FORBIDDEN GROUND
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 BY 
 GILBERT WATSON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 MCMX
 
 Copyright, 1910, by 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A GIRL and a man stood facing each other on a lonely 
 mountain path. Around them, red in the setting sun, 
 rose the frontier hills of Albania. Something savage 
 about the scene which the mellow light failed to soften, 
 something primitive and, as it were, the expression of 
 unrestrained nature, struck a kindred note with the two 
 figures standing on the desolate track. They, too, were 
 of the mountains a hill-man and a hill-woman wearing 
 the semi-barbarous costume of their race. 
 
 There was that in their attitudes and faces that told 
 of a crisis, for the meeting was big with import in the 
 life of each. 
 
 The girl was a splendid specimen of dawning woman- 
 hood. 
 
 It was undoubtedly her eyes that, more than all else, 
 compelled admiration. Neither her face nor her figure 
 had greater claim to loveliness than had those of many 
 another girl of her race a race justly renowned for the 
 good looks of its women but the tragic beauty of her 
 eyes was all her own. 
 
 There was something arresting in her companion, no 
 less than in her. His tall, gaunt frame, so emaciated 
 as to suggest some wasting illness, either of mind or 
 body, was not without indications of strength, for his 
 shoulders were broad, his hands big and knotted. His 
 face, cast in a large rough mould, somewhat coarse as 
 to feature, hinted at violent passions. The eyes, close 
 together and deeply sunken, glittered from under heavy 
 overhanging eyebrows, glittered with a savage and 
 sombre concentration that was ominous, disquieting. 
 The mouth partly concealed by a ragged moustache 
 was unpleasantly indicative of sensuality. The whole 
 effect of the man, as he stood there, less intent upon 
 1 1 
 
 2138816
 
 2 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 the girl before him than upon his own dark and brood- 
 ing thoughts, was one that would have awed, and possibly 
 even alarmed, a spectator; for in eyes, expression, atti- 
 tude, there was a suggestion of imminent violence, of 
 emotions so overwrought as to be upon the verge of an 
 outbreak. 
 
 The girl appeared to be waiting for him to speak, and 
 yet her expression told of one more intent upon some 
 all-engrossing dream of her own than of one merely 
 expectant. The light in her eyes glowed pensive, tender, 
 with an undercurrent of girlish seriousness. Something 
 indescribable in them spoke of the momentous and 
 illuminating knowledge that comes only with the lifting 
 of life's curtain; but in her case the freshness and the 
 innocence of girlhood hers still by right of years 
 though forfeited, had not taken flight, but lingered, loath 
 to leave, transferring their allegiance gladly from the 
 maiden to the woman. 
 
 For the moment she did not see this man upon whom 
 she looked and whom she had come to meet some 
 wonderful vision, born in the inmost and most sacred 
 chamber of a woman's heart, held her enrapt. 
 
 The wind, precursor of the night, struck chill at her, 
 but she was unconscious of it. Dreaming she stood; 
 herself as fair as any dream; a young presence strangely 
 sweet, strangely full of budding life among this great 
 chaos of dead and barren rocks. 
 
 The man was the first to rouse himself. 
 
 " Zetitzka," he said. 
 
 "Yes, Stephanos? " 
 
 There is everything in the enunciation of a name. Hers 
 was shot forth abruptly, harshly, with effort. It betrayed 
 neither ardour nor satiety, though in the swift glance that 
 accompanied it lurked fear. His name was spoken timidly, 
 interrogatively, with gentle acquiescence, though with an 
 unconscious and entire absence of that soul to soul equality 
 that is the foundation of abiding love. In her eyes re- 
 called suddenly from inward vision this submissive at- 
 titude was still more observant; it was as if the sunshine 
 of her nature were overcast by the shadow of his, as a 
 smiling landscape is darkened by the sombre passage of 
 a cloud.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 3 
 
 He hesitated, shifted his footing restlessly like one ill 
 at ease, clasping and unclasping the coarse folds of his 
 capot with nervous, bony fingers. As she stood waiting 
 he cast another glance at her, full of conflicting emotions ; 
 then, as though unable to face her clear and unsuspecting 
 gaze, his eyes drooped moodily to the ground. 
 
 " I know not how to tell you," he muttered. 
 
 " I have something to tell you, too," she whispered. 
 
 He clenched his fists. 
 
 " I must," he vociferated angrily, labouring under 
 suppressed excitement, his deep-set eyes suddenly blazing 
 with a wild and irrational intensity. " I tell you I must. 
 Listen do not speak. Last night I had a dream. God 
 spoke to me. He knows all. Do you hear? He knows 
 all!" 
 
 Her brows contracted. That his exaggerated manner 
 (exaggerated beyond even the Southern impetuosity that 
 was his birthright as well as hers) caused her uneasiness 
 and even pain was evident; still, with a tact born of ex- 
 perience, she remained silent. 
 
 " He is angry. I tell you He knows all our meetings 
 our sin and we who thought our secret safe ! Fools ! 
 We forgot Him." 
 
 She would have laid a calming hand on his arm, but 
 he shrank from her. 
 
 " If He has seen us, Stephanos, He understands. The 
 priest says that He reads our hearts that He will forgive 
 us when She hesitated, then raising her head 
 
 proudly : ' ' You need not fear. I am not afraid. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But I do fear not only that, but if you had seen ! 
 Had heard ! And the sin the deadly sin ! I was mad. I 
 thought it Love ! ' ' He gesticulated with savage irony. 
 " I loved nothing nothing, but my own passions, God for- 
 give me! " 
 
 The blank consternation in her face caused him to burst 
 forth again. 
 
 " It was the devil. He tempted me ay, with you! 
 
 These eyes of yours! I was as one drunken! I " he 
 
 muttered incoherently; then, with sombre conviction, " You 
 never loved me either, Zetitzka." 
 
 For the first time her nature seemed to catch fire, to 
 flame responsive. A passionate denial leapt to her lips,
 
 4 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 but she crushed it back. Unaware of her self-control, he 
 continued : 
 
 " I knew. I felt it. Many a time I have felt you 
 shrink. That is not love. Love casts out fear. Our 
 past is black with sin. You tempted me, and I fell. I 
 was brutal to you. I don't deny it. I don't blame you. 
 It was the devil; you could not help being a woman. 
 Women are made to tempt men's souls with My God, 
 don't look at me like that! " His voice rose in harsh re- 
 monstrance, then sank again into sombre reminiscence: 
 !< If I had power over you, you had power over me, too 
 devilish, damnable power, consuming as the flames of hell. 
 I stand at the turning of the ways. This night is my soul 
 demanded of me. Eternal life or everlasting damnation. 
 My flesh is weak, diseased. You are the poison in it. But 
 I will conquer ! I will wash in blood the blood of Christ ! 
 I will, I tell you, I will! " 
 
 A frenzied earnestness rang in his utterances. One could 
 see that he was in the grip of a terrible fear, spurred on 
 his selfish and merciless way by the memory of a terrible 
 danger. 
 
 Confronting him, motionless, his companion listened. 
 Accustomed though she was to his black moods, his fits 
 of morose and fanatical apprehension, she had never seen 
 him thus violent. As a rule, these morbid searchings alter- 
 nated with, or followed immediately after, some bout of 
 merely animal passion, but this time no physical pander- 
 ing to his senses preceded the outburst. He had come to 
 this meeting charged with some incontrollable emotion that 
 shook his whole being as a guilt-laden soul is shaken by 
 conscience at the hour of death. 
 
 She stood bewildered, pained beyond expression, 
 wounded in her tenderest and most sacred feelings. Then, 
 his worn and distraught appearance appealing to her 
 womanly pity, she found only excuses for him in her heart. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," she said gently. " Do not make 
 yourself unhappy. "When one is ill one exaggerates. God 
 knows that I did not mean to tempt you. I was ignorant. 
 You took me unprepared. And later now how could 
 I refuse you anything? All that I am is yours. I do not 
 know myself. I seem to have no pride left." She pressed 
 her hands to her eyes, thinking painfully, then went on:
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 5 
 
 " I know you love me in spite of these wild words. God 
 knows it, too. He wishes to bless our love, for for He 
 
 has sent " She hesitated. A shy, tremulous light 
 
 shone in her eyes, and the quick colour dyed her face. 
 
 But the girlish confidence that might have changed all, 
 was cut from her lips by his irresponsible violence. 
 
 " I shall go mad," he vociferated wildly, clasping his 
 head with his hands. " Will you not understand? We 
 must part. I came here to tell you. ' ' 
 
 She stared at him uncomprehending. He continued : 
 
 " This must stop. God forbids it. We were blind; but 
 now my eyes are opened. I have a soul to save. There is 
 but one way. All my life it has called me; but, though I 
 knew it would win at the last, I kept putting it off. Then 
 you came you, with your eyes, your proud ways that bent 
 to my will, your body that would seduce a saint ; and I for- 
 got all except the devouring hunger for you. What did 
 you see in me, Zetitzka? Why did you think you loved 
 me? I was no wooer. I am rugged like these rocks 
 savage and lonely like an eagle with a dead mate. It was 
 the devil 's plot. I was tinder, you the spark. Which shall 
 God blame because the furnace roared? " 
 
 He broke off, his words muttering low; then abruptly 
 raising his head, continued: 
 
 " Don't think I try to excuse myself. I am the worst 
 
 of sinners, but but " He stammered in desperate 
 
 eagerness. " I may yet escape damnation. I must never 
 see you again. I must work out my salvation with stripes 
 and bitter tears. No need to speak. All is arranged. I 
 would have told you before but I feared the lust of the 
 
 flesh was upon me Come, don't stand there like a 
 
 stone! After all, you are young you will forget it 
 might be worse. Come, say good-bye, Zetitzka ; I go now. ' ' 
 
 " You go now? " 
 
 He gave a sullen gesture of assent. There was a long 
 pause. 
 
 The gulf of silence, widening momentarily, threatened to 
 become the memorable margin of a life-long separation. 
 The girl felt this, and became afraid. With a terrible 
 sinking of the heart she realised her impotence, her helpless 
 inadequacy. The blow had found her so unprepared. 
 Many things suggested themselves to her, as her thoughts
 
 6 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 surged this way and that; things she might say, useless 
 things, angry things, piteous things; but a dawning sense 
 of the supreme importance of the moment saved her from 
 uttering them. Something horribly vital was in the bal- 
 ance ; a word might make all the difference, might fix their 
 relation for ever. 
 
 In this girl's mind unforeseen catastrophe was giving 
 birth to courage the moral courage that stares ugly and 
 naked facts full in the face. For the first time she 
 emerged from timidities, indecisions, from the shadow of 
 another, and became a personality. Her one instinctive 
 desire, groping and pathetically inexperienced, yet reso- 
 lute in its brave sincerity, was to get at the truth, to 
 find out where she stood with this man, so that she might 
 cope with the evil that had overwhelmed her. 
 
 All at once, as she stared into the blackness, a glimmer 
 rewarded her; she met it courageously, though it spelt 
 despair. 
 
 ' ' I see, ' ' she said slowly, ' ' you have grown tired of me. ' ' 
 
 His hot denial, sincere for even at the very moment 
 of her accusation he was invaded by longing that needed 
 all his strength to crush carried no conviction to her. 
 She silenced him with a gesture. 
 
 " It must be so, or She broke off; then, as though 
 
 conscious of some bitter irony that eluded his knowledge, 
 ' ' And you tell me this to-night ? ' ! 
 
 He looked at her in sombre surprise, but she was gazing 
 past him with an expression that he could not fathom. 
 For a moment his dull, self-centred brain wondered if 
 there were depths in this young girl which he had not 
 sounded ; if there were aught in her indeed beyond physical 
 perfection, the lure that had ensnared his soul. As he 
 wondered, a look of unmistakable horror stamped itself 
 upon her every feature. 
 
 " No ! " she cried, wheeling upon him passionately, ' ' I 
 will not tell you. You are not worthy of it. But you can- 
 not, you shall not go ! You must be a devil even to think 
 of it ! I will tell everyone. I will force you to stay. Do 
 
 you hear? Force you! To desert me now now 
 
 Something rose in her throat, but she gulped it down. 
 " Holy Jesus! No, that would be too infamous! " 
 
 The fierce rush of emotions shook her. In her bitter
 
 resentment, with head held high and eyes that flamed, 
 she filled him with consternation. He stared speechless, 
 though there was nothing in his sullen lowering brows that 
 told of yielding. 
 
 A pause, then a swift change came over her. 
 
 "Stephanos," she said brokenly, ''forgive me! I I 
 don't know what I was saying. I didn't mean a word 
 of it. Don't be angry. I was mad. But see, I am calm 
 now. I smile." She smiled up at him through her tears. 
 " I have been wicked. It has all been my fault. But, oh, 
 don't punish me like this! I can't bear it. I'll do any- 
 thing you like anything. Only don't leave me. I shall 
 be alone Stephanos! The shame I can't bear it. Oh, 
 Stephanos, for the love of the sweet Virgin, don't leave 
 me! " 
 
 She clung to him. She sought to kiss his rough hand 
 with her trembling, tear-salt lips. None could have lis- 
 tened unmoved. Few could have denied aught to one so 
 young, so pathetically appealing. But this man hardened 
 his heart. 
 
 There was something final about his attitude, as, dis- 
 engaging himself, he stood aloof. As Zetitzka gazed at 
 him, hope fled, but pride came to her aid. She drew her. 
 self up. 
 
 " What am I to say to my parents? " she asked. 
 
 He raised his head, but avoided her eyes. 
 
 " No need to say anything." 
 
 " They will have to know soon." She whispered the 
 words more to herself than to him. The marvel was that 
 her secret remained undiscovered. 
 
 But he only shrugged his shoulders. No words could 
 more callously have conveyed his indifference to all that 
 did not concern his soul's salvation. She looked up at 
 him with a quick, penetrating glance, as though indeed she 
 were seeing him for the first time, seeing him as he really 
 was. She had taken the first fateful step. At present, con- 
 scious only of the bewilderment, the incredulity of this 
 sudden immense disillusionment, the shattering of dreams 
 how secretly, how tenderly cherished ! the rawness of a 
 wound newly inflicted, and the paralysing dread of a 
 future full of loneliness and horror, she knew not whither 
 this was to lead her but she was soon to find out. This
 
 8 
 
 one man had been the entire sex to her. She looked at 
 him and wondered : ' ' Are all men like this ? ' ' 
 
 " There is more than that," she said at last, forcing 
 herself to speak. " They believe that that we are to be 
 married. ' ' 
 
 He started as though stung, for marriage had now no 
 place in his thoughts. His pale face flushed. 
 
 " Who told how did they know? " 
 
 " I told them." 
 
 He stared at her, speechless, fear contending with anger. 
 
 " They saw us together. They questioned me. You do 
 not know them I tried but they would have the truth. ' ' 
 ' The truth? " 
 
 "Yes, I thought so. God help me! I I was proud 
 of it ! You said once that night otherwise do you think 
 that I would would ever have " 
 
 She buried her face in her hands. He waited, his eyes 
 fixed moodily on the ground. 
 
 The sun had withdrawn his rays. The afterglow, rosy 
 and luminous as a tropical shell, suffused the scene. No 
 sound from the world of nature, save the bleating of dis- 
 tant goats, came to the ear. The hour was one of infinite 
 peace. 
 
 Stephanos was the first to move. Taking a small leathern 
 wallet from an inner pocket he looked at it, hesitated, 
 then proffered it to his companion. She did not see it. 
 
 " Take this," he said, in a voice of one awkwardly try- 
 ing to make amends. 
 
 She raised her head, but no look of comprehension came 
 into her face. 
 
 ' Tis a thousand drachmae. Tis little, but " 
 
 " Money! " she cried. He quailed before her eyes, then 
 with visible confusion, not unmixed with the coarser 
 nature's astonishment, he returned the wallet to his pocket. 
 
 " I meant for the best," he muttered, eyeing her askance. 
 " I have sold the house. I shall have no need of money 
 where I am going. Zetitzka " he stretched out a hand, 
 but as he noted the pale and unnatural rigidity of her 
 expression it fell limply to his side. " Let me do some- 
 thing for you, as as a friend. Your parents are poor- 
 nay, I mean no offence I am no Arnaut, I have known
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 9 
 
 what it is to be rich. This would bring them comforts. 
 Well, if you will not but I thought " 
 
 He broke off, plucked nervously at the hem of his 
 cloak, then spoke again: 
 
 " Do you blame me? You would not if you had heard 
 what I did last night. Do you not see ? The devil brought 
 us together. God is snatching us apart. It is His will. 
 He calls me. I must obey." 
 
 His tone had become the exalted utterance of the fanatic, 
 but neither by word nor look did the girl beside him show 
 that she heard. 
 
 " Good-bye," he muttered with increased awkwardness. 
 Then, as she still continued silent: 
 
 " It will soon be night. Let me see you start on your 
 homeward way." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 He watched her for a moment without speaking, then 
 suddenly, with an upward gesture of the hands as though 
 calling upon God to witness, he turned abruptly and strode 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A YEAR passed. Again the valleys sought to nurse their 
 scanty greenery through the long droughts of summer; 
 again, sinking to the mountain summits, the sun deluged 
 the world in fire; and, again, two figures might have been 
 seen on the path which led towards the Albanian frontier. 
 
 Both were women, one young, the other old Zetitzka 
 and her mother. Before them, but still remote, the hills 
 that immediately overlook the plains of Thessaly were 
 faintly visible. The elder woman carried a bundle, the 
 younger a baby. The former was at no pains to conceal 
 her fatigue. As she stumbled onwards she kept up a 
 grumbling monologue ; anathematising the stones, the grow- 
 ing darkness, and the necessity that had forced her to un- 
 dertake so arduous a journey. 
 
 But Zetitzka uttered no complaint. Her figure, dark 
 against the golden background, swayed as she sought to 
 avoid the larger stones that formed a growing danger as 
 the light ebbed slowly into the west. As far as could be 
 seen, both women wore the dress of Albanians of the better 
 class: the coarse shoes, the legs swathed in innumerable 
 bandages, and the ample red cloak that, concealing all 
 minor deficiencies, forms so complete a disguise to young 
 and old. 
 
 The face of Zetitzka was visible, flushed now to the colour 
 of clear sunset; for the dying rose that steeped all things 
 mantled her cheeks and brow. 
 
 She had changed in the year that had elapsed; had lost 
 some of her youthfulness, had grown thinner, paler, but 
 retained all the old interest-compelling quality which was 
 to her as a distinctive atmosphere; the essence of her 
 personality. The regard of her eyes was deeper than of 
 yore ; more sternly reticent. Their beauty was still incon- 
 testable, but they were now possessed by a hard light, as 
 of fires eternally smouldering, kept alive by the memory 
 
 10
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 11 
 
 of some abiding wrong a wrong too great for expression, 
 too bitter for tears. 
 
 The mouth betrayed change too. Nature had framed 
 it for smiles and girlish laughter, but life had taught it to 
 shut tight lips upon pain. 
 
 There was something hideous and cruel in this thwart- 
 ing of kindly impulses, this moral starvation that had 
 turned a gladsome young spirit into a brooding soul. Yet 
 even as a tree, blackened by lightning, treasures unwit- 
 tingly within its heart that which will one day welcome 
 the spring, so also in Zetitzka's face something survived that 
 was destined to defy fate. 
 
 They walked Zetitzka in front, her mother behind 
 slowly yet steadily, as befitted travellers who have come 
 from far. The old woman hobbled slightly, but Zetitzka, 
 in spite of her fatigue, moved with the easy, graceful 
 carriage of a hill-woman, pausing occasionally to shift the 
 bundle she was carrying from one arm to the other. "When- 
 ever she did so, she would gaze at the little sleeper. At 
 such moments her face softened ; a shadowy light, infinitely 
 pathetic and tender, shone in her dark eyes, but only for 
 a moment, for as she resumed the road, the old expression, 
 hard and grievous to see, took its place. 
 
