.Hks to the [xH>rs e-lge he In^nt down nnd eau^hl h.r by the shoniiler. . that moment heeuuld have strangle,! her with hi.s hands, so abhorrent was the toueh of h.r llc,l, : but as he ericd out. heapiuR her with eruel names, he sjiw that lier eyes iffnn»-,| his |,x,k without wavering: and su.ldenly it n,me to him that .she was .lead. Then throuRh all hi,, anger and fear a gr..al pang smote him; for here was his work undone, and one he had loved in