 From behind her came always the long-drawn querulous 
 monologue of her mother, a dreary depressing sound that 
 seemed to Zetitzka, accustomed though she was to inter- 
 minable complaints, to be one with the encroaching gloom, 
 with the sad light dying slowly in the west, and with the 
 unknown perils of this journey upon which she had em- 
 barked. 
 
 And thus they fared forward, mother and daughter, 
 two small and insignificant figures, slowly moving, in that 
 great waste of rock-strewn hills. 
 
 All at once Zetitzka came to a standstill. 
 ' We have come far enough," she said in a low voice, 
 " Nik Leka told me that we must wait on the hillside till 
 we saw a light." 
 
 The old woman sank on to a stone. In the dusk she 
 had the air of a shapeless sack flung to the ground. 
 
 "Holy Virgin!" she mumbled. "How my legs do 
 ache J We must have walked for ten hours at least. How
 
 12 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 dark it is! Your father will be having his supper now. 
 And I alone can do his rice as he likes it. Thank God, 
 I shall be home to-morrow! Are you sure Nik Leka said 
 that ? How do you know this is the place ? What is that ? 
 There? Over there? Holy Saints! " 
 
 She pointed her skinny finger at something that appeared 
 to threaten vaguely with extended arms. 
 
 " That is the tree he told me about," explained Zetitzka 
 in a low voice. " The village is below us. Nik Leka said 
 there was a blood-feud, and that they have barricaded the 
 houses and we might get shot. He is to be in the Khan 
 to-night, and promised to get the Khanje to show a light 
 when it was safe for us to come. ' ' 
 
 The wind blew lightly, wailing over the vast expanse, 
 stirring the thin mountain-grass and snatching at the gar- 
 ments of the two women. Overhead, a few small clouds 
 still retained the flush of the departed sun. Above the 
 dark outline of hills that shut them in, now black as night, 
 the pale green of the heavens was lit by one star. The 
 sound of running water murmured softly, a melancholy 
 plaint as of far-off singing in the darkness. The whole 
 scene was deeply impregnated with the indescribable sad- 
 ness that comes with night a sadness born of mystery, of 
 loneliness, and the death of all bright things. 
 
 The old woman groaned again. 
 
 " You are tired? " murmured Zetitzka; " it was good 
 of you to come so far with me. But I wish " 
 
 The sentence remained unfinished. Her voice had all 
 the hopelessness of one who knows her wishes to be in 
 vain. 
 
 * ' Tired ! ' ' snapped the querulous voice in the dusk, * ' I 
 am dead. These stones have cut my shoes. I don't know 
 what your father will say. I had hard work to persuade 
 him to let me come with you. 'Tis nothing but work, 
 work, work, what with your illness and his being crippled ; 
 and now that you are going to be away 
 
 She broke off with a self -pitying ejaculation ; then, after 
 a moment's pause, continued: 
 
 " And your baby! Why did you bring him? I will 
 have to carry him back to-morrow I, alone. But you 
 never think of me. No, I am no one. Lord, how my 
 feet ache! "
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 13 
 
 Zetitzka looked downwards at the small body held so 
 close to her heart. 
 
 " You need not grudge me this last day," she said with 
 effort then, with a sudden catch in her voice, " I I may 
 not see him for a long time perhaps, never again." 
 
 " Nonsense! If all goes well you will be back in less 
 than a week. But 'tis a pity your father could not have 
 done it for you. It would have been more natural. Tis 
 your bad fortune, Zetitzka, no male relatives. Holy Vir- 
 gin, these stones are hard ! But, as I said only last night, 
 if my brother had lived he was a proper man but they 
 killed him at last, peace be to his soul though of all men 
 he disliked peace the most. Fight ! He was always fight- 
 ing. He stabbed four men, as you have heard often. Why 
 doesn't that pedlar show a light? Do you think he has 
 forgotten? Ay, ay, no male relatives. That is what 
 troubles your father. He has a fine spirit, Zetitzka, in 
 spite of his legs. I thought he would have burst a blood- 
 vessel when I told him of your misfortune. But he never 
 saw it for himself. Not he. Men are stupid, but you can- 
 not deceive a woman, above all, a mother." 
 
 She clucked throatily. 
 
 ' * I never wished to deceive you, ' ' muttered Zetitzka. 
 
 " You did," shrilled the old woman. " You pretended 
 he was going to marry you. Marriage ! Yah ! And what 
 a husband ! A wretch who worked his wicked will on you, 
 then ran away to a monastery. Coward ! ' ' 
 
 She expectorated angrily. Zetitzka did not answer. 
 She was staring stonily into the gloom. This talk was 
 but one of many, endured patiently, as day after day she 
 had gone about her household tasks with all the bitterness 
 and pathos of the grief she could not express, even to her- 
 self, locked within her heart. 
 
 " But we will have him yet," burst forth the voice by 
 her side in savage exultation. " He did not think that 
 Nik Leka would see him and bring the news over the 
 frontier to us. No, he did not calculate on that. He, only 
 a niggardly trader, so they say ! Stabbing is too good for 
 him. I would tear his heart out and give it to the dogs. 
 By the Saints, your father was right ! ' She must revenge 
 herself,' said he, and I tell you, Zetitzka, I thought he
 
 14 FOKBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 would have broken his crutch upon the floor. * Or by the 
 Almighty God, I will curse her child.' " 
 
 " Mother! " 
 
 The girlish voice rang out sharply, with a high keen 
 note of pain. The old woman uttered a complacent croak. 
 
 " Ah, that touches you, does it? So much the better. 
 I cannot see your face, but it ought to be red with shame. 
 To bring disgrace upon us Arnauts as we are! You 
 that we thought so young, so innocent! Your father is 
 right, he 
 
 " Oh, say no more! " cried the girl, goaded to utter- 
 ance. " You have said it all so often. I have done wrong. 
 My God, yes! Do you think I don't suffer? But what 
 is the good of speech? I have promised. I will keep my 
 word. ' ' 
 
 " That may be," muttered the old woman, somewhat 
 abashed. " But how was I to know ? You did not tell me 
 till you were forced to do so. You have always been a 
 secret one, Zetitzka. Besides, when a girl loves " 
 
 " Loves! " 
 
 The word blazed out. The old woman's jaw fell. Ap- 
 prehensively she stared upwards at the dark and rigid 
 figure by her side. A pause, then the words came : 
 
 "I tell you I hate him! Hate him! Hate him! " 
 She dashed her hand across her eyes, as though with that 
 fierce gesture she could slay all womanly weakness. Her 
 young voice rang hard: " When he deserted me, I I 
 oh, I can't talk about it! " With a passionate motion of 
 the hands she relapsed into silence. 
 
 " I knew that," croaked her mother complacently. 
 " When I put your baby to your breast for the first time, 
 I knew it then. You remember, Zetitzka? You snatched 
 yourself from the child and devoured him with eyes that 
 said as plain as words : ' Is he like ? ' And then you 
 gave a great sigh of content and fell back in the bed, for 
 there was no more likeness to that that scoundrel, than 
 between a yataghan and a broom-handle. You re- 
 member? " 
 
 There came a muffled assent. 
 
 ' ' Ay, ay, well, I went straight to your father and said : 
 ' Marco, do not trouble yourself. She will do it.' ' 
 
 Zetitzka shuddered, though the night air was warm. A
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 15 
 
 terrible depression invaded her. The foundations of her 
 being seemed to have been demolished. Her pride was 
 in the dust; her heart atrophied; an apparent callousness 
 possessed her, the petrifaction of every gentle, tender, or 
 lively feeling. Her own self-contempt was so immense that 
 what others might think had become almost a matter of 
 indifference. They could never judge her as unmerci- 
 fully as she judged herself. Daily, nay hourly, she was 
 arraigned before the judgment seat of her own finer feel- 
 ings, found guilty, and given over to the torture of re- 
 morseful thoughts. Even her mother's nagging left her 
 unmoved. She had ceased to care. Suffering had at least 
 done that for her. She hugged her pain close, taking a 
 cruel and unnatural pleasure in the gnawing ache that 
 was her companion by day and by night. 
 
 Two things only had power to rouse her: thoughts of 
 her child, and of the man who had ruined her. The 
 former awoke passionate, primitive, and complex emo- 
 tions. The mother in her was strong, fierce, jealous a 
 tigress defending her cub. For her child's sake she bit- 
 terly resented the contemptuous pity, or open condemnation 
 of her associates. She repaid scorn with scorn. In- 
 stinctively she sought to hide the little one from all un- 
 loving eyes. When alone with it she would pour out upon 
 its tiny and unconscious person torrents of dammed-up 
 tenderness, devouring it with kisses, smiling and "weeping 
 over it alternately, seeking with all the thwarted affec- 
 tion of a heart by nature warm and passionate to make up 
 to it with a boundless idolatry for the contumely of a 
 hostile world. 
 
 For the man she felt only hatred. Her love if love 
 it had ever been was dead. It had sprung rather from 
 imagination than from the heart the devotion for a 
 Stephanos who had never existed. His influence over 
 her had been compounded of a mysterious fascination, a 
 physical and almost mesmeric force that had paralysed 
 her will, blinded her vision, and overruled her sense of 
 right and wrong. For the time her mental balance had 
 been upset. This man's dark and masterful personality 
 had dominated her trusting, innocent, and wholly un- 
 sophisticated soul the soul of a woman in which lurked 
 the seeds of all love and hate, all self-sacrifice and revenge.
 
 16 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 She had been in love with love; not with Stephanos. 
 Wooed more by the whisper of innocent hopes than by 
 any words of his, she had attributed these new and over- 
 whelming emotions to love, translating his culpable weak- 
 ness into strength, his merely animal passion into a noble 
 and lifelong devotion. 
 
 Now, she knew. The shock of her awakening had been 
 terrible. The selfishness of his desertion stood out in all 
 its repellant nakedness. The injustice of it was what 
 inflamed her most, for her sense of justice, though primi- 
 tive, was unerring. For her child's sake, as well as her 
 own, she now hated him with a fierce and undying hatred 
 that longed to see him dead at her feet. 
 
 The outraged pride of her parents had fanned this in- 
 stinctive passion. By every cruel means within their 
 power, they had driven home to her poor wounded heart 
 the conviction that the death of her betrayer was the one 
 and only way to redeem the family honour, remove the 
 stigma from her child, and re-establish her good name. 
 
 And she listened day after day, passing insensibly 
 through the many stages that lie between the dumb apathy 
 of suffering and the dumb apathy of acquiescence; till 
 there had grown up within her the unalterable conviction 
 that such an act of personal vengeance was inevitable, her 
 duty before God and man, towards her parents, her child 
 and herself. 
 
 Nor was such a conclusion unnatural when her birth 
 and upbringing are taken into consideration. 
 
 Zetitzka came of a wild Albanian stock Arnaut moun- 
 taineers, accustomed to treat assassination as a justifiable 
 means of removing an adversary, or of wiping out a stain 
 upon the honour of the assassin. Had she been told that 
 to stab a man in the back was a dastardly deed, she would 
 have stared with incredulity. Despite the laws that for- 
 bade Christians to carry arms in Albania, had not her 
 ancestors stalked proudly through the streets bristling 
 with weapons? Had they not murdered their enemies 
 how and where they pleased? Did not the feeble Govern- 
 ment wink at assassination, the very gendarmes cringing 
 to the man who could boast of a foe removed by yataghan 
 or pistol? One of her earliest recollections was the return 
 of her notorious uncle after a week passed in the prosecu-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 17 
 
 tion of a blood-feud. A decapitated head had dangled 
 from his sash. He had been welcomed with admiring 
 congratulations. Even so her parents had told her times 
 without number would she be received when, her mission 
 accomplished, she returned to her native village. 
 
 She was roused from sombre meditations by the voice 
 of her mother. 
 
 " The light. Zetitzka, the light! " 
 
 Zetitzka strained her eyes in the direction of the hamlet. 
 There, sure enough, in the pit of blackness, was a tiny 
 point of light. Clasping her baby to her breast, and fol- 
 lowed by the old woman, she began to descend the hill.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SUPPER in the Kahn was over. The men had squatted 
 round an immense fire of logs piled in the middle of the 
 mud floor; they had cut up the roasted sheep with their 
 yataghans, torn it to pieces with their fingers, crammed 
 savoury morsels alternately into their mouths and into 
 their saddlebags as a contribution towards the next day's 
 provisions. Eaki and patoulis (cakes of maize cooked in 
 wood ashes) had been passed around. The women of the 
 party had herded in the background and shared with the 
 dogs the remains of the feast. Occasionally, one of the 
 men had tossed a bone to Zetitzka's mother. The aged 
 crone had grabbed it eagerly, and, holding it in her skinny 
 hands, had sucked at it with toothless chaps. Sometimes 
 the bone had been snatched from her by a dog, causing 
 her to utter shrill cries of anger, to the loud amusement 
 of the men. 
 
 Zetitzka had been unable to eat more than a few mouth- 
 fuls. The food stuck in her throat. Shrinkingly self- 
 conscious, she had tried to conceal herself behind her 
 mother, but the fierce light of the fire, seeming to point 
 her out, made all efforts at concealment vain. Her face 
 attracted the unwelcome admiration of the men, and her 
 child the equally unwelcome comments of the women. All 
 seemed to know her story, and the want of reticence of 
 her mother added greatly to her discomfiture. 
 
 Two people only took compassion on her Nik Leka, 
 the pedlar, and the wife of the Khanje. The former was 
 a little wizened old man, lame from a gunshot wound, 
 and blind in one eye from the cut of a yataghan. His 
 fearlessness was talked of even in this land of fearless men. 
 It was related of him, that being set upon by bandits he 
 had killed two in fair fight and had driven the third be- 
 fore him, bound, at the point of his yataghan to the nearest 
 village. Though taciturn, he had yet the gift of song, 
 and was much in request at social gatherings. For the 
 
 18
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 19 
 
 rest, he was wild, powerful, dirty, extremely hairy, un- 
 kempt, a shrewd wit, though bluff to the point of brutality, 
 and, like a sound but malformed nut, sweet at the core. 
 
 Taking in the state of things with one flash of his 
 solitary eye, he drew attention upon himself with a coarse 
 jest that set everyone laughing. 
 
 " What has come to him? " chuckled the village head- 
 man, his red face flaming in the brandished light of the 
 fire. " 'Tis as good as a play." 
 
 " He will be passing his hat round next," mumbled the 
 blacksmith, gnawing at a bone. 
 
 " Ay, round thee," grunted Nik Leka. 
 
 And the laugh was universal, for the close-fistedness of 
 the smith was common property. 
 
 The wife of the Khanje, who had been occupied in turn- 
 ing the rough spit upon which the sheep had been impaled, 
 beckoned to Zetitzka. She was a fine woman with bare 
 legs, of comely proportions, and long almond-shaped eyes 
 full of melancholy. With the delicacy of perception, 
 characteristic of her race, she divined the wishes of her 
 guest, supplied her with warm goat's milk for the child, 
 and even gave the two women permission to sleep in an 
 adjoining room, where they would obtain privacy. 
 
 Within the room set at Zetitzka 's disposal the darkness 
 was combated by the red light of the log fire upon which 
 the sheep had been roasted. This came to her in slender 
 shafts between the rough beams that composed the wall. 
 The smoke had filtered in through the same interstices, 
 and, unable to find an exit, hung in dense clouds, stinging 
 the eyes and impeding the breath. 
 
 Laying her child upon her cloak, Zetitzka stretched her- 
 self upon the mud floor. A more cheerless and uncom- 
 fortable bedchamber it would be hard to imagine, but 
 Zetitzka, thankful to escape from the many eyes, was 
 oblivious to her surroundings. 
 
 Many noises came to her as she lay open-eyed in the 
 darkness. The voices of two men quarrelling rose high 
 above the clamour. One of them she recognised as that 
 of Shouma a Mahommedan pervert. He had been semi- 
 drunk when she quitted the living-room. She remembered 
 seeing him kneeling with raised hands, praying in a loud 
 voice with intense and passionate earnestness, swinging
 
 20 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 backwards and forwards, wringing his big dirty hands in 
 a frenzy of religious excitement, falling forward to kiss 
 the mud floor, then rising unconcernedly to drink yet 
 another glass of raki. The other was Bektse Tchotche, an 
 Arnaut mountaineer; she knew him by his loud ringing 
 voice, for he came sometimes to talk to her bedridden 
 father. 
 
 Nik Leka began to sing, accompanying himself on the 
 guzle or Albanian mandoline. The weird vibrations of its 
 one string sounded uncanny in the night, blending with 
 the rain which had begun to fall, and now beat a tattoo 
 with dull thuds upon the roof. The pedlar sang of war 
 and victories over the Karatag. Deep grunts of approval 
 escaped at intervals from the throats of his auditors. A 
 peculiar melancholy, suggestive of death and also of sub- 
 dued ferocity wailed in the sounds. The barbaric music 
 moved Zetitzka deeply, stirred something in her breast, 
 something primitive and fierce which claimed kindred with 
 the dark mountains and the proud and lawless race from 
 which she had sprung. While she listened she forgot the 
 smoke, forgot the hardness of the floor, forgot even her 
 baby slumbering by her side; one memory alone obsessed 
 her that of the man who had betrayed her. Her wrongs 
 unredressed, always smouldering, now blazed into a white 
 heat of recollection. Without speaking, sb,e lay with 
 clenched fists, watching the red rays and the filmy smoke- 
 clouds. 
 
 She was aroused by the sudden entrance of her mother. 
 
 " Think, think, Zetitzka! " she stammered in her ex- 
 citement, " I am to have plenty of money in two years. 
 I will buy that shawl, and a blue embroidered handker- 
 chief for my head, like the one we saw last week. Well, 
 why don't you speak? " 
 ' Who told you? " 
 
 " The entrails of the sheep. Nik Leka told my fortune 
 by them. He said they never lie. The Khanje's wife is 
 to have two more children. Oh, and another thing 
 some enemy of ours is to die suddenly. You see! You 
 see! I told you! They never lie. I thought of you at 
 once. It will all come out right. By the Virgin, I am 
 glad! " 
 
 A ray of red light rested on her. Innumerable and
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 21 
 
 tiny lines of shadow crossed and recrossed her face, and 
 in these meshes shone two bright malevolent eyes that 
 seemed to gleam with savage joy. Still excited, she 
 moved to and fro like some restless spirit. The dark- 
 ness in the room appeared to move with her shadowy 
 figure, the floor to sway with it, while outside the wind 
 moaned and raved fitfully. 
 
 " Won't you lie down? " pleaded Zetitzka. But her 
 mother paid no attention, and sometimes from one part 
 of the room and sometimes from another came mumbling 
 and breathless ejaculations about the shawl and the blue 
 handkerchief. Little by little, however, she calmed down, 
 and at last in droning accents Zetitzka heard the words: 
 
 " O Lord, our Father Lord " 
 
 ' ' Don 't pray ! ' ' cried the girl in a tense whisper, rais- 
 ing herself upon her elbow. 
 
 'Eh? What's the matter? Go to sleep." 
 
 " Don't pray! " she persisted. " I can't bear it." 
 
 " It may bring good luck." 
 
 ' ' No, no, never ! It is horrible. How can you ! God 
 would be angry. It would bring a curse." 
 
 ' ' Well, how odd you are ! I never can understand you. 
 At all events we can talk. We both start at dawn, eh? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 For a moment neither spoke. Then the old woman 
 groaned. 
 
 " Oh, Zetitzka, I won't be able to sleep; the floor hurts 
 my bones. Oh, that devil of a pedlar, is he going to 
 make that noise all night! I wish I had my hands on his 
 windpipe." 
 
 The twang of the guzle throbbed like a passionate heart- 
 beat. Somewhere in the near vicinity a dog barked. 
 Bark! bark! bark! it seemed as if it would never stop. 
 The noise woke the baby. It began to cry. 
 
 " Sh-h, my precious," cooed Zetitzka; then as the piti- 
 ful wail continued, she took the little one in her arms and 
 cradled it upon her breast. 
 
 The company were evidently dispersing. Zetitzka could 
 hear the gruff voice of the Khanje raised in feigned cor- 
 diality, then a little later the same voice in a surly under- 
 tone cursing his wife. The sound of subdued sobbing 
 came through the logs. In the silence and darkness these
 
 22 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 audible tears did Zetitzka good, for they spoke to her of 
 another's sorrows. 
 
 " Have you the knife? " 
 
 Zetitzka started. The voice of her mother was as the 
 croaking of some ill-omened bird of prey. Rudely recalled 
 to the tragedy that overshadowed her own life, she shud- 
 dered. 
 
 * ' Have you the knife ? ' ' the voice repeated impatiently. 
 
 Zetitzka muttered an affirmative. 
 
 " "Well, why don't you answer at once? All I want to 
 say is, take care of it, for 'tis beautifully inlaid, and the 
 handle is real silver. It belonged to your uncle, as you 
 know; and so did the clothes. They are very handsome. 
 Zetitzka, don't go to sleep. Tell me, what did that pedlar 
 say about the monastery? " 
 
 Zetitzka roused herself with an effort. 
 
 " What did he say? He said it was on a rock." 
 
 " Holy saints, that is foolish! There can be no water 
 there! Well, there are many rocks; I hope you will find 
 the right one. ' ' 
 
 There came no answer. Zetitzka 's eyes were watching 
 the faint red rays tracing monstrous patterns upon the 
 wall. 
 
 " I say I hope you find the right one." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 Her mother made a clucking of her toothless gums in 
 the darkness. " Ck ck that is so like you, when you 
 know nothing about it. You always were obstinate. 
 Zetitzka, are you listening? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What if they find you out? " 
 
 The suggestion was full of vague terror. For the first 
 time Zetitzka considered the danger apart from her re- 
 venge. 
 
 " What would they do to me? " she whispered, strain- 
 ing wide her eyes towards the huddled figure by her side. 
 
 " I don't know. They could hardly kill you -and yet 
 if they found out you were a woman but of course 
 you will look something like a boy in these clothes. 'Tis 
 a good thing you have been ill and are thin. Now, I won- 
 der what it is like up there on that rock. All men, eh? " 
 The monotonous voice broke into a little contemptuous
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 23 
 
 screech of laughter. ' ' A pretty state of affairs ! I would 
 like to see your poor father without me to look after him. 
 All men, and perhaps some of them are young? What 
 
 waste! If only they had not been monks " She blew 
 
 her nose, then added thoughtfully: " We must find you 
 a husband soon. ' ' 
 
 "No! no! " 
 
 " But, 'tis yes, yes." The shrill mimicking tones rose, 
 then sank, as the old woman continued in a swift, fierce 
 whisper: "If we can find a man to take you now ay, 
 you know what I mean! Now, don't be a fool! " The 
 skinny fingers clutched the soft round arm and shook it 
 angrily. " See then no more nonsense! Holy Virgin, 
 we have had too much already! Haven't I listened to 
 these women to-night, their jeers, their titters and I I 
 smiled God forgive me ! when I was itching to tear their 
 hearts out. And all for you, you and that child! Now 
 we will have no more mistakes. This is your one chance 
 of being looked upon -as an honest woman your last 
 you understand ? Answer me ! ' ' 
 
 " Y-es." 
 
 The word was stifled, for Zetitzka's face was buried 
 in her hands. The old woman relaxed her grip. She 
 edged nearer, hitching herself along the floor. Zetitzka 
 could hear the voice mumbling in her ear. 
 
 "Do it quickly. Run no risks. A woman is never so 
 strong as a man. I have heard your uncle say that a good 
 place is just below the shoulder-blade there ! ' ' 
 
 Zetitzka gasped as she felt the sudden finger-thrust. 
 A darkness spread before her eyes, compared with which 
 the darkness in the room was as sunshine. This plan- 
 ning of cold-blooded murder was Altogether foreign to her 
 nature. To kill him, yes, while her blood ran high and 
 the memory of his baseness boiled in her veins but to 
 sit still and scheme and gloat in anticipation no ! 
 
 The voice beside her continued: 
 
 " I tell you, you must, or never show your face again. 
 Your father has sworn it. Not but what I feel for you 
 
 I see the danger to a girl 
 
 Tis not that 
 
 " What is it, then? Pooh, you can't answer! As I 
 said before, such things are for men but what man?
 
 24 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Zetitzka " She paused as though struck by a sudden 
 
 idea, then added meaningly: " Did you notice Bektse 
 Tchotche to-night? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ' ' A brave fellow, eh ? He admires you. ' ' 
 
 The memory of the bold eyes of the mountaineer caused 
 her a shudder of repulsion. He had stared at her with 
 insolent familiarity, appraising her. Her mother's voice 
 continued, scheming, confidential: 
 
 " I always suspected he liked you, and to-night he said 
 you were a fine girl. He has a good house. Shall I 
 shall I ask him to do it for you? If we are lucky enough 
 to get him to consent, he might marry you." 
 
 Zetitzka jerked herself to a sitting attitude. 
 
 " Mother! " she said desperately. 
 
 " Eh? What? " 
 
 " If you do if you do as God sees me, I will never 
 speak to you again ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ch-a ! ' ' grunted the old woman angrily. ' ' There you 
 are always impossible. Well, do it yourself. I wash my 
 hands of you! " She continued to mumble indignantly. 
 
 The light waned, for the logs in the adjoining room had 
 fallen to ashes. The music came to an abrupt termina- 
 tion. Only the dog kept up an incessant clamour. 
 
 Zetitzka bent over her baby. The pure innocence of the 
 little one was like a tonic to her. If all the world were 
 only thus! She longed to kiss it passionately, but re- 
 frained: its sleep was so light. With her ear held close 
 she could hear its soft breath coming and going. The faint 
 sound was like tiny hands about her heart. 
 Mother, ' ' she whispered after a long pause. 
 Well, what is it? I was nearly asleep." 
 You will be good to baby when I am away ? ' ' 
 Of course." 
 
 There are so many little things you won't forget? 
 Make his milk warm. See that he 
 
 ' ' Ah, you are not too proud to ask a favour ! And 
 after your rudeness! Some folk would call him an il- 
 legitimate brat ay, and see him starve first, 'tis true." 
 
 Zetitzka compressed her lips. 
 
 " I am sure you will do all for the best," she said, 
 quietly, though with effort. " You are kinder than you
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 25 
 
 appear. You love him I know, I know you do! Who 
 could help it! No one, not even the devil, would be so 
 cruel as to make him suffer for for 
 
 She broke off, for she could no longer control her voice. 
 Only once did they speak again. 
 
 ' ' You will be there by to-morrow afternoon ? ' ' asked the 
 mother. 
 
 " Yes," replied the daughter. 
 
 Then naught but the snores of the old woman broke 
 the silence. But sleep did not come to Zetitzka. Her 
 brain, abnormally active, revolved in her hot and throb- 
 bing head with the torturing persistency of a machine. 
 Goaded by it, as by some devilish and inhuman motor- 
 power, she was forced to think, and think, and think. Bit- 
 ter and hopeless thoughts gave her no peace, no rest. It 
 was in the silence and blackness of such hours, when all 
 the world seemed dead, that she suffered most. No per- 
 sonal fear oppressed her, no self-doubt arose. Only in her 
 aching and desolate heart there lurked anguish as of phys- 
 ical pain. From time to time as she lay there with wide 
 eyes and clenched fists, she shuddered and moved restlessly, 
 setting her teeth upon a groan, striving desperately but 
 vainly to break away from the relentless and galling 
 memories that were a burning fire feeding upon her very 
 life.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE parting between mother and daughter was of the 
 briefest. But little opportunity for further confidences 
 occurred others were present, and the risk of loitering 
 in the village street while the blood-feud lasted drove them 
 into the open. 
 
 " When you change your clothes," whispered the old 
 woman at the moment of farewell, " wrap those you are 
 wearing in a bundle and leave it where you will be sure to 
 find it again. That dress cost good money. Now, Zetitzka, 
 enough; stop kissing your baby. Attend! Be careful of 
 your uncle's suit. Don't stain it. Now, I go; give me 
 the child." 
 
 But Zetitzka, absorbed, deaf, in a mute agony of grief, 
 pressed the little face to hers. 
 
 " Give me the child, I say. Wait, I had almost for- 
 gotten have you any money? No? Here, take these." 
 
 She gave a handful of coins to her daughter a hybrid 
 collection comprising piastres, a couple of medijidies, old 
 Austrian zwanzigers, and a variety of metal discs, curious 
 and concave in shape, all of which pass muster in Albania. 
 
 Zetitzka slipped them into the pocket of her cloak with 
 indifference. She was still devouring her child with 
 hungry eyes, when, with an exclamation of impatience the 
 old woman snatched him from her arms, and began to hobble 
 up the hill they had descended the previous evening. 
 
 In a moment Zetitzka 's feelings changed into wild sor- 
 row. This vengeful journey seemed suddenly to yawn be- 
 fore her as a gulf separating her from her child. She 
 might never return. Terror of the unknown seized her, 
 not for her own sake, but for her little one's. Rebellion 
 against Fate boiled up in her heart. She longed to run 
 after the retreating figure, to overtake it, to expostulate, 
 to implore, to defy. But the irrevocable, with a restrain- 
 ing force final as death, chained her to the spot. 
 
 A figure of stone she stood in the beating sunshine, 
 
 26
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 27 
 
 straining her eyes to see the last of the little bundle in 
 her mother 's arms. But all at once the familiar form climb- 
 ing the hill blurred unexpectedly, and Zetitzka became 
 conscious of hot and stinging tears trickling down her 
 cheeks. . 
 
 Then, with swift revulsion of feeling, she again recalled 
 Stephanos. Fiercely she dashed her tears aside. This, 
 too, she owed to him! Great God, how he had made her 
 suffer, this man! Anger, bitterness, and feelings goaded 
 past endurance seethed within her. 
 
 " Stay," cried a hoarse voice. 
 
 Zetitzka looked up. Hobbling along the path that led 
 to the village came Nik Leka. An immense pack bound 
 upon his back gave him the appearance of a tortoise. 
 Beneath it his little legs moved with extraordinary 
 rapidity. When he joined her, his arms slipped out of 
 the shoulder-straps ; then, having deposited the bundle upon 
 the ground, he peered into her face. 
 
 " Crying! " He pointed a coarse and accusing fore- 
 finger at her; then, wagging his dirty fez, " Oh, these 
 women, these women ! ' ' 
 
 Zetitzka looked at him darkly. 
 
 ' ' That is not all. ' ' He continued to glare at her fiercely 
 from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. " Where are you go- 
 ing? 
 
 " I know," he went on roughly, as she remained silent. 
 " No need to tell me lies. She," he jerked his head to- 
 wards the hill, " she told me last night. I did not be- 
 lieve her. I tell lies myself, all in the way of business. 
 But now Sacred Name, she has left you, the old one? n 
 
 " I go alone," she answered. 
 
 He breathed like one furious, yet Zetitzka felt instinc- 
 tively that it was not at her his mute rage was directed. 
 
 " Madness," he blurted out at length. " Madness, I 
 tell you. These parents of yours I shall give your father 
 a bit of my mind. What are they thinking of to send 
 you there. Bah, you do not know! " 
 
 "I know." 
 
 " The danger? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ' ' But they allow no woman there ! I have never been 
 myself, but I know. They are wild men fanatics
 
 28 FORBIDDEN GKOUND 
 
 capable of does one know? You will be all alone you, 
 a girl do you understand that? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He gaped at her incredulously, then snapped his thick 
 fingers. 
 
 " No, you do not understand. I tell you it makes me 
 afraid me, Nik Leka. While you " 
 
 His quick, bright eye searched her face with a puzzled 
 frown. Her absence of fear seemed to strike him in the 
 light of a personal grievance. 
 
 As they stood thus, a sudden fusillade rang out a 
 dropping fire from the scattered houses and " ping " 
 above their heads sang a stray bullet. The pedlar glared 
 in the direction of the village. 
 
 " Curse them all! " he muttered; then, with an ex- 
 planatory shrug, " 'Tis so bad for trade." He gnawed 
 his moustache for a moment, then burst out with fresh 
 rancour: " You do not think to bring that ne'er-do-well 
 back? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " To to tell him of the child, eh! " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "No? What then?" 
 
 She did not explain. He muttered something into his 
 grizzled beard, of which she caught only the words 
 " monk " and " devil." Then asked: 
 
 ' ' To see him, I suppose ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He raised his hands to heaven. He appeared to be 
 mentally requesting that silent witness to have patience. 
 Then, eyeing her resentfully : 
 
 ' ' All that way ? And in the face of so great a danger ? 
 Yes, danger, for I know what is in your parcel. And you 
 think to pass for a man? To deceive them? And you 
 think he is worth that risk? He! " Clearing his throat, 
 he spat his contempt noisily after the manner of the base- 
 born. Then with a shrug, " But, after all, that is what 
 it is to be a woman ! And which of us is worth it ? 
 Which, I ask you? Name of thunder, if you women could 
 only see us as we are. But there that would be the end 
 of the world. Women? I know them, I, Nik Leka. Oh 
 yes, I've had them in love with me."
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 29 
 
 He raised his fez, whether out of respect to memories, 
 or because the morning was warm, could not be deter- 
 mined. " "Pis true," he insisted, puzzled at her preoccu- 
 pation. 
 
 " I must go now," she said in a lifeless voice. 
 
 " Wait," he cried, and began to fumble in his pack. 
 The object of his search was apparently buried deep. At 
 length he clicked loudly with his tongue. " There! " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 Zetitzka gazed with sombre indifference at the gaudy 
 little housewife held out for her inspection. 
 
 " For you," he muttered, as though ashamed. His man- 
 ner of giving had all the awkwardness of his class. " You 
 had better take it," he continued gruffly, " before I re- 
 pent." 
 
 She thanked him; unused to kindness she was touched 
 in spite of herself. He essayed to make light of the gift, 
 though it was obvious that its bright cover, embroidered 
 with beads, filled him personally with the liveliest admira- 
 tion. 
 
 " Why did you give it to me? " Zetitzka asked, the 
 housewife still in her hand. 
 
 " Why? " He raised his eyebrows, scratched his griz- 
 zled head, then triumphantly, " For an advertisement." 
 
 He laughed aloud with cynical satisfaction. " I give 
 them to everyone," he chuckled, then paused, an anxious 
 gleam in his one eye, but she did not detect the falsehood. 
 " To everyone," he repeated emphatically. " One thinks 
 of oneself. It pays. Some day you will marry and have 
 a house. You will need buttons, and needles, and knit- 
 ting pins. It will then be your turn to think of me. ' ' 
 
 When she left him a moment later, he stood staring after 
 her. She walked with bent head, absorbed in thought. 
 But not even this meditative attitude could detract from 
 the free, swinging movements, the unconscious pride of 
 race in carriage and lilt. 
 
 His own lameness occurred to the pedlar as he gazed, 
 and he gave vent to a short growl; but, to do the little 
 man justice, all personal considerations were driven from 
 his mind by sympathy and admiration for this girl, lonely 
 and unprotected, yet resolute in the face of a grave danger. 
 
 The sun rose, turning the waiting world into something
 
 30 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 bright and beautiful. Pearl-grey mists that had lurked all 
 night in the deeper folds of the hills wavered, broke, and 
 fled. The exquisite freshness and clarity of the summer 
 morning steeped all things the nearer hills and the more 
 distant mountains in an atmosphere of exhilaration. A 
 bird sprang upwards from behind a rock, and mounting on 
 palpitating wings, poured forth its soul in song. Between 
 the stones, in the rare spaces of greenery, tiny flowers 
 expanded dewy petals to the sun. The distance beckoned 
 alluringly, like hopes too dear ever to be realised. A 
 white cloud sailed overhead a drifting brightness in the 
 dreams of morning. 
 
 But Zetitzka was deaf to the lark blind to the sun- 
 shine unresponsive to the glad voices that called to her 
 from the newly-awakened world. Her eyes were fixed 
 upon the stones at her feet; mechanically they showed 
 her where to walk, what to avoid, like servants discharg- 
 ing a duty of which they themselves were barely con- 
 scious. Her red cloak focussed the fierce sunlight and 
 glowed out against the dun hills like an avenging flame. 
 
 Towards afternoon she reached Kalabaka. The heat was 
 great. Not a breath of air counteracted the fierce rays of 
 the sun. The aloes, skirting the track, reared their spear- 
 like points into the deep and burnished blue of the sky, 
 their pale green foliage powdered thickly with white dust. 
 The little village lay before her sweltering in sunlight. 
 She looked at it with a curious lack of interest. The 
 streets were deserted ; only under the tattered awning that 
 protected a cafe hard by the railway station, several men 
 were to be seen drinking. They eyed her with curiosity 
 as she approached, and one nudged a neighbour to draw 
 attention to her face. 
 
 Faint from exhaustion and want of food, she seated her- 
 self at one of the little wooden tables. The eyes of the 
 men, all turned in her direction, made her uncomfortable. 
 In a low, hurried voice she ordered coffee and bread. 
 When the refreshments came, she could not eat, but the 
 thick Turkish coffee revived her. The waiter examined 
 the coin she proffered, bit it, rung it on the table, then 
 regretfully and as one acting under compulsion shook his 
 head. She gave him another. When he brought the 
 change, she inquired:
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 31 
 
 How far is it to Hagios Barlaam ? ' ' 
 Barlaam? " he repeated, in surprise. 
 Yes. How far is it? " 
 Oh a good hour. ' ' 
 Which way must one go ? " 
 
 Which way? " He stared at her. " Why, there it 
 is! " 
 
 He pointed over her shoulder. Turning, she followed 
 his finger. The great buttress towers of Meteora upreared 
 themselves in the background. The one indicated by the 
 waiter was the second loftiest pinnacle. Perched upon 
 its crest Zetitzka could see grey buildings, reduced by dis- 
 tance to a tiny huddle of roofs. Her eyes dilated as she 
 gazed. She had lo put a strong curb on her feelings to 
 suppress her intense yet painful interest in the place. 
 
 " That is Barlaam," continued the waiter in the pleased 
 tone with which some people impart information. 
 " Meteora is further to the left. Hagios Stephanos is the 
 one you see up there, on the right. Hagios Triada is back, 
 right back there ; one cannot see it from here. ' ' 
 
 The name Stephanos set every nerve ajar. It was as 
 though a rough finger had touched an open sore. 
 
 " You cannot be going there? " said the waiter with 
 conviction, brushing imaginary crumbs from the table. 
 " They do not allow women to visit Barlaam." 
 
 He had to repeat his remark twice, for she sat as one 
 in a dream, her eyes fixed on the remote pinnacle upon 
 which lived the man she had come to seek. 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 "You are without doubt a stranger? " hazarded the 
 waiter, with unspoken admiration in his eyes. 
 
 11 Yes." 
 
 " That is seen. The saints reward you." He pocketed 
 the small coin which she pushed to him across the table. 
 Then, " You do not eat your bread? " 
 
 "No." She rose to her feet. " Do I follow that 
 road? " 
 
 " To Barlaam, you mean? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That is the way. You cannot mistake the path. 
 You will find it rough. Would you like a mule? I can 
 get you one in ten minutes."
 
 32 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " No, I will walk. Good-day." 
 
 She passed quickly along the village street. Before she 
 gained the open she had to run the gauntlet of the women 
 congregated around the village fountain, but heedless of 
 comment she continued to climb. 
 
 The path, ascending steeply, coiled upwards, now travers- 
 ing the bed of a torrent sucked dry by the thirsty summer, 
 and again, mounting in steps fashioned roughly out of 
 boulders. Nearer and nearer came the cliffs. They 
 frowned down upon her, oppressing her. In some shadowy 
 way they even entered into her thoughts. Broken memo- 
 ries, dark forebodings hastened to her, the roots of which 
 lay deep in the soil of sex. 
 
 All day she had been moving as in a dream, barely 
 conscious of her surroundings save when the waiter had 
 pointed out the heights of Barlaam. But now she awoke 
 with a start, recalled to actuality by the glitter of sunlight 
 reflected from a window far overhead. It seemed to be an 
 eye watching her. In a flash everything became real; the 
 rocks, the path, the cliffs, all became endowed with ab- 
 normal importance, as though they had been waiting for 
 centuries to witness something terrible, vaguely connected 
 with her fate. With a shudder she realised herself in- 
 tensely, every nerve strung up, every faculty alert. 
 
 With a swift glance on all sides she sought the shelter of 
 two adjacent rocks that formed a small open-air chamber. 
 
 The place she had chosen lay on the left of the path that 
 coiled upwards to the monasteries. The rocks that formed 
 it were great boulders that had toppled down from the high 
 cliffs long ages ago, and now lay piled up, arrested for 
 ever amid the chaos of lesser stones, the companions of their 
 fall. 
 
 More than once Zetitzka anxiously scrutinised the path 
 and the sea of rocks weltering in sunlight. No one was 
 in sight. All was still, inanimate, given over to hot, quiver- 
 ing air that ebbed and flowed in the midst of a profound 
 silence, with the transparency and something of the fluidity 
 of water. 
 
 Slightly reassured, but still full of misgivings, Zetitzka 
 began to undress. In all her movements haste was dis- 
 cernible, haste that thwarted itelf, for her hands shook. 
 At length, clad only in scanty under-garments, she stood
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 33 
 
 trembling with apprehension among the grey, sun-baked 
 rocks. For just one fleeting moment she listened and 
 gazed, and held her breath, her eyes full of the tragic im- 
 port of her task; then, opening the bundle that contained 
 her uncle 's clothes, she made haste to put them on. 
 
 The costume was simple and workmanlike its fabric 
 white homespun. The white skull-cap sat loosely upon her 
 head. The white jacket, its tight sleeves reaching to the 
 wrist, was ornamented with black braid, as were the trou- 
 sers. The latter, baggy behind, but close fitting to the leg, 
 were many sizes too large. A touch of bright colour was 
 imparted by a scarlet sash. Over this Zetitzka adjusted the 
 belt of soft leather, with pouch in front and tassels of 
 black silk, in which her uncle had carried his long, beauti- 
 fully-worked pistols and yataghan, or Turkish dagger. Her 
 own leathern belt, ornamented with pins, and her necklet 
 of antique coins, she thrust into the pocket of her woollen 
 dress. 
 
 Standing erect in her new costume, her hand fell natu- 
 rally upon the hilt of the yataghan. Acting on impulse, 
 she drew it from its sheath. Its blade, catching the light, 
 became a cruel suggestion of violent death. She touched 
 it with the point of her forefinger, absently, for her eyes, 
 brooding and preoccupied, saw only the face of the man 
 she once had loved. Her recollections were steeped in a 
 dumb, passive misery. Sick at heart, she looked back across 
 a gulf of pain to gleams of hope and moments of happiness. 
 Then she had been young and trusting; then life had 
 seemed a promise of joy. Now she felt old and infinitely 
 weary; her heart was stone the future was dark. And 
 the man ? She had been his victim, and now he was to be 
 hers. The grim justice of his sentence appealed to the 
 primitive instincts of her upbringing. She thought of him 
 on one of these shimmering heights. Was he thinking of 
 her, and of the death that so surely awaited him ? He had 
 once said: " This night is my soul demanded of me." 
 How true this was now ! Before another sun could rise he 
 would be dead. Death ! She had seen it many times. Fa- 
 miliarity had robbed it of horror. Even violent death had 
 never shocked her. It was natural for a man to die stand- 
 ing. Less than ever now did she think of it as a fate to 
 be pitied. It meant peace and freedom from suffering. 
 
 3
 
 34 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 She almost envied him. And this gift was hers to bestow. 
 It depended only upon this this little bit of steel she held 
 in her hands. One thrust But at the thought an in- 
 voluntary shudder ran through her. Vaguely disquieted, 
 she returned the weapon hastily to its sheath. 
 
 She was about to leave her hiding-place when an idea 
 struck her. Raising her arms, she drew out the pins that 
 upheld her hair. Like a cloud it fell about her shoulders, 
 reaching below her waist. Its colour was blue-black, shin- 
 ing with a changeful glow, bright with somewhat of the 
 brightness of metal, yet soft as floating gossamer. From a 
 child Zetitzka had heard its praises. Even her mother had 
 taken a proprietary pleasure in combing it. But now it 
 seemed to her nothing but an obstacle. Taking a pair of 
 scissors from her bundle, she attacked it without mercy. 
 In a few minutes it lay at her feet. 
 
 Concealing her severed hair and cast-off clothing behind 
 a rock, she moved from the shadow of the cliff. As she 
 did so she gave a gasp, for there, on the path within a 
 dozen yards, stood a monk.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE figure that struck consternation into Zetitzka's heart 
 was dressed in the sombre garb of a Greek priest the long, 
 double-breasted black cassock, the rude sandals, and the tall 
 black hat terminating in a curious rim at the top. 
 
 A young man, apparently, for both face and figure were 
 youthful : an attractive face, for the vivacity natural to his 
 years was sobered by a thoughtful simplicity, stamped 
 doubtless by monastic life, 
 
 Zetitzka paused irresolute. 
 
 A monk ! Had he seen her ? Did he suspect ? But the 
 young man was gazing at her with nothing but curiosity in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " God speed you, my brother! " 
 
 His voice rang out cheerfully, its clear boyish tones 
 strangely at variance with his attire. Zetitzka returned his 
 salutation inaudibly. He approached her where she stood 
 in the beating sunshine of the path. From under down- 
 cast lashes she noticed with relief that his expression was 
 friendly. 
 
 " Do you come from Kalabaka? " 
 
 " No," she answered shortly. 
 
 " Ah! methought not. Never wittingly have I set eyes 
 on you before. Methinks I know by sight all the folk in 
 Kalabaka. Ay, a stranger and your cassock nay, tunic 
 I would say and your little cap, and your brave trousers ! 
 Nay, turn not away: no call to feel shame; they are won- 
 drous handsome. Oh, la, la! " He was fingering with 
 nai've and childlike familiarity the black braiding of her 
 jacket. " This pleaseth me right well. I have naught so 
 brave as this. By Saint Jerome ! 'tis cunningly fashioned, 
 fine as any vestment. But whither go you? " 
 
 Zetitzka looked up at him swiftly. He was a new expe- 
 rience to her. His quaint biblical phraseology sounded 
 strange within her ears strange, too, coming from one so 
 essentially boyish. But his unusual friendliness and lack 
 
 35
 
 36 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 of reserve awoke her suspicions. No countryman of hers 
 would behave thus. He was a monk perhaps one of the 
 same brotherhood to which Stephanos belonged; it be- 
 hoved her therefore to be on her guard. Her mind, attuned 
 to dark thoughts, felt hostile to all strangers. Still, as she 
 looked at him, his expression and the guileless simplicity in 
 his eyes went far to disarm her. After all, why not tell 
 him ? He seemed friendly ; he might prove of use. 
 
 " To Hagios Barlaam," she said gravely. 
 
 His good, honest, young countenance lit up in pleased 
 surprise. 
 
 " But " He stammered in his eagerness. " / hail 
 
 from Hagios Barlaam! 'Tis wondrous strange, to meet 
 you here. Past all question my good saint has arranged 
 this. You pleased me the moment I saw you. You see, we 
 meet few strangers." 
 
 As though conscious of her bewilderment, his last words 
 partook of the nature of an apology. At his invitation she 
 joined him, and side by side they proceeded towards the 
 monastery. The conversation was one-sided. The boy 
 talked freely, exhilarated by this chance encounter, by the 
 sun, the air, the exercise ; unaffectedly glad, it would seem, 
 to have met someone of his own age to whom he could chat- 
 ter without the restrictions imposed by monastic life. 
 Zetitzka was silent, rarely opening her lips save in reply, 
 turning a deaf ear to his rapid and disjointed talk, save 
 where it immediately concerned herself. 
 
 At length came the inevitable question which the girl had 
 foreseen and feared. 
 
 " Why do you go to Barlaam? " 
 
 It found her unprepared. Scorning to prevaricate, she 
 remained silent. 
 
 " A pilgrim? " suggested her young companion, with 
 deep interest. 
 
 She shook her head. He seemed disappointed : pilgrims 
 evidently forming one of the diversions of his monotonous 
 life. Then, suddenly, he uttered a pleased ejaculation. 
 
 I have it! " he cried, bending forward to look more 
 closely at her; " I see it in your face." 
 
 She was painfully conscious of confusion. He continued 
 cheerfully. 
 
 ' The reason you come here. 'Tis sorrow. ' '
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 37 
 
 Zetitzka was thankful that the stony nature of the path 
 gave her an excuse for averting her eyes. But her new 
 companion, walking briskly at her side, seemed to require 
 no answer. 
 
 ' ' You are young to have a sorrow. ' ' He spoke musingly, 
 and almost, as it seemed to her, with a respectful admira- 
 tion. Then : * ' But you will assuredly find comfort in 
 Barlaam. Wait only till you have talked with our Abbot. 
 He will do you good." 
 
 Struck by the melancholy incredulity in her face, he con- 
 tinued with heat: 
 
 " It is true. By Saint Barlaam, he is a saint! Wise, 
 devout, good never was such an Abbot! If only I 
 
 could What! You have never heard tell of him! 
 
 Kyrie Eleison! " 
 
 As if to put her at her ease, he continued with patronage, 
 yet not without a touch of visible anxiety : 
 
 " You will become one of us; yes? " 
 
 As she looked at him with brooding eyes, wherein the least 
 observant might have read her mental distress, he came 
 nearer, saying confidentially: 
 
 " Look you, the brethren are well on in years of high 
 repute and sanctity assuredly, worthy of reverence indeed, 
 but aged. I like them all or nearly all. And as for our 
 Abbot but there, I cannot speak of my feelings for him. 
 But between ourselves, old folk are well, they do not re- 
 member what it is to be young. You see, they cannot do 
 things: they want to walk, when we want to run that is 
 the difference." 
 
 He laughed gaily, as though the mere act of unbosoming 
 himself afforded relief, kicked a stone lustily from the path ; 
 then, the question suddenly occurring to him : 
 
 " What is your name? " 
 
 " Call me Angelos," she said, after a moment's thought. 
 
 " Your real name? " he questioned. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, it matters not. I suppose I ought not to wish 
 
 to know, but " She saw him shrug his shoulders ; then 
 
 he continued in a graver voice: " The Abbot says that 
 our past belongs to God, and that when one joins the mon- 
 astery one begins a new life. That must be the reason you 
 have changed your name. Oh, many come to us in sorrow ;
 
 38 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 some abide always, and some, coming but for a space, de- 
 part comforted. I wonder which you will do ? As for me, 
 I am Brother Petros, and have never been aught else," he 
 sighed discontentedly. " More than anything in the world 
 would I love to have a real sorrow and two names. But 
 what good? I am known unto all here." 
 
 " Do not wish it! " she cried impulsively. 
 
 He seemed already to have forgotten his grievance, for 
 he had sprung to a boulder, his black robe snapping in the 
 light breeze, his shadow, long and thin, flung forward along 
 the track. The incongruity of his monkish garb with his 
 agile boyish movements struck Zetitzka afresh. 
 
 " You will tell me all about the world? " he questioned 
 eagerly when she joined him. " I have seen marvellous 
 little, but I joy in hearing of it. Do you know it well? 
 It must be a wondrous big place; but woefully wicked, so 
 they say. Have a heed to that stone. Brother Nicodemus 
 broke his leg once, but the Holy Virgin healed it in a 
 week. Dimitri he is our muleteer says it was only 
 strained ; but I ask of you, would the Blessed Mother appear 
 in a midnight vision for a mere strain ? Do I go too fast ? 
 The Venerable Father calls me a goat. I love climbing, and 
 precipices. And you ? No ? Ah, that is because you have 
 not been standing in a stall since midnight 
 
 " Since midnight! " she echoed, roused into astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Past question. Did you not know that it was the fes- 
 tival of Saint Panteleemon? The good saint would in no 
 wise be pleased did we not stand for at least two hours 
 longer than usual. Well, you have been journeying : doubt- 
 less that unsettles one's thoughts. Yea, it was a long serv- 
 ice, though 'tis sinful to say so. My stall is between 
 Brothers Nicodemus and Gerasimos. They are both very 
 old sixty, I believe. I find their places for them; but 
 Brother Nicodemus is always grumbling that he cannot 
 hear the reader, and Brother Gerasimos is for ever falling 
 asleep. ' ' 
 
 ^ There was a spontaneity about his chatter that was dis- 
 tinctly engaging. Unexpectedness, indeed, was his dom- 
 inant characteristic. The attire, quaint and outlandish, 
 suggested only age and monastic austerity ; yet here it was 
 allied to youth and something that irresistibly called to
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 39 
 
 mind the old pagan joy of living. He was full of simple and 
 unconscious gaiety, skipping, as it were, on the hills of life. 
 This gaiety appeared to be his cardinal quality. One felt 
 that it was immensely natural, born of no infection, no echo 
 in remembered word or gesture of the light-heartedness of 
 others; but young life bubbling up in him, as obedient to 
 natural laws as a brook dancing to the sea or sap rising to 
 greet the spring. 
 
 Borne along as she was by the flood of his conversation, 
 Zetitzka never for one moment lost sight of the grim task 
 that awaited her. It formed a dark background to all she 
 saw and heard. Even this boy seemed connected with it 
 an illusion doubtless due to his calling. And yet he she 
 reflected, as her eyes rested darkly on his ingenuous young 
 face had never known sorrow. And at the reflection a 
 great envy rose up within her. 
 
 They rounded a barrier of cliff and came within full sight 
 of the pillar-like rocks of Meteora. With an involuntary 
 exclamation, Zetitzka came to an abrupt standstill. 
 
 At that hour something almost unnatural haunted the 
 mighty obelisks as with an atmosphere, bequeathing to 
 them an air of abnormality. Silent and grim, they towered 
 from the gloom of the gorge. It was as though some Titan 
 had fashioned obelisk after obelisk with an axe, shaping 
 their perpendicular flanks with mighty blows, trimming 
 here a cliff, there a precipice, carving each on its every side 
 into awful inaccessibility, till each loomed out lonely, prim- 
 eval, eternal, the roost of the sunbeams, the playground of 
 the storms. 
 
 In some places the cliffs shone with a bright metallic 
 lustre, as though of beaten gold; in others they receded 
 sunless and chill into fearsome depths, mysterious with the 
 gloom of caverns. Seen through the obscurity the rocks 
 assumed strange and fantastic shapes. Monstrous figures 
 might be imagined looming mistily on the sight, vanishing 
 at length in ghostly perspective. All were dead, long, long 
 dead. Around their knees surged grey rocks, an endless 
 and chaotic multitude, faintly visible, tumultuous and vast 
 as a sea of upturned faces. On all sides, save the narrow 
 entrance to the gorge, the cliffs, towering grimly upwards, 
 hemmed them in. The wan sunlight gilding the topmost 
 crags served but to emphasise the gloom below, for no mes-
 
 40 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 sage from its fugitive glory fell into the ravine. There 
 night had already encamped. 
 
 The dominant sentiment of the scene was a deep and 
 all-pervading sense of desolation, and even of abandon- 
 ment. It penetrated to the bones and begot a shudder. 
 This feeling was heightened by the silence, for the utter 
 absence of all sound was a thing to marvel at. The very 
 wind, that breathed so freely in the open, seemed here to 
 be holding its breath as though fearful of disturbing the 
 unnatural serenity that brooded over all. 
 
 Zetitzka's heart swelled. All around seemed darkly 
 antagonistic both to her and to her mission. The cliffs, 
 raising themselves out of the obscurity as though cognisant 
 of her approach, appeared to be dreadful faces threatening 
 her. They filled her with a poignant sense of her terrible 
 and helpless isolation. For a moment the woman in her 
 was oppressed, shrank, longed pathetically for support. 
 In desperation, with a heart well-nigh bursting, she raised 
 her eyes skywards. There, in the wan rift of evening, now 
 paling rapidly as day leaned towards night, a solitary 
 eagle wheeled and soared. Her lonely heart leapt towards 
 it with passionate envy. But the weakness passed. The 
 old fierce pain probed her anew. She was an outcast until 
 this act of retribution could be accomplished. Weakness 
 and vacillation were not for her. She had discarded her 
 sex with her woman's clothes. She must seek a man's 
 sterner nature in her breast. Was she not an Arnaut? 
 The fearlessness of her race reasserted itself. The mute, 
 undying rancour that had accumulated day by day, and 
 week by week, surged up in her afresh. With a courage 
 worthy of her ancestors she matched the blackness in her 
 heart with the blackness of this sinister gorge, and saw 
 herself the stronger. Let it threaten let it try to bar her 
 way she would go on, on to the bitter end ! 
 
 A sound beside her recalled the young monk. He was 
 watching her with a look of gratified pride. 
 
 " Beautiful, is it not? " he exclaimed. " You will come 
 to love it when you know it as well as I. Look! " He 
 pointed tpwards^the heights that barred the grey distance. 
 
 There is Hagios Triada a small monastery, and insig- 
 nificant compared with ours you can see some of the 
 others from Kalabaka, but not so well as from here.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 41 
 
 Hagios Stephanos lies farther off I have a friend there 
 whom I go to see sometimes. Hagios Meteoron is in that 
 direction. That one there is deserted and in ruins now 
 there are many like that. And Hagios Barlaam " his 
 voice rang with conscious pride " is up there. Ah! you 
 may well stare, my brother, 'tis the most important, ay, 
 and the most beautiful. To my mind, it, of all the monas- 
 teries, earns best the name of Meteora * in mid-air,' or, 
 as one should say, ' above the world. ' ' 
 
 Her eyes followed his finger in amazement. 
 
 Before them, where the path lost itself in blue glooms, 
 rose an immense wall of cliff. The lad was pointing to 
 its summit. Zetitzka strained her eyes. Far overhead, 
 faintly illuminated by the dying sunlight, she made out 
 what seemed to be grey buildings, so one with the living 
 rock, both in colour and formation, that it was little wonder 
 she had. judged them at first to be but a continuation of 
 it. Irregular in construction, crumbling and weather-worn, 
 not only were they balanced on the sheer verge, but in some 
 places even projected over the abyss. 
 
 " Holy Jesus! " she murmured. 
 
 Astonishing as was its site, it was its deep personal 
 significance, rather than its position, that forced the sacred 
 name from her lips. For weeks it had never been absent 
 from her mind. She had pictured it fearfully in wakeful 
 hours recognised it with a start of horror in vivid dreams 
 in fact, ever since Nik Leka had brought her word that 
 Stephanos had taken refuge within its walls. "Within its 
 precincts she had enacted again and again in morbid imag- 
 ination the tragedy in which fate had decreed that she 
 should play a part. And here it was! Like all places 
 pictured beforehand, she found the reality trenchantly at 
 variance with her expectations more gloomy, more strange 
 if possible, more sinister. The boy at her side laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 " But, yes." He nodded his head relishingly. " No 
 wonder you admire it. All the world marvels everyone 
 even rich noblemen from distant lands oversea, whom 
 Dimitri brings sometimes on his mules. And its fine posi- 
 tion is the least part. Oh, the least part! I assure you, 
 little brother, it is holy, but so holy ! There is not another 
 monastery like it in the whole world. Do you know what
 
 42 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 it is called for it likewise has two names? It is called 
 1 The Paradise of the Mother of God.' ' 
 
 His voice sank, hushed and solemn. That he counted 
 upon her being deeply impressed was obvious. Zetitzka, 
 engrossed with her own anxieties, merely nodded. 
 
 " You doubtless marvel why? " he continued. Then 
 with simple and devout earnestness, " I will tell you I 
 know all about it. It is so called because the Holy Mother 
 has appeared to blessed monks in Barlaam no less than five 
 times. Not lately, alas, but before I came here. She is 
 the only woman who ever visits the monastery and ours is 
 the only monastery she ever visits. Poly cola! '' 
 
 Zetitzka kept silent. An alien feeling crept over her. 
 This youth belonged to a different world. She was in no 
 frame of mind to take interest in miraculous manifesta- 
 tions. To her the monastery was only the abode of 
 Stephanos the scene of a gruesome and imminent tragedy. 
 All at once, as she stumbled onwards, her ears were assailed 
 by a harsh metallic noise. It seemed to fall from the 
 heights, mysteriously alarming in the dusk, awakening in- 
 numerable echoes. Fearfully Zetitzka gazed into her com- 
 panion's face. His smile reassured her. 
 
 1 ' That is Brother Elias beating the semantron. 'Tis the 
 hour for supper, praise be to the Saints! My stomach is 
 like a pilgrim's wallet it begs even for broken meats. 
 Ah, there goes Hagios Triada, and hearken, Meteoron like- 
 wise ! ' ' 
 
 From distant summits other semantra were calling. 
 Monastery after monastery was lifting up its voice, send- 
 ing forth its summons across the benighted gorges, relapsing 
 again into silence. The effect of these wild voices crying 
 to each other in the dusk was ghostly beyond expression. 
 
 Her young companion leading the way with precaution, 
 for in the dusk the boulders and deeps ruts were all but 
 invisible, they reached the base of the cliff. 
 
 Guided by his gesture, Zetitzka made out a series of 
 rude ladders, absolutely perpendicular, the top of the one 
 being lashed to the bottom of the other, the whole forming 
 a staircase frail and perilous in the extreme. Raising her 
 eyes she tried to follow them in their ascent, but they 
 dwindled and blurred far overhead against the immense 
 face of the cliff.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 43 
 
 ' ' Is there no other way ? ' ' she asked in a low voice. 
 
 " There is the rope and net which we let down from 
 the tower of the windlass, but no one will be there at this 
 time of night. Why " he peered closely at her " you 
 are as white as a missal ! By the bones of Saint Peter, I 
 am an infidel beast ! May I do penance if I did not forget 
 that you had never been up before! Come, my brother, 
 courage ! See, I go first. Follow me close, and, above all, 
 do not look down. 'Tis not so difficult as it looks. 
 Come! " 
 
 But Zetitzka did not immediately respond. Albeit a 
 hill-woman and accustomed from her childhood to clamber 
 among rocks, this perpendicular ascent to dangers unknown 
 presented a peril that could not be exaggerated. 
 
 Encouraging her by voice and gesture, the young monk 
 led the way. 
 
 They began the ascent two tiny figures, one above the 
 other, mere specks on the great blackness of the rock. The 
 only sound to be heard was the creaking of the ladders, 
 as the clumsy lengths oscillated to their movements. Far 
 overhead Barlaam, hooded in night, seemed to watch them 
 in a silence that was sinister. 
 
 All at once the boy spoke again : 
 
 " Beware of this rung," he said warningly, " 'tis 
 rotten. ' ' 
 
 They continued to ascend. 
 
 At the top of the third length her guide paused. 
 
 " Sit here, and rest," he said in a low voice, indicating 
 a ledge barely two feet in width. With a sickening sense 
 of fear which she fought hard to overcome, Zetitzka obeyed. 
 Her back was now against the cliff, but her feet dangled in 
 space. Her companion, standing unconcernedly on the 
 sheer brink, continued to speak : 
 
 " We have almost arrived. Take heart. Only one more 
 ladder." 
 
 " Where? " she questioned in an unsteady voice. As 
 she spoke she strained her eyes into the gloom. No other 
 ladder, however, was visible. The ledge seemed to melt 
 into space. 
 
 " Quite near. I will show you. It hangs from the top 
 and separate from the others. You see, that is because 
 we draw it up to the monastery every night. 'Tis sup-
 
 44 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 posed to be a precaution useful perhaps, long ago. Now, 
 take heed; we have to creep along this ledge till we reach 
 the ladder. Are you ready? " 
 
 "Go on ! " she cried testily. Her voice betrayed ex- 
 treme nervous tension. She heard his sandals shuffle in 
 the dusk then silence. Suddenly realising the terrible 
 precariousness of her position, she felt physically incapable 
 of following. Again she looked around. Neither parapet 
 nor railing protected the ledge. Above her, the cliff tow- 
 ered ; below, it fell sheer. In front yawned a void, a vast, 
 mysterious profundity full of night and terror, from which 
 came puffs of cold air. A moment of dizziness, a single 
 careless movement, and she would be precipitated into it. 
 And as if to add to her alarm, a sudden rush of air swept 
 upwards out of the darkness. With a stifled cry she saw 
 a huge bird its size exaggerated by the gloom perch itself 
 within a yard of where she sat. Panic seized her. ' ' Holy 
 Mary ! ' ' she gasped. Then, as the monstrous shadow edged 
 nearer: " Petros! " she screamed. " Petros! " 
 
 In less than a minute he was again by her side. Seat- 
 ing himself on the ledge he put his arm about her. He 
 felt so strong, such a present help in danger that he com- 
 forted her inexpressibly. 
 
 " Gently! " he soothed, patting her the while. " Gently, 
 my brother. Look you, this will never do. And you, 
 who have climbed so famously ! Why, it was in my mind 
 to tell the brethren how brave you were. 'Twas our eagle 
 that frightened you, I suppose ; the good-for-nothing ! We 
 feed him in the monastery at least I do and he grows 
 presumptuous when he sees me. You feel better, yes? 
 Shall we try again? " 
 
 Comforted and encouraged, more by his presence than his 
 words, she followed him. Mounting the last rungs, they 
 neared a tiny platform projecting from the cliff and sus- 
 tained by rude beams driven into the face of the rock. 
 A trap-door set in the flooring opened immediately above 
 their heads. To gain access to the monastery they were 
 obliged to creep through this, a feat rendered difficult owing 
 to the continual oscillation of the ladder. With the aid 
 of her companion, however, Zetitzka overcame this last 
 obstacle, and stood at length on the dark threshold of Bar- 
 laam, the gloomy heights of which had never before been 
 trodden by foot of woman.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IT was night. Seated upon a low divan within his tiny 
 living-room the Abbot was engaged with his supper. 
 
 The cell of Sofronos Constantinon, Hegoumenos of Bar- 
 laam, differed in no respect from those of his subordinates. 
 Small, bare, cheerless, its furniture consisted solely of the 
 divan by day a couch, by night a bed and a diminu- 
 tive Oriental table. No wash-stand, looking-glass, or other 
 evidence of modern comfort, was to be seen. An old 
 cupboard, dark with age and built into the wall, sufficed for 
 the concealment of his spare clothing and for the few per- 
 sonal articles which he possessed. The window, resembling 
 in size the port-hole of a ship, and in barred security that 
 of a prison, pierced the wall at a considerable distance 
 above the top of the cupboard. It was, therefore, im- 
 possible for the occupant to view the outer world without 
 standing either upon the divan or the table. As the 
 dormitory looked towards the north, no sunshine found its 
 way through this narrow aperture. Its panes of inferior 
 glass spoke of the dust and raindrops of centuries; the 
 niggard light, struggling inwards, falsified the brightness 
 of morning, the glory of evening, turning existence into a 
 neutral-tinted monotony, colourless as the life of the occu- 
 pant. 
 
 One touch of unexpected brightness alone arrested the 
 attention a handful of poppies arranged in a glass upon 
 the table. Their warm tones leaped to the eyes. There 
 was something strangely out of place, almost sensuous, in 
 this blaze of unusual colour. It was as if forbidden dreams 
 had blossomed suddenly into scarlet flowers. 
 
 The worn face of the Hegoumenos had an air of distinc- 
 tion, for, unlike the majority of those over whom he had 
 been elected to rule, Sofronos Constantinon came of gentle 
 forbears. There was that too in his appearance that ac- 
 counted for the respectful, almost solicitous, affection that 
 all within the monastery bore him. His countenance was 
 
 45
 
 46 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 indicative of his mind ; in it one read of a sincere and up- 
 right nature, narrow, perhaps, as was but natural when 
 one considered the monastic groove in which his life had 
 passed, but beautiful in its simplicity, unspoiled by con- 
 tact with the world. Goodness beamed from his eyes, self- 
 restraint showed visible in the lines of his mouth. His long 
 white beard, descending to his chest, gave him a venerable, 
 indeed a patriarchal air that accorded well with the flow- 
 ing lines of his fur-trimmed robe. 
 
 This old man belonged to a world that is past, a world 
 that gave birth to hermits, and saints, and ascetics. 
 Seventy-three years of age, he had lived a life of re- 
 nunciation. He alone among the abbots of Meteora had 
 attained the distinction of " The Great Habit," the high- 
 est monastic grade, entailing almost complete withdrawal 
 from things earthly, and a life entirely devoted to religious 
 exercises. His black scapula, however in shape not un- 
 like the epitrachelion, or Eastern priest's stole, worked 
 with cross, lance, skull and crossbones, the only outward 
 and visible sign of his ecclesiastical rank was donned but 
 rarely, being reserved for the celebration of the Holy Com- 
 munion and festivals of great religious importance. 
 
 A tallow candle, placed in a brass candlestick, stood 
 upon a bracket fastened to the opposite wall. The shadow 
 of Hegoumenos loomed huge and distorted behind him upon 
 the whitewashed space between the cupboard and the win- 
 dow. It appeared to threaten with vague and ominous 
 gestures. Other shadows lurked in the corners. Seen in 
 the flickering light, the austere little room seemed a fitting 
 environment to the aged priest. 
 
 Upon the table stood a tray with the remains of supper 
 not the savoury diet of vegetables served in the refec- 
 tory, but Eucharistic cakes of fine flour and stamped with 
 the words in Greek, " Jesus Christ conquers," a delicacy 
 reserved for his especial use. The wine also differed from 
 that supplied to the monks, being of superior quality. 
 
 The Hegoumenos of Barlaam invariably partook of his 
 meals alone. They were brought to his cell by a lay- 
 brother. His day and night were as rigidly mapped out 
 as were those of his subordinates, but, unlike them, he 
 was condemned by his rank to pass his leisure hours in 
 solitude. He could indeed visit the brethren where and
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 47 
 
 when he pleased having access to their cells as one 
 privileged to intrude upon retirement he could pause in 
 his solitary wanderings about the monastic precincts to 
 address a remark or even crack a time-honoured jest, but 
 for all that he was a being apart, and all recognised that, 
 although with them, he was not of them. This enforced 
 loneliness imparted a touch of pathos. It became visible 
 at times in the expression of his eyes; a look as if he had 
 missed something, as if, in the rarefied atmosphere of his 
 spiritual life, he were dimly conscious of a want that 
 haunted him with vague yearnings, vague regrets. 
 
 From time to time the old priest broke the cakes with 
 listless fingers, and, raising the cup, touched the contents 
 with abstemious lips. His supper finished, he pushed the 
 table from him and rose to his feet. Fumbling in the 
 pocket of his cloak he produced a horn snuff-box, from 
 which he helped himself to a generous pinch. As he did 
 so, his eyes glistened. It was his one vice, and he. pan- 
 dered to it with the utmost self-complacency. Brushing 
 the dust from his white beard and moving softly, he went 
 out into the corridor. The barn-like gallery was plunged 
 in obscurity. The faint light from behind him fell upon 
 a bundle of sheepskins suspended from a nail, and on the 
 open, windowless space that, looking upon the courtyard, 
 gave light in the daytime to the corridor. Framed by 
 the latter, the leaves of a fig-tree could dimly be distin- 
 guished forming mysterious arabesques against the black- 
 ness beyond. The silence was broken only by the subdued 
 sound of snores proceeding from the adjacent cells. It 
 being ten o'clock, the majority of the brethren had retired 
 to snatch a little sleep before the semantron summoned 
 them to private meditations at half-past eleven. 
 
 The old man inhaled the night air. Its purity refreshed 
 him after the vitiated atmosphere of his cell. He was 
 about to re-enter his little room when footsteps in the 
 courtyard attracted his attention. 
 ' Who is there? " he called. 
 
 "It is I, venerable father," came the voice of Petros. 
 " Have I permission to speak? " 
 
 " Assuredly, my son." 
 
 The boy stood below in the blackness of the court, the 
 Abbot above him in the gallery.
 
 48 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " I would have come to you before," continued Petros, 
 " but I feared to disturb you. I have to confess that I 
 overstayed my time to-night." 
 
 " Then you have lost your supper? " 
 
 Under cover of the darkness Petros beamed. 
 
 " Nay, venerable father; Sotiri kept back a platter for 
 me." 
 
 " That is well; but, my son, rules are for our guidance. 
 Try not to transgress again." 
 
 " That will I but there was a reason " 
 
 He related his meeting with Zetitzka. The old man, 
 bending over the rail, listened eagerly. 
 
 " He is then here? " The Abbot broke in upon the 
 narration. 
 
 " Yes, he waiteth to have speech of you. I left him 
 but now, in the outer court." 
 
 " Bring him to me at once." 
 
 Petros lingered. 
 
 " My father " 
 
 " Speak." 
 
 " He is a likely enough lad, and he has known sorrow. 
 I found that out, I alone ! It would be gladsome to have 
 him here always. Now, if so be that you keep him, I 
 fear that the work may be too hard he puzzles me some- 
 what silent and fearless, but sad, and assuredly no head 
 for precipices. But I you know me ! now if in your 
 goodness you could devise somewhat, right joyfully would 
 I " 
 
 There came a soft chuckle from the gallery. 
 
 " And so you fear that I may prove a hard taskmas- 
 ter? " 
 
 "Nay, venerable father! I meant not that; I would 
 
 have said " 
 
 ' There, my son, no need to speak. I know. Now, 
 go and sleep even Samson slept on occasions, I believe." 
 He chuckled again. " But first conduct the youth here, 
 for it is dark to-night." 
 
 ' You asked to see me? " said the Abbot kindly, when 
 Zetitzka, guided by Petros, stood before him. As he spoke, 
 he peered downward from the gallery at the figure clad in 
 white that looked so remarkable in the dusk of the court. 
 
 " Yes."
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 49 
 
 " Say ' venerable father,' " prompted the youthful voice 
 at her elbow. 
 
 The aged priest caught the whisper and smiled. " Come 
 with me," said he, addressing Zetitzka. " We can talk 
 better in my cell. Over the bridge, there, on your left. 
 Come." 
 
 She joined him in silence, with a beating heart. Once 
 within the little room, the Abbot adjusted his spectacles 
 and turned with unaffected interest to scrutinise the 
 stranger. His eyes fell upon the picturesque costume, 
 strangely barbaric in the wavering candle-light the oval 
 face, unaccountably pale the mouth, with its lips set 
 firm in a line of determination and, finally, upon the 
 eyes, large, black, and unnaturally bright. The latter 
 struck and held his gaze. Their hard and feverish glitter 
 spoke of a soul troubled to its depths, and conveyed, more- 
 over, the impression of a wild animal confronted with 
 danger. 
 
 The Abbot cleared his throat, and took an immense 
 pinch of snuff. 
 
 " Now, my son," said he, combing his long white beard 
 with his fingers, " what have you to say to me? " 
 
 Zetitzka remained silent. Her fingers underneath her 
 jacket clasped and unclasped the silver handle of her 
 yataghan with a nervous contraction of the muscles. Her 
 eyes strayed restlessly from the divan to the door, and 
 from the door to the black cupboard on the wall. 
 
 " "Well? " said the Abbot, after a long pause. 
 
 Zetitzka gnawed at her under lip. 
 
 Faintly across the benighted court stole the sound of 
 singing. It came from the refectory. It seemed to 
 Zetitzka as if the quavering notes were depriving her of 
 all power of thought. 
 
 ' ' Far be it from me to force you to speak, ' ' went on the 
 mild voice. He paused a moment, then continued: " I 
 see your heart is troubled. It has for long been my great 
 privilege, with the good God's assistance " he crossed 
 himself reverently " to comfort them that mourn. All 
 in distress have a claim on me. All here are my dear 
 children. Now you, my son, are young a boy! Look 
 on me as an earthly father. Try to tell me what troubles 
 you." 
 4
 
 50 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 He spoke in so kind a manner, putting the question 
 with the diffidence of one who fears to intrude upon the 
 sorrows of another, that Zetitzka was moved in spite of 
 the blackness that weighed her down. Her reception was 
 proving far different from that which she had anticipated. 
 It was as if a helping hand were outstretched to her in 
 the groping blackness of her night. For the first time 
 since she had parted from her child, a wavering softness 
 came into her eyes. It was gone, however, on the in- 
 stant. At the memory of the man who had betrayed her 
 at the certainty that he was there, within fifty yards, 
 living in an odour of sanctity, every gentle thought fled 
 precipitately, and again her hand closed tight upon her 
 yataghan. 
 
 Looking straight at her would-be confessor in defensive 
 though mute defiance, she shook her head. 
 
 To her surprise a twinkle came into the old man's eyes. 
 
 11 Well," said he, " as you cannot tell me, needs must I 
 guess. ' ' 
 
 She waited, breathless. 
 
 " You have come across the frontier? " 
 
 " Y es." 
 
 "Albanian? " 
 
 Again a muttered affirmative. The Abbot rubbed his 
 hands. 
 
 " I knew it. Behold, none can wittingly deceive me! 
 Now," a complacent smile lighted his face, " how think 
 you I guessed that? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " From your raiment. Yea, verily. Sooth it is that I 
 have seen clothes like these before, though not so fine." 
 He touched the fringe of her scarlet sash with naive 
 admiration, unconscious of her sudden shrinking. " We 
 have a dear brother who came to us from Albania, per- 
 chance a year agone. I mind me of the date, for it befell 
 during the fast of the Holy Mother of God. He like- 
 wise ' the Abbot checked himself, then inquired with 
 grave interest ' Is he known unto you? " 
 
 An indescribable alertness had come into her face. 
 
 I think I mean " she stammered in confusion. 
 'Maybe not maybe not," commented the old man, 
 visibly disappointed. " Albania is doubtless a big place,
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 51 
 
 for all it looks so small on the map. One cannot be 
 expected to know everyone. But, as I was minded to 
 say, he likewise came to me in sore need of consolation; 
 and, being young but not so young as you, he but you 
 will see for yourself, for the most part we are all grey- 
 beards here. Now," he laid a hand on her shoulder, " I 
 must not forget divers but necessary questions. Nay, 
 fear not, these you can answer in a little moment. Tell 
 me, do you belong to the true Church ? ' ' 
 
 She looked at him. 
 
 " The Orthodox Greek Church," he explained. 
 
 " I am a Christian." 
 
 ' ' Polycala, praise be to God ! There are many Mahom- 
 medans in your country. But, of course, you would not 
 have come here if you had not been of the true faith. 
 You are very young I marvel much " 
 
 He broke off, for he saw that she was not listening to 
 him, but to the distant singing. 
 
 So accustomed was the Abbot to deference, that this 
 young stranger's frank inattention at first surprised, then 
 awoke in him a faint sense of humour. He watched her 
 in silence, puzzled, yet attracted. She stirred some deep 
 but undeveloped instinct within him, something protective 
 and paternal. The white costume, the scarlet sash, the 
 embroideries, all looked out of place in this grey cell. The 
 young face too, proud and strikingly handsome, yet 
 brooding and ill at ease, was as alien to the monastery 
 as the costume. Never before had the Abbot's curiosity 
 been so excited. The flickering candle-light, that touched 
 this unexpected visitor here and there with wavering gold, 
 lent an air of unreality. For very little, the aged priest 
 would have believed this to be an apparition. But, as he 
 looked wonderingly at her, a something pathetically 
 human, pathetically appealing to sympathy in her fixed 
 and strained expression, put all superstitious fears to 
 flight. 
 
 " What is your name? " he asked kindly. 
 
 A swift look of distress clouded her face. 
 
 " Nay," continued the old man, " be comforted. It mat- 
 ters not. I see well that I must first gain your confi- 
 dence. What is that you say? Angelos? Well, that will 
 do 'tis a good name, of lucky omen, for verily you have
 
 52 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 come amongst us as 'twere an angel, unawares." He 
 smiled upon her, pleased with the allusion ; then with a 
 suppressed eagerness in his voice: " Now, I know not if 
 so be that you desire to enter the monastery? Nay, you 
 are too young." 
 
 The proposition took Zetitzka aback. She! a woman! 
 to enter a monastery? To become a monk ! Impossible. 
 And yet, this old man seemed in earnest. She was a boy 
 a b y she must remember that. And after all, if she 
 appeared to consent? It would gain time. It was only 
 for one night. Thank God for that! 
 
 The Abbot marked her rising colour. Leaning forward 
 with his hands on his knees, his eyebrows arched inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 " Y es," she stammered. " I I think I might wish 
 it." 
 
 The Abbot ladled out snuff to conceal his gratification. 
 A new inmate for Barlaam was as fresh blood to his 
 veins. 
 
 " Well, Angelos," said he, taking her reluctant hand 
 and stroking it between his wrinkled palms. " Well, 
 there is time sufficient for that. Verily it is a serious 
 step, and not to be rashly undertaken. Seek advice in 
 prayer, my son. And do naught you may repent of later ; 
 for sooth it is we all magnify our little earthly troubles. 
 Abide here for a space, and see if so be you feel worthy. 
 You will find our life full of blessed peace. Yet needs 
 must you labour with your hands, for you will be a postu- 
 lant or lay brother till such time as God sees fit to make 
 you a monk. But all can be seasonably settled on the 
 morrow. Now, I can spare you no more time yet, 
 hearken." He stayed her with a gesture. " I give cell 
 No. 15 unto you ; it is nigh opposite the bridge, and not to 
 be mistaken. I will send you raiment suitable for a lay 
 brother. Good-night, my son, and may the Sweet Saviour 
 have you in His keeping. ' ' 
 
 He raised his thin hand in a gesture of benediction 
 and of dismissal. She waited a moment, half expecting 
 him to speak again, but as he remained silent, she slipped 
 noiselessly from the rooit
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CLOSING the door of her cell, Zetitzka felt anxiously for 
 a key or bolt, but found neither. A faint light from the 
 lofty barred window revealed her new abode as a fac- 
 simile of that of the Abbot. As she moved stealthily 
 forward, a low and monotonous sound came to her ears, 
 resolving itself, as she held her breath, into an incompre- 
 hensible mumbling proceeding from the adjoining cell. 
 A heavy smell floated on the unventilated atmosphere, 
 mysteriously suggestive of unsavoury monkish belongings. 
 It seemed to Zetitzka her nerves in a state of tension 
 as if that stale and oppressive odour were a something 
 lurking there, some spirit of a former occupant, austere, 
 antagonistic, peculiarly distinctive of Barlaam, of the 
 monastery that had frowned down upon her from the 
 heights, and now encircled her like a trap with a grim and 
 ominous silence. 
 
 A fierce impatience possessed her. To her mind, un- 
 naturally excited under an appearance of calm, all cross- 
 examination was futile, a mere waste of time. The neces- 
 sity for disguising her feelings had taxed her self-control 
 almost beyond its power of endurance. More than once 
 she had been on the point of betraying herself. 
 
 Now, in this cell, she could breathe freely, was at liberty 
 to mature her plans. Her surroundings made but little 
 effect upon her save as a dark and unfamiliar background 
 to a terrible necessity. The latter stood out as a fierce 
 white light, absorbing her, claiming her every thought, 
 penetrating to the inmost recesses of her being. To find 
 Stephanos, to kill him, and to fly ! 
 
 But her brain, numb with suffering and the stress of 
 long-continued emotions unnaturally repressed, was un- 
 able to respond at once to this effort of her will. As she 
 sat there in the darkness, her head between her hands, 
 she was distressingly conscious of a mental vacuity, and 
 of a physical weakness that caused her brain to burn. 
 
 53
 
 54 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Yet no doubt of herself darkened her mind. She could 
 do it. Let her but once confront him and the smoulder- 
 ing memory of her wrongs would flame high, would steel 
 her heart and nerve her hand. But where was he? In 
 this black and fearful abode of monks she must seek him 
 now, at once! 
 
 Slowly she rose to her feet. As she stood there, a 
 desperate woman, wide-eyed, alert, the sound of heavy 
 footsteps came from the corridor. This noise breaking 
 upon the intense stillness forced the other monastic in- 
 mates to her mind ; made her realise also, that if she were 
 to act at all, she must act at once. Moving forward, she 
 opened the door of her cell. Peering into the obscurity 
 of the passage, she wondered with a breathless and fixed 
 intensity which of these many diminutive rooms was that 
 occupied by the man who had deserted her. Having 
 nothing to guide her, she moved forward aimlessly, but 
 with anxious caution. Under her feet the old woodwork 
 creaked, causing her more than once to stand still in sud- 
 den apprehension; but nothing seemed alive in this dead 
 and isolated world, nothing but the night wind moaning 
 sadly to itself among the fig leaves. 
 
 Zetitzka had formed no conception of the interior of a 
 monastery. To her anxious straining eyes it seemed full 
 of sinister passages, of mysterious openings, of dark and 
 unexpected flights of stairs, leading she knew not whither. 
 Chill and earthy draughts breathed upon her; and from 
 overhead, among a night of rafters, came thin screeching 
 noises that caused her skin to roughen. Mechanically, 
 moving as one impelled by a dream, she wandered on, 
 noiseless, groping with arms outstretched, looking, in her 
 white costume, by the faint light that stole inwards from 
 the courtyard, as ghostly as did the monastery itself. 
 
 Suddenly, as she paused irresolute, a dark figure crossed 
 the court, and passed within a few yards of where she 
 stood. Taking her courage in both hands, Zetitzka called 
 to it. The figure paused, then approached her. 
 
 ' Who are you? " cried an unfamiliar voice. Its Greek 
 was the Greek of the islands, but Zetitzka understood with- 
 out difficulty. 
 
 Her explanation appeared to arouse the new-comer's as- 
 tonishment, for he nttered an ejaculation.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 55 
 
 "You came to-night! No one told me. So, you are 
 to be a postulant? Well, you will be under me. I am 
 Sotiri, the eldest of the lay brethren. You will sleep with 
 us. Come, I will show you." 
 
 In a low voice Zetitzka mentioned that the Abbot had 
 already apportioned her a cell. The information appar- 
 ently roused his disapprobation, for his manner changed 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Why are you wandering about here? " he demanded. 
 
 Zetitzka hesitated. " I was looking for for ' 
 
 " For whom? " 
 
 " For one of the monks. He is called or used to be 
 called Stephanos. ' ' 
 
 " Brother Stephanos? Do you know him? " His voice 
 betrayed unexpected interest. 
 
 " I used to know him." 
 
 " So you are a friend of his? That makes a difference. 
 He is a saint." 
 
 Zetitzka choked back a cry of amazement. The wind 
 wandered in from the night, and moaned faintly along the 
 deserted passages. The sound was one of desolation and 
 infinite melancholy. 
 
 " Which is his cell? " Her whisper barely stirred the 
 silence. 
 
 "His ceU? No. 18. But you cannot go there. 'Tis 
 forbidden. Besides, he is not there now." 
 ' Not there? " 
 
 "No. He prays in the Catholicon. There!" He 
 pointed towards a shadowy building that, detaching itself 
 from its neighbours, upreared its dome into the night. 
 
 Zetitzka caught her breath. To know Stephanos so close 
 filled her with unexpected and overpowering emotions. 
 Pressing her hands to her bosom under cover of the 
 darkness, she stood speechless. Her companion yawned 
 loudly. 
 
 " Well, I cannot stand here wasting time. I must get 
 my charcoal. The semantron will sound soon and I who 
 could sleep for a week! You will find him there; but it 
 is not seemly to disturb him in his devotions. It were 
 better you went to bed." 
 
 The last words were flung over his shoulder as he 
 receded.
 
 56 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Zetitzka entered the Catholicon. She moved noiselessly, 
 having left her shoes in the porch. The peculiar construc- 
 tion of the venerable building, the mystic shadows, the 
 chill gloom, barely dispelled by the flicker of a solitary 
 candle burning before an icon, the musty smell of wicks, 
 incense, and draperies, affected her not at all. Her every 
 thought concentrated itself with a breathless and wide- 
 eyed intensity upon a man kneeling before the lighted 
 picture. His back was turned towards her, his head bent, 
 the tonsure in the form of a cross being faintly visible. 
 
 It was he Stephanos! Zetitzka came to an abrupt 
 standstill. Something leapt to her throat, but the im- 
 perative and terrible resolution that swayed her sternly 
 demanded self-control. Thus far everything had conspired 
 to assist her. The monks were asleep, the courtyard and 
 passages deserted. The man she sought was here, alone, 
 given over to her vengeance. She had only to steal upon 
 him, strike one blow, then fly. Before the deed could 
 be discovered she would be far away, safe from pursuit. 
 She tried to realise all that this would mean the black- 
 ness of dishonour lifted from her life, the undying anguish 
 of self-reproach alleviated, her child no longer branded 
 with shame, but the son of a worthy mother, of one who, 
 though weak, had found strength in suffering to avenge 
 her wrongs. As these dawned upon her, a wave of emo- 
 tion flooded her entire body, tingled through every nerve, 
 and filled her heart with courage. 
 
 Fierce thoughts, too, came to her aid, mingled with 
 shame and resentment. This was the man who had 
 wrecked her life, who had abandoned her! Through her 
 distracted brain passed memories his words, his kisses, 
 his physical being searing itself again upon hers in an 
 intense and shuddering agony of recollection. They passed 
 like bloody phantoms through the echoing halls of memory, 
 crying to her, inflaming her to revenge. As she stood 
 motionless, she listened to these inaudible voices till her 
 breath came short and her eyes darted flame. 
 
 All was still. The only sound was the gnawing of mice 
 behind the ancient woodwork. From time to time 
 Stephanos bent his body, pressed his forehead against the 
 marble pavement; then, recovering his former position, 
 crossed himself devoutly.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 57 
 
 Slowly Zetitzka's hand stole to the hilt of her yataghan. 
 Across her face passed horror, fascination, repulsion. 
 Into her woman's body the soul of her race rushed a 
 torrent of hot blood. She was conscious of it boiling around 
 her heart, seething through every swollen artery and vein, 
 impelling her to immediate action. 
 
 Swiftly she glided forward on silent, naked feet, a dim 
 and avenging whiteness amid the shadows. Behind the 
 kneeling figure she paused, drew a deep shuddering breath, 
 and jerked her hand on high. But ere the blade could 
 strike, her eyes encountered the face of the Virgin con- 
 fronting her immediately above the monk's head. The 
 trembling flame, fanned by chill draughts, not only 
 caused it to shine pre-eminently forth, but imparted to it 
 a mysterious animation. 
 
 Within the eyes that held hers with a strange and 
 awful fixity Zetitzka's superstitious brain read warning 
 and condemnation. Petros had spoken of a miraculous icon 
 Our Lady of Pity potent to save those who trusted in 
 her. Suddenly it flashed into the girl's mind that she was 
 protecting her worshipper now. 
 
 Awe swept down upon her. Her hand fell to her side, 
 nerveless. A look of consternation came into her face 
 the look of one who recognises and recoils from a terrible 
 danger. 
 
 All at once the sancitity of the spot spoke to her. It 
 resembled the voice of God raised suddenly, unexpectedly 
 in the silence. She shrank back appalled. 
 
 The mental shock that arrested action left every limb 
 paralysed. For a moment she stood as though changed to 
 stone, then, turning, fled swiftly.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE monks of Barlaam drifted out of the Catholicon. 
 The hands of the cheap modern clock in the refectory 
 pointed to eight. 
 
 Seen in the keen sunlight of the August morning, the 
 brethren were a strange community. They were mediaeval 
 men in purely mediaeval surroundings. They not only sug- 
 gested, but were, the past. The world far beneath them 
 had progressed, but they stood still, stranded on their 
 pinnacle home as effectually as castaways on a desert island. 
 
 By twos and threes they sauntered along the cloisters, 
 their sombre habits and lonr grey beards according well 
 with the old-world architecture. 
 
 Last of all came the Abbot, walking alone in dignified 
 isolation. The old man appeared weary and as though the 
 strain of the long service had sapped his strength. Where 
 the cloisters led to the courtyard he paused to speak to 
 Petros. 
 
 " See Angelos when he wakes," he said, nodding his 
 tall hat in the direction of the dormitories. " Show him 
 all things needful." 
 
 "Yes, venerable father." 
 
 " We know naught of him," mused the Abbot " his 
 folk, I mean. I hope he has not come here without their 
 consent. But vex him not with questions. We will find 
 out later, if God wills. Here all are welcome. I am a sure 
 judge of character. He hath a good face." 
 
 Petros assented deferentially, adding with the freedom 
 of one privileged on account of his youth : ' ' But, 
 venerable father, fain would I know his history." 
 
 The old man smiled, then shook his head. 
 * He comes from the world, therefore his heart is full 
 of unrest. Naught but the life in Christ can give peace." 
 He allowed his eyes to rest affectionately upon the sunlit 
 cloisters, then continued: " This youth, I see it well, is 
 as one wounded in battle. Some foe hath smitten him 
 
 58
 
 59 
 
 sore. The world is full of such God forgive them! " 
 
 In the boy 's face indignation contended with the restrain- 
 ing knowledge of his superior's presence. 
 
 " Speak, my son." 
 
 " Would that I could meet the foe you speak of. By 
 the saints! " His fists clenched his face glowed. " I 
 would do penance for a month> ay, and gladly, could I but 
 smite him." 
 
 "Gently gently, my son!" The Abbot's voice was 
 grave, but the benevolent eyes twinkled. " Violence cor- 
 recting violence. So is it not laid down in the Scriptures. 
 Now I go, but see to it that the lad gets a good breakfast. 
 Stay! As you and he are comrades, he can eat with you 
 to-day, and to-morrow I will decide definitely." 
 
 As the old man spoke, he supported himself, one thin 
 hand upon a pillar. 
 
 " You are weary, venerable father? " cried the boy with 
 impulsive sympathy. 
 
 " Weary? Nay, I am exceedingly strong. It may be 
 that the sun dazzled my eyes yet is my sight wondrous. ' ' 
 
 Very leisurely he polished his horn-rimmed spectacles. 
 Then, clasping his fur-edged cassock around him, began 
 to descend the steps. Petros was at once accosted by two 
 of the brethren. They approached him with unusual haste, 
 to the swish of trailed sandals. 
 
 " What said the venerable father? " inquired Nicodemus. 
 
 " Yes, yes; what said he? " echoed Gerasimos. 
 
 Petros satisfied their curiosity. 
 
 " Ah," mumbled Nicodemus, biting long and dirty 
 nails, ' ' I hope he will appear soon. What manner of man 
 is he? What? Not yet twenty? Blessed fathers, Bar- 
 laam is becoming a school ! ' ' 
 
 " Yet there may be the makings of a good monk in 
 him," suggested Gerasimos hopefully. " And, brother, 'tis 
 from lads like this that Barlaam must needs recruit. Of a 
 surety, Brother Petros and he will be singing here when 
 we are naught but but a mouthful of worms." 
 
 Nicodemus spat hastily. 
 
 " I remember well," he droned after a pause, coiling as 
 he spoke a wisp of his long grey hair and poking it beneath 
 the rim of his grotesque hat, " I remember well when I 
 joined the monastery all were of proper age. One was
 
 60 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ninety-two. His name was let me think nay, it hath 
 escaped me." 
 
 " He was so old that he died," wheezed Gerasimos 
 simply. " What a blessed year was that five funerals! " 
 
 " So he did so he did. But would I could remember 
 his name." 
 
 Gerasimos yawned loudly. 
 
 " There used to be a Brother Josephus, too," continued 
 Nicodemus. "You remember him? At Hagios Triada." 
 
 " He that had a wart on his nose? I remember him 
 well. He owed me two pesetas when he died. Alack, never 
 did I recover them! " 
 
 The bleared eyes of Nicodemus lighted with fierce dis- 
 approval. 
 
 " And where is the love of holy poverty that should in- 
 flame your sinful soul, Brother Gerasimos ? Two pesetas ! 
 Of such are the kingdom of hell. Two pesetas ! Get thee 
 behind me. ' ' 
 
 Gerasimos crossed himself in visible anxiety. 
 
 Petros, seeking good-naturedly to turn the conversation 
 to safer channels, found in the deceased Josephus a valuable 
 ally. 
 
 " He had a mother," snuffled Nicodemus, then chuckled 
 in obvious reminiscence. " Only think, brother " he laid 
 a dirty hand on Petros 's arm " she she wanted to mount 
 the ladders ! But that was long before your time. ' ' 
 
 " So she did, so she did," tittered Gerasimos, his eyes 
 disappearing in wrinkles. 
 
 " He was her only son," continued Nicodemus. " She 
 said she could not live without him. My mother was more 
 reasonable. ' ' 
 
 "That we well believe," murmered Gerasimos, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 Nicodemus shot a suspicious glance at his friend, but 
 the simple and almost meaningless smile upon the plebeian 
 face reassured him. After a dignified pause, he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 ;< Brother Josephus was not permitted to descend. It 
 was judged a temptation. So he used to shout down to 
 her from the tower of the windlass, and she used to 
 scream up to him from the path with difficulty, you 
 understand, she being feeble and he deaf. She came once
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 61 
 
 a year for six or seven years. Ay, every single summer 
 as regular as leaves on our fig-tree and all for half an 
 hour's talk. Then, one winter in the month of January 
 it befell, for I remember our wood ran short Brother 
 Josephus died. They were constrained to tell her when 
 she came. I was at Hagios Triada that day. They shouted 
 the news down to her. It took a long time to make her 
 understand." He wrinkled his forehead, then added: 
 " There was something else odd about him, too, if I could 
 only remember. ' ' 
 
 Leaving the friends still deep in gossip, Petros made 
 his way toward the tower of the windlass. As he passed 
 the door of No. 15 he paused to listen, but all was quiet. 
 
 The little old monastery basked and baked in the strong 
 sun. The veil of quivering light and heat tempered its 
 mediaeval severity and imparted to it an air of drowsy 
 unconcern. The sombre and blood-stained pages in its 
 history pages of ruthless persecution and fierce retalia- 
 tion were forgotten. The cruelty that, linked to love and 
 self-sacrifice, still slept in its fanatical heart was disguised ; 
 and, drugged with draughts of sunlight, Barlaam gave itself 
 up to the warm and slumbrous influence of the summer 
 morning. 
 
 But beneath this appearance of inertia there lurked 
 always a suggestion of barbarism, conveyed it may be by a 
 certain old-world grimness of aspect. 
 
 The merciless light accentuated its antiquity and rendered 
 its silence more impressive. Everything about it spoke of 
 age. Even its shadows seemed old. Not a crumbling stone, 
 not a worm-eaten rafter, but took the imagination back 
 back to the dark ages, to wild and lawless times, to an 
 inconceivably remote past rendered dim and mysterious 
 by the living present. This distinctive atmosphere had all 
 the disquieting fascination, the haunting uneasy attraction 
 that characterises the unknown. To come under its spell 
 was to grow mentally restless, to give way to vague fears, 
 to become apprehensive of one knew not what. 
 
 It was not wholly without animation. At times a black- 
 robed brother would cross the open sunlit space, or descend 
 one of the small, irregular flights of stairs, moving slowly 
 and with feeble steps, and would disappear into some dark 
 entrance; at times the silence would be broken by the
 
 62 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 murmur of distant voices, or by the faint sound of sandals 
 dragged listlessly over warm flagstones. 
 
 The thin air told of extreme altitude. Nothing of the 
 incomparable view could be seen, the courtyard being 
 hedged about by monastic buildings, but in the pure atmos- 
 phere and fierce white light every detail stood out trenchant 
 and clear. 
 
 There were the cloisters, with the semantron suspended 
 between two of the squat grey pillars the corridor, out 
 of which opened the cells of the brethren the Byzantine 
 church with its circular dome, stained and moss-clad, old 
 as Christianity itself the black and labyrinthine passages 
 the one gnarled fig-tree, with leaves green and lustrous 
 against the rotting woodwork of the refectory the granite 
 of the aged walls sun-steeped and weather-worn all hud- 
 dled on a tiny space, lifted high above the world. 
 
 Time seemed to have forgotten it. Death stole its in- 
 mates one by one, but the little monastery lived on, silent 
 as are the very aged, brooding continually on the past. 
 
 Petros looked at his surroundings with unconscious ap- 
 proval. The little court, with its air of stagnation and 
 decay, held for him nothing but sunshine and happiness. 
 As he ran down the steps his youth and activity were 
 very apparent. In his head the refrain of a Greek chant 
 droned persistently. He had taken part in it nightly, 
 oftener indeed than he could remember, reiterating it 
 drowsily as he stood beside his grey-bearded companions. 
 It expressed thankfulness only a few words set to the old 
 and almost forgotten chorus-music of the Greeks, but never 
 before had it seemed to him so significant a personal mes- 
 sage voicing his profound though unspoken convictions. 
 
 Where another youth would have whistled a popular 
 melody, Petros sang church music. This he did from no 
 promptings of piety, but simply because he felt happy. 
 
 As he drank in the freshness and beauty of the morn- 
 ing, the sensation of weariness and want of sleep which 
 had oppressed him in the Catholicon dropped from him, 
 giving place to a desire for exercise, and a healthy long- 
 ing for breakfast. And all the time, in the background 
 of his mind, he was pleasantly conscious of something 
 unusual in the air, connected, when he allowed his thoughts 
 to dwell upon it, with the arrival of a new inmate,
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 63 
 
 Having lowered the ladder his daily duty as the young- 
 est of the brethren Petros again sought the dormitories, 
 and, unable any longer to restrain his impatience, knocked 
 eagerly at the door of Zetitzka's cell. It opened slowly, al- 
 most reluctantly, he thought, and the girl stood before him. 
 
 She made a striking picture, framed in the dark and 
 narrow doorway. Her Arnaut costume, with all its brav- 
 ery of white homespun and black braid, had been exchanged 
 for a skull-cap, a tunic of coarse grey cloth reaching to the 
 knees, cloth gaiters, and leather shoes the sombre and ill- 
 fitting dress of a lay brother. The boy looked at her criti- 
 cally, with undisguised curiosity, interesting himself in 
 every detail, from her little feet, too small for the clumsy 
 shoes, to the set of her head upon a neck unusually stat- 
 uesque. 
 
 "Bravo!" He smiled encouragingly. " You look one 
 of us already. But that tunic does not become you so 
 bravely as the raiment you wore last night. No matter. 
 'Tis a worthier garb, well pleasing to God and the blessed 
 saints. ' ' Then, with quick sympathy as he noticed her pal- 
 lor and the dark lines under her eyes, " You slept well, I 
 trust? " 
 
 Forced to reply, Zetitzka murmured something which he 
 took to be an affirmative, yet she gave him food for wonder, 
 for, even as she spoke, her large wild eyes were gazing over 
 his shoulder with a singularly furtive expression. 
 
 " Be of good cheer," he nodded reassuringly. " No call 
 to look alarmed. None wicked dare come here. Ay, these 
 are our cloisters; it was too dark to see them last night. 
 Truly " he turned upon her impulsively, his face breaking 
 into an irrepressible smile " right glad am I that you are 
 here. Come, let us go to breakfast." 
 
 But Zetitzka did not move. Scarce heeding his words, 
 she continued to gaze around her. This, then, was the 
 monastery ! This was Barlaam ! She had seen nothing like 
 this. In spite of the sunshine that fell like a river of flame, 
 the place to Zetitzka's mind was fearsome inimical. Its 
 air of affected indifference was sinister, suspicious. It put 
 her on her guard. At any moment something might happen. 
 Somewhere in that unfamiliar maze of passages lurked 
 Stephanos. At any moment one of these mysterious little 
 doors might open, and he might come out. Faint with
 
 64 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 hunger and weary with want of sleep, she was nevertheless 
 strung up for any emergency, prepared to confront him, to 
 denounce him, and, if it came to fighting, to sell her life 
 as dearly as possible. 
 
 But all was still, peaceful, somnolent. The heat quivered 
 faintly. The quiet was unbroken, save by a subdued mur- 
 mur that, stealing from the shadowy dormitories, told of 
 the prayers that rarely ceased in this aerial sanctuary dedi- 
 cated to God. 
 
 With the feelings of a trapped animal, Zetitzka cast her 
 eyes on high. The dome of blue was flawless; above a 
 ruined wall that fretted the east, the merciless sun was pour- 
 ing his fire upon a world that had already begun to pant 
 and groan with heat. 
 
 Her arrival on the preceding night flashed to her mind 
 the great cliffs, the perilous ladders. Was she, then, so 
 cut off from the world? Was it possible that, could she 
 see over these grey and ruinous walls, she would again be 
 rendered dizzy by the appalling depth, would see the fields, 
 the valley, and the river that she had crossed yesterday, all 
 far, far below, tiny as a child's toy? 
 
 She was recalled from uneasy speculation by her com- 
 panion. He was staring at her with the utmost friendli- 
 ness, with an expression that betokened that he considered 
 her in the light of a welcome addition to his personal prop- 
 erty. This smiling and proprietary attitude chafed her. 
 Despite his youth and evident good-nature, she felt hostile 
 to him. He was a monk. His tall black hat and sombre 
 cassock filled her with vague repulsion. They were the 
 disguise of Stephanos. 
 
 ' Well," he cried cheerily, " what is it? I cannot be- 
 lieve you slept soundly. You look as if you had seen an 
 evil vision. Nay, be not in any wise afraid. Here all are 
 friendly. Ay, of a truth, the brethren are right anxious 
 to see you. Come, let us go to breakfast." 
 
 " I do not want breakfast," she said in a low voice. 
 
 He cried out in the extremity of his amazement. " Not 
 want breakfast! What folly is this? And you who ate 
 like a sparrow last night ! Little marvel you look ill. Nay, 
 come you must, for I am wholly purposed to take you." 
 
 Zetitzka hesitated. Again she cast an anxious glance
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 65 
 
 round the court, and again she was half reassured, half 
 rendered suspicious by the sunlit stagnation. Not only all 
 passion, but all life, seemed dead all except this boy so 
 strangely full of vitality at her side. 
 
 " Will will all the monks be there? " she hazarded, with 
 unaccustomed timidity. 
 
 " Where? " he demanded. 
 
 " In the place you eat where you took me last night." 
 
 " The refectory, you would say. Assuredly, we monks " 
 he expanded his chest " all breakfast together, except, 
 of course, the Abbot, and lately brother Stephanos. He 
 fasts till the evening meal a sainted man. But think not 
 you are to eat with us always. Nay, you are only a lay 
 brother. It is a privilege granted you to-day by the kind- 
 ness of the venerable father. He did it for my sake: he 
 saw I liked you. Let us go. Brother Nicodemus is some- 
 times wrothful if one is late. He helps the dishes, and it 
 is wise to please him. You will sit near me. I will show 
 you everything. Ah! you will come? Good! " 
 
 Like every event that had happened to her since she 
 had entered the monastery, that meal was an unforgettable 
 experience to Zetitzka. The low vaulted hall of unfaced 
 stone, blackened with oil-smoke, stained with damp, 
 festooned with cobwebs, appeared more real than on the 
 previous night. Then she had been in a bewildered dream, 
 scarce cognisant of her surroundings, but now she was wide 
 awake, silently observant, on her guard, shrinkingly sensi- 
 tive to every influence of environment. 
 
 The very solidity of the refectory struck a chill it was 
 her idea of a prison. Its little door, so low that the monks 
 had to stoop to enter, seemed as if constructed in order to 
 show the thickness of the walls. The lofty windows, mere 
 slits in the masonry, let in but little light a circumstance, 
 however, which caused her a vague sensation of relief. 
 
 With an. extreme nervousness which she fought hard to 
 conquer, Zetitzka seated herself beside Petros at a bench 
 that stood before a long wooden table. The boy continued 
 talking in encouraging tones, pointing out anything which 
 he thought might interest her the arm-chair at the end 
 of the table, to be presently occupied by Brother Nicodemus ; 
 the knotted rope suspended from a nail on the wall, which 
 5
 
 66 
 
 was used in the penance called the " canon "; and, lastly, 
 his own name carved in the dining-table and surrounded 
 with an ornamental border. 
 
 He was still expatiating on this work of art when the 
 brethren streamed in. Each in turn genuflected before an 
 icon on the wall, then took his place. No sooner were all 
 seated and grace droned by Nicodemus, than two lay 
 brethren brought in steaming dishes of vegetables which 
 exhaled a pungent odour. 
 
 To be forced to run the gauntlet of so many masculine 
 eyes was a terrible ordeal to Zetitzka. Scarcely daring to 
 raise her head, she concentrated her attention upon her 
 plate. Every moment she felt as if her secret must be dis- 
 covered, and she herself denounced before the community. 
 But the moment passed and nothing happened. 
 
 Gaining courage, she ventured a look at her companions. 
 All wore the tall black hats of their order; all, with the 
 exception of Petros, were aged men ; all betrayed an almost 
 feverish gluttony, saying no word but " kalo! halo! " be- 
 tween every gulp of food or wine. The scene, the costumes, 
 the dim light, and the knowledge that all this was taking 
 place upon the summit of an isolated rock, struck her with 
 an undying newness of consternation. It made her feel 
 so far away, so helpless. The extreme incongruity of her 
 presence there a woman among all these men came upon 
 her suddenly. She could have laughed aloud in utter 
 nervousness. 
 
 Unknown to herself, the age of the place and the out- 
 landish appearance of the brethren oppressed her. She 
 could not banish it from her mind that, did they but know 
 her sex, did they but know her intentions, not one among 
 these peaceable old men, whose entire minds were so 
 obviously bent upon the business of eating, but would spring 
 up in horror. What would happen to her then she dared 
 not imagine. 
 
 Nor did the conversation, when the edge was taken from 
 their appetites, set her more at her ease. It referred 
 to things about which she knew nothing. Once the name 
 of Stephanos was mentioned, but it was only a remark re- 
 ferring to the ownership of an object left by accident in 
 the Catholicon. The conversation passed to other matters,
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 67 
 
 but Zetitzka felt as though everyone present must have 
 noticed her discomposure. 
 
 Several of the brethren began to take an interest in the 
 new lay brother, displaying much nai've curiosity. Zetitzka 
 was made to feel that her coming was an event in their 
 lives, that all she could tell them was public property their 
 right, as it were ; news from the great world to that isolated 
 height to which so little news ascended. 
 
 Their questions, being of a personal and searching char- 
 acter, would have embarrassed her, had it not been for her 
 young companion. As though aware of her reluctance to 
 being cross-examined, he came to the rescue, replying to 
 some of the questions, parrying others, and all with good- 
 humour and a flow of high spirits that would have infected 
 any company save that of the old men among whom he 
 lived. 
 
 Even they, at times, showed faint signs of amusement 
 the involuntary twinkle of a bleared eye, the sudden ex- 
 pansion of a munching mouth. Their treatment of this boy 
 astonished Zetitzka. They seemed to look upon him as 
 one of themselves, yet with a thinly-disguised complacency, 
 an almost paternal affection of manner, suitable had he 
 been a spoiled child. Thus, when one of their number 
 Nicodemus, a sour-faced old man with bad teeth reproved 
 him for undue levity, the others exchanged explanatory 
 glances, nodding, as who should say : ' ' We deplore it ; but 
 'tis for the lad's good." 
 
 As he ate, Petros took note of his new comrade, approv- 
 ingly, but with boyish reservations. The pale face beside 
 him, and the long, dark lashes that concealed the downcast 
 eyes, appealed to him, he knew not why. He supposed it 
 was because the new-comer looked young. He wished this 
 lay brother would not look so sad, so visibly ill at ease, but 
 consoled himself by a determination to show him over the 
 monastery after breakfast. As an antidote to sorrow, he 
 made a point of seeing that she too had a lavish helping of 
 vegetables, and was shocked to the point of ejaculations at 
 her contemptible appetite. Under cover of the general 
 conversation, he pressed her to eat in short, indignant 
 remonstrances evidently full of fear lest the others should 
 notice her shortcomings and think less of her in conse-
 
 68 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 quence. From time to time he criticised her patronisingly. 
 The intense blue-black gleam of her hair, visible below her 
 lay brother's cap, caught his attention. He never saw his 
 own the monastery not possessing a looking-glass but he 
 mentally compared it with the curly locks of Dimitri the 
 muleteer. He hoped her hands were stronger than they 
 looked. He thought, too, he had never seen such small 
 ears. Something wild and shy about her awoke his 
 curiosity. Even when he spoke to her, her answers always 
 short, and as it were, under compulsion would be followed 
 swiftly by a silent, repressed anxiety, as if her thoughts, 
 tied for a moment by the conversation, were put to the 
 panic of sudden flight by the recollection of some abiding 
 danger. 
 This, he reasoned to himself, was mere foolishness !
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE meal over, Petros took Zetitzka to the Catholicon. 
 The day was hot, the sun blazing in a cloudless sky. 
 Strong shadows lay like pools of blue ink upon the glaring 
 dust of the courtyard. The drowsy air was stirred lan- 
 guidly by the hum of flies. 
 
 As they entered the sacred building, a chill breath met 
 them, contrasting forcibly with the warm, quivering atmos- 
 phere without. 
 
 " This is the Pronoas," explained Petros, indicating the 
 porch. " And those," he pointed to the mural paintings, 
 " are the damned." 
 
 Zetitzka gazed at the evidences of man's imaginative 
 cruelty they struck a kindred note with some inner depth 
 of tragedy in her heart. 
 
 " Look at that poor soul." He pointed to a shrinking 
 sinner being thrust back into the flames by the pitchfork 
 of a particularly malignant fiend. " Poor soul, in all 
 verity ! What joy can he now have of all worldly delights ! 
 'Tis doubtless merited; yet I confess, never do I see him, 
 or any of these, but I long to save . . . 'For ever and 
 ever/ Angelos. 'Tis a solemn, ay, and a fearful thought. 
 By the Saints, right glad am I that you came to us in 
 time! " 
 
 " And the devils," continued the grave young voice, after 
 a pause. " What puzzles me is why are they happy? 
 They are more wicked than the sinners. Why are they 
 happy? I cannot understand. It angers me. Look at 
 that blue one breathing red flames; ay, he with the curly 
 tail. He enjoys it! He laughs! Why? Had I my 
 way " He shook his fist at the leering face, then con- 
 tinued: " Brother Nicodemus repainted him lately, he was 
 sadly weather-beaten. ' Make him sad, ' said I, as I watched 
 from below, ' make him suffer likewise.' But nay, all must 
 be as before." 
 
 69
 
 70 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Slowly they wandered into the cool shadows that seemed 
 to doze in the silence. 
 
 " That is my stall." Petros paused before the row of 
 black seats that ran round the interior. " Behold, it faces 
 the pulpit. I can watch the venerable father when he 
 preaches, Brother Elias now, can only hear him, and that 
 with difficulty. It must be irksome to sit behind a pillar. 
 But he is oftentimes asleep. Last night again it took place, 
 and we lit that candle by his side, and he had to do penance. 
 Come this way." 
 
 ' ' "Where where does Stephanos sit ? " 
 
 The question was faltered half under her breath. She 
 was looking round uneasily. Her guide smiled upon her. 
 
 " No one sits here. 'Tis forbidden during service. Did 
 you not know that? But there is the stall of Brother 
 Stephanos the fourth from mine. ' ' 
 
 She looked at it darkly. In imagination she pictured the 
 gaunt figure of the man she knew so well, standing there 
 hour by hour, engrossed in this world of religion, while she 
 had been suffering, brought low to the very dust in her 
 mountain home. 
 
 " Where is he now? " she asked. 
 
 Petros wondered at her tone. He thought he had never 
 seen so strange a boy. 
 
 " I know not," he answered indifferently. 
 
 She continued, still visibly plunged in thought : ' ' Is he 
 sometimes to be found alone? " 
 
 ' ' Alone ? I suppose nay, I cannot tell. What strange 
 questions you ask. ' ' 
 
 "But in his cell? " 
 
 " Ay, in his cell is he alone; none but the venerable 
 father can visit him there. ' ' 
 
 " No. 18? " 
 
 " Assuredly. But how came you to know that? " 
 
 " One of the lay brethren told me." 
 
 " Sotiri? " 
 
 | Yes." 
 
 " So, you have already had converse with him? He is 
 a rude fellow. But if you do your work he dare not 
 molest you ; but take my advice and keep friendly with him 
 as long as you are a lay brother. Ay, that is the pillar I 
 told you of, and these are the little devils there are ten
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 71 
 
 of them, but you cannot see them all from here. Look at 
 that carving! You will not find its equal in any of the 
 other monasteries. Rich travellers come from far to see 
 it. And that screen. Come nearer. Beautiful, is it not? 
 And that icon ! Most holy ! There is a legend attached to 
 it that I will relate to you some day." 
 
 His chatter fell almost unheeded upon her ears. Her 
 feet followed him mechanically. She felt that at any mo- 
 ment she might wake up to find herself back in her mountain 
 village back with the baby for whom she yearned ; yet the 
 weight upon her heart and the knowledge of something 
 terrible to be done oppressed her continually. Little by 
 little her surroundings imprinted themselves upon her mind 
 almost without her consciousness, awakening awe and super- 
 stitious fear. The dimly-lit spaces; the venerable pillars 
 adorned with antique pictures; the walls covered with 
 terribly realistic representations the Last Judgment, 
 scenes from the Apocalypse, the martyrdom of the Saints 
 the high reading-desk; the pulpit of worm-eaten wood, 
 elaborately carved, and black with age; and the icon of 
 the Virgin that had thwarted her upon the preceding night 
 all associated themselves not with Petros, not with the 
 present, but with Stephanos, with her failure, and with the 
 imperative necessity for doing something soon. 
 
 Troubled to the very depths, she pressed her hand to her 
 eyes. Again she became conscious of the voice of her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " The venerable father is drawn to you. He told me 
 so. That is why he has given you Sotiri's work here, yes, 
 in the Catholicon, and a cell of your own among us monks, 
 instead of making you sleep with the other lay brethren 
 near the kitchens. 'Tis unusual, but come to me if they 
 resent it. ' ' 
 
 " What work? " She roused herself with an effort. 
 
 " Oh, there is much to be done. You must sweep the 
 floor every day. Then you must clean the icons, stalls, 
 misereres, and desks; yes, and attend to the candles. See, 
 there are two now that need replacing. ' ' 
 
 He pointed to the dome overhead from which a weighty 
 brasswork corona decorated with ostrich eggs hung sus- 
 pended by chains. 
 
 "Is it worth while? "
 
 72 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 He turned upon her in swift amazement. 
 
 " Worth while! To replace the candles! " 
 
 " No, not that. I meant I shall be here only for " 
 
 She broke off in confusion. In the dim light she saw his 
 face, full of consternation, standing out against the sombre 
 background of the Sanctuary. 
 
 ' ' But you mean to become one of us ! You told me so 
 yesterday." 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 He stared at her incredulously for a minute, then, as one 
 who ridicules a preposterous idea : 
 
 "Bah! I am foolish even to imagine it. You would 
 never come here just just to go away again ! That is not 
 even common sense. But, be cheerful, you will not always 
 have to work; some day, you will become a monk like 
 me." He drew himself up with youthful arrogance. 
 " Oh, it is a beautiful life! It pleaseth me well. Our 
 prayers do good to everyone even as leaven in the world 's 
 loaf, so are we. ' ' 
 
 This was a distinct plagiarism from one of the Abbot's 
 sermons, and was delivered with unconscious mimicry of 
 voice and gesture. 
 
 " Now," he went on gravely, pointing through the doors 
 of open carved woodwork that led to the sacristy, ' ' in there 
 you will find two chests one for charcoal the other for 
 vestments; the charcoal you will, of course, heat for 
 the censers ; it is required at almost all services ; as for the 
 vestments but you will soon find out for yourself which 
 are required. Come, my Angelos." He turned from her 
 with a beckoning gesture full of friendly invitation. 
 
 Like one still in a dream she followed him across the 
 nave with its floor of faintly-coloured marble. His lithe 
 young figure looked strangely full of vitality in the midst 
 of much that spoke only of decay. Everything around 
 them was old incredibly old polished and mellowed and 
 dimmed by time. From overhead, in faded frescoes, stiff 
 pious groups of little Byzantine saints who had witnessed 
 centuries of worship, gazed down upon them. 
 
 ' These " he halted before the central entrance " are 
 called the Holy Doors. Within is the Bema or sanctuary. 
 You see that table ? That is the Holy Table with the balda- 
 kin above it. The Eucharist is kept in that little box and
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 73 
 
 the Bread and Wine are in the Prothesis. This ' he 
 stepped forward and touched with reverent fingers a cor- 
 poral of fair white linen " is the blessed Antimins. Re- 
 member, it contains a portion of most holy relics, and is on 
 no account to be touched by the laity. The larger relics 
 and the most precious of our treasures are in these two 
 cupboards. The Abbot keeps the key, but you will see them 
 at the great festivals magnificent ! all gold and precious 
 stones! " 
 
 Bewilderment showed itself in her face, for he added 
 quickly : 
 
 ' ' I have not explained it well ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes but I shall never remember all that never! " 
 
 His eyes twinkled. 
 
 ' ' 'Tis true ! ' ' she insisted earnestly. ' ' Anti Anti 
 There ! I have forgotten already ! ' ' 
 
 " Antimins," he corrected gravely. " But have you 
 never been in a church before ? " he added, visibly shocked. 
 
 " Yes, but not quite like this." 
 
 "Where was it? " 
 
 " It was ' 
 
 ' ' Stop ! ' ' He raised his hand impulsively. ' ' The 
 venerable father forbade me to ask questions. I have dis- 
 obeyed him may I be forgiven. Now only one thing 
 more and then must I sleep, for verily my eyes close even 
 of themselves. Do you know our hours? Nay? Then 
 wisely take heed, for you will have to be present at some 
 if not all of our services. We begin at midnight, when we 
 recite the night offices, and the first, third, and sixth Hours. 
 That lasts till five o'clock, when we have an hour to our- 
 selves. I am wont to have a cup of coffee and go to the tower 
 of the windlass on summer mornings. At six we come back 
 here and sing the Liturgy, which lasts till eight, and on 
 Sundays and festivals till ten. After that we breakfast. 
 The others jest at my appetite. Then we sleep and are 
 supposed to meditate, but verily I am of a mind that the 
 only one who meditates devoutly is the venerable father. 
 At three in the afternoon we sing Vespers and the ninth 
 Hour. At six we recite Compline. Supper is nigh sun- 
 down, after the which, to bed. Behold ! That is all! " 
 
 He did not wait for a reply, but began to polish the 
 frame of an icon.
 
 74 
 
 " You will be there? " she asked. 
 
 " Where? " he questioned, still polishing. 
 
 " At all these services? " 
 
 " No manner of doubt! Am not I a monk? As im- 
 portant as any of them? Look, the dirt of this icon is 
 right shameful. Hearken! " he turned to her "now 
 that you are custodian you must in no wise allow things 
 to become rusty. You see," he cast a furtive glance over 
 his shoulder, then, cautiously lowering his voice, " Brother 
 Nicodemus hath a biting tongue ; ay, and Brother Apostoli 's 
 arm is exceedingly strong considering his great age." He 
 nodded his tall hat, pursing his lips significantly. There 
 was a distinct suggestion of a defensive alliance in his man- 
 ner. It emboldened her to say : ' ' And if I need help 
 
 His laugh rang out, instantly suppressed, however. The 
 rollicking sound touched a strangely impossible note in the 
 solemn half-light. It brought into the sacred building the 
 very spirit of youth and merriment. The dark vault over- 
 head re-echoed the sound, but faintly, as in a shocked 
 whisper. Petros listened aghast. 
 
 " God forgive me! "he ejaculated, with lively penitence. 
 " Never before have I laughed here. But the fault is 
 yours. ' ' 
 
 ''Mine!" 
 
 " Ay, yours. By the rood, you are enough to make a 
 saint laugh if ever they did laugh." He cast a dubious 
 glance at the row of countenances that frowned from the 
 cornice, then resumed quickly: " But how can one re- 
 quire help to clean the icons? " 
 
 She could not explain. Her imagination had pictured a 
 possible catastrophe when she would be one against many. 
 To cover her confusion she fell to examining the hilt of 
 her yataghan. 
 
 ''What have you there a knife?" he asked with 
 curiosity. 
 
 She started, for she had been unconscious of her action. 
 
 " Let me see it." 
 
 Reluctantly, she drew the blade from its sheath and 
 handed it to him. He examined it with open mouth. The 
 cold, blue glitter of the steel caught at the light, reflecting 
 itself upwards into the boyish face shining above it with 
 admiration. The suggestion of violence had a strange look
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 75 
 
 in the hands of a monk and in the devotional character 
 of their surroundings. 
 
 " Saint Panteleemon ! " he ejaculated again and again, 
 turning the weapon this way and that. Then running an 
 appreciative thumb along the blade-edge. " By Saint Bar- 
 laam, this could cut anything anything! " 
 
 After a little he handed it back to her, his eyes follow- 
 ing it wistfully as she returned it to its sheath. 
 
 " You always carry a knife like that? " he asked with 
 new-born respect. 
 
 That her negative disappointed him was evident, but 
 struck with a thought he brightened. " You could an it 
 pleased you, eh? " 
 
 " Y es." 
 
 " And on a pilgrimage? " 
 
 She nodded doubtfully. 
 
 " I have never been on a pilgrimage at least, not since 
 I was an infant, and even then it was not a real pilgrimage, 
 but only journeying here with my father. But with a knife 
 
 like that " He paused, looked thoughtfully at the old 
 
 pulpit, then added : " You will not be permitted to keep it 
 here." 
 
 Her start was not lost on him, for he continued: " "We 
 are peaceable folk here that is what the Abbot said to me 
 once when I bled Sotiri's nose. I caught him throwing 
 stones at my eagle ; right insolent he was, and would in no 
 wise desist. But, alas! here none are permitted to carry 
 weapons ; otherwise ' ' he turned to her in good-natured 
 scorn " do you suppose for an instant I would not have 
 as good, nay, a better knife than that ay, and a gun like- 
 wise? " 
 
 His gesture gave the impression of a man armed to the 
 teeth. Calming somewhat, he continued : "It were seemly 
 you gave it to me. ' ' 
 
 Zetitzka drew back ; her hand closed involuntarily on the 
 hilt. 
 
 " Nay, nay," he cried, flushing under the clear brown 
 of his skin. " 'Tis not for myself. I swear it! It be- 
 hoves me to give it to the venerable father." 
 
 She stared at him mute, hostile. 
 
 " Nay," he remonstrated warmly. " Glare not at me 
 like that. I am your friend. The Abbot knows well I like
 
 76 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 you. Come, my brother, be reasonable. I am indeed con- 
 strained thereto. You must see that. Come, be persuaded. ' ' 
 
 He held out his hand, but she clasped the weapon the 
 tighter. He seemed astonished, genuinely distressed. A 
 puzzled look overspread his face. He had the air of one 
 forced by circumstances to the discharge of a very dis- 
 agreeable duty. 
 
 " I am your superior," he said with a gravity, a dignity, 
 which he had not led her to expect. " All here must 
 obey. Look you, I also have to obey superiors ay, all 
 the brethren, for hitherto I have been the youngest. A 
 mere boy like you must learn obedience likewise." He 
 paused, then her continued silence sapping at his patience, 
 " Come," he said firmly, " give it to me at once." 
 
 "No." 
 
 He caught her by the shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, leave it with me! " she pleaded. " I must I 
 will have it!" 
 
 " Must! Will! Nay, that is too much! " 
 
 Her face, white and determined in the dim light, was 
 raised to his. Desperation glittered in her eyes. Petros was 
 taken aback. Never in all his experience had there been 
 such a novice. In righteous indignation his grasp tightened. 
 
 ' ' Saint Panteleemon ! " he ejaculated, the blood mount- 
 ing to his forehead. * ' You defy me ! Good. We shall 
 see who is the stronger." And with that he began to 
 drag her towards the door. With all her force she re- 
 sisted. But his grip was like a vice. Her feet slipped in- 
 effectually on the worn marble flags. Another moment and 
 they would reach the cloisters. 
 
 " Stay! " she panted. " I I will give it." 
 
 " Polycala! That is well for you. Truly you are 
 obstinate. By the blessed right hand of Saint Ann, 'tis 
 in my mind that I ought to bring you before the venerable 
 father after all; 'twould be safer." 
 
 Taking possession of her yataghan, he concealed it be- 
 neath his cassock. They faced each other in the solemn 
 gloom. Both were still breathless from the scuffle. Now 
 that he had been successful, a feeling of compunction arose 
 in the boy's mind a feeling almost of regret for the part 
 he had been forced to play, and a doubt as to whether moral 
 persuasion would not, after all, have been kinder and also
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 77 
 
 more suited to his dignity. He had the unsatisfactory in- 
 stinct that he had gained nothing beyond the mere posses- 
 sion of the weapon by his display of brute force. His 
 liking for her was very genuine. He hoped that he had 
 not alienated her. He much feared it, for she stood be- 
 fore him, her dark eyes full of resentment, her breast still 
 heaving, her nostrils slightly dilated, the quick colour suf- 
 fusing the pale olive of her cheeks, erect, defiant, uncon- 
 quered in spirit. 
 
 With a vague idea of making amends, Petros laid his 
 hand affectionately on her arm. The unexpected sensa- 
 tion of roundness and softness imparted by the contact 
 made him forget what he was about to say. His fingers 
 squeezed the firm flesh wonderingly. 
 
 " How soft you are ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 With a sudden instinctive movement Zetitzka jerked her- 
 self from his grasp. 
 
 For the moment she hated this plain-spoken young monk, 
 hated him for exposing her weakness, for triumphing over 
 her, for treating her with this insufferable air of kindly 
 superiority. Tears gathered in her eyes, smarting, angry 
 tears of vexation which took her by surprise. Disdaining 
 to hide her emotion, she endeavoured to show a brave front, 
 staring him full in the face, though his image blurred into 
 the wavering background of the stalls. His astonishment 
 and consternation were unfeigned. 
 
 " You are not crying? " he blurted. 
 
 " No," she muttered, then bit her under lip. 
 
 He eyed her in grave disapproval. " You do not speak 
 the truth. There are tears in your eyes. To cry per- 
 chance is weak, but to lie is wrong. ' ' 
 
 She vouchsafed no reply. He continued to gaze at her. 
 vaguely uncomfortable, stirred into some liveliness of re- 
 morse at the sight of her grief. A great desire to become 
 reconciled caused him to say with unaccustomed gentle- 
 ness, and in a tone of apology that made him wonder when 
 he reflected later that he had been addressing a mere lay 
 brother : 
 
 " Tell me, Angelos, was it because I hurt you? " 
 
 Her negative reassured him. It also restored her in his 
 estimation, for, boy-like, he would have found it difficult 
 to excuse tears caused merely by physical pain. Forget-
 
 78 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ful of his former rebuff, and with engaging impulsiveness, 
 he threw his arm about her. 
 
 " Nay," he protested, half coaxingly, half insistently, 
 as she tried to free herself, " I will not leave you alone! 
 See, I am truly sorry I hurt your feelings, but verily I 
 could not help it. You believe that? Nay, you must 
 believe it, for it is true. We are friends still good friends, 
 are we not? I do not mind your being soft. You can- 
 not help it. I suppose it is the way one is born. Here 
 we are all born hard, but at Meteoron there is one poor 
 brother who was born with only one eye, and it is not his 
 fault. As for your knife, it is still yours; but I have to 
 give it to the Abbot. He will keep it for you in his cup- 
 board he has some useful things of mine there. But he 
 will permit you to look at it occasionally ; take comfort in 
 that."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SEVERAL days passed, apparently uneventfully, yet for 
 Zetitzka full of experiences that haunted her ever after- 
 wards. No words can portray with sufficient poignancy the 
 bewildering effect of this old-world monastic life upon the 
 unsophisticated mind of the mountain girl. Its austerities, 
 its unchangeable routine, its long nightly services, its hours 
 of slothful inertia, its lofty isolation all seemed so many 
 bars to freedom, in all lurked dangers unknown, from all 
 she instinctively recoiled. 
 
 Her utter loneliness when she allowed herself to think 
 appalled her. Her defencelessness now that Petros had 
 taken away her yataghan struck another terrible note. 
 Her very sex for her the root of all personality had be- 
 come a sin which it was her one unslumbering preoccupa- 
 tion to conceal. The knowledge that she was surrounded 
 by men, by possible foes, never left her. Hers were all 
 the terrors, the shrinkings, the sudden, and often causeless 
 alarms of the spy in continual danger of his life. But all 
 apprehensions had to be dissembled under an exterior be- 
 fitting a lay brother, a " world-forgetting, by the world for- 
 got," inmate of Barlaam. 
 
 And not the monks only, but in a lesser degree, more 
 intangible, more inexplicable, the monastery also gave her 
 moments of vague uneasiness. Unconsciously its immense 
 age awed her. There was, to her mind, a grim, callous air 
 about it, that was perhaps but the reflex of her guilty con- 
 science. That she was the one and only woman who had 
 dared to violate its sanctity in all these hundreds of years 
 filled her with superstitious alarm. It looked forbidding, 
 masculine. The low-browed buildings seemed to band them- 
 selves together to cut off her retreat, te take vengeance. 
 The very sunshine seemed a mask, the silence a snare. 
 
 But more disquieting even than her surroundings, or the 
 vicinity of the brethren, was the knowledge that the deed 
 she had come to perform remained still to be done. This 
 
 79
 
 80 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 thought tortured her, gave her no peace. It became a 
 fever in her blood, preying on her health, becoming visible 
 in the pallor of her face and the hard, unnatural bright- 
 ness of her eyes. It even stepped over the dividing line 
 between day and night, goading her to wakefulness, or 
 obsessing her mind in snatches of terror-haunted sleep. 
 
 And if Zetitzka at times shook herself free from this 
 tyranny of impending necessity, it was due entirely to 
 Petros. 
 
 Without the moral support of this new friend it was 
 doubtful whether the lonely and suffering girl could have 
 endured this abnormal life. It is more than probable that 
 she would have broken down, or betrayed herself irrev- 
 ocably. But Petros, by distracting her mind, enabled her 
 to bear up against her anxieties. He made her initiation 
 into her duties a personal matter. Like a child with a 
 new toy, he was for ever seeking her out, as though it 
 needed the testimony of his eyes, oft repeated, to convince 
 him of her existence. With the importance of youth, he 
 made solemn assignations with her at the end of the 
 cloisters two minutes before the semantron sounded; or in 
 the windlass-tower five and a half minutes before coffee 
 was served of a morning and when Zetitzka, as invariably 
 happened, failed to appear, he would seek her out and over- 
 whelm her with good-natured reproaches. 
 
 In the blackness of midnight she would hear his eager 
 young voice at her cell door, crying: " Angelos, rouse 
 thyself, Matins will begin directly." Or, in the drowsy 
 noon-day, when all the monastery was asleep, he would 
 seek to interest her with accounts of some saintly man 
 " high excelling, a pious example " who had left tokens 
 of his earthly sojourn behind him some relic it might be, 
 or remembrance of meditative hours, in flagstones worn by 
 slowly pacing feet. 
 
 Her mental attitude towards this young monk during 
 these days of suspense was singularly complex. He 
 alone, as before mentioned, had the power to lighten the 
 gloom in which she existed. Yet for this very reason she 
 was perpetually on her guard against him. She did not 
 want her mind distracted from the one sinister object that 
 had forced her to visit the monastery. She wished to be 
 alone to think, to brood, to scheme. Her task, difficult
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 81 
 
 enough, God knows! was rendered even more difficult by 
 him. But against her will, something within her wel- 
 comed this boy. This weakness, when alone, she un- 
 hesitatingly condemned. His calling, and even his costume, 
 had not ceased to repel her. Vaguely and disquietingly 
 aware of his appropriation of her, she fought against its 
 effect. She desired to stand alone, to stamp out all 
 womanly weakness, to assert her independence, to tie her- 
 self to no gratitude. That one side of her nature should 
 play the traitor to these resolutions troubled her profoundly. 
 It even forced her to treat the young monk with a degree 
 of coldness which in reality she was far from feeling. 
 
 But Zetitzka found it impossible to adhere to these resolu- 
 tions. The life on this remote pinnacle-top was of necessity 
 public. The services, at which she, as well as the brethren, 
 was forced to be present, brought her into continual contact 
 with the other monastic inmates, as did the restricted spaces 
 set aside for recreation. Only in her cell, at certain pre- 
 scribed hours, could she hope to be alone; or, if chance 
 favoured, in one of the subterranean passages. 
 
 Yet not for a moment did Zetitzka waver, or regard the 
 deed she had set out to perform as other than inevitable. 
 She knew her courage a virtue that sat upon her lightly, 
 almost unconsciously, as natural to her as breathing. 
 Within her heart her wrongs still cried out insistently. 
 That she had failed once must count for naught. She told 
 herself valiantly, that she was sure to succeed next time. 
 
 But fate, that had at first played into Zetitzka 's hands, 
 now thwarted her at every turn. She saw Stephanos but 
 during meals, in hours of service, or hastening from the 
 dormitories. Speech with him at such times was liable 
 to be overheard. Nor did his leisure hours promise more 
 success, being passed in his cell, in wandering to and fro 
 on the small open space that overhung the valley, or in 
 prayer in the Catholicon. In none of these places did 
 she feel that she could again intrude upon his privacy. 
 The brethren, seeing her flitting about the monastery like 
 a restless and unhappy spirit, commented upon the pecu- 
 liarity, but as her work was always punctually performed 
 she escaped reproof. Often would she lie in wait in the 
 cloisters, or lurk in the deeper shadow of some arch, or 
 steal noiselessly across the empty courtyard, listening or 
 6
 
 82 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 furtively watching for the man who was never long absent 
 from her thoughts. But it was a weary and hopeless task, 
 at which many a time her soul sickened. The necessity of 
 nursing her wrath to keep it warm became repellent to her. 
 Her nature, though warped for the time being and primi- 
 tive in its instincts, was large and broad-minded, capable 
 of generous emotions, passionate to love, and fierce to hate, 
 but neither revengeful nor underhand. Suffering alone 
 was responsible for her acquiescence in the line of conduct 
 that had been marked out for her. Her spirit turned from 
 this endless spying as from a meanness. It made her in- 
 dignant with herself, angry with others, bitter against 
 fate. 
 
 Of what she would do did she meet him face to face she 
 had formed no definite idea. Without her yataghan she 
 was helpless. What could she, a woman and unarmed, 
 hope to effect against him, a man? Even should she get 
 the better of him with one swift and unexpected leap, a 
 single shout on his part would bring the entire community 
 to his aid. What mercy could she look for then? Brood- 
 ing over it, hour by hour, she felt her heart swell with 
 the burning and impotent feelings of a caged lioness which, 
 deprived of her offspring, pining for freedom and thirst- 
 ing for some courageous revenge, is met at every turn by 
 the iron bars of fate. 
 
 Her work was a consolation to the poor girl during these 
 interminable days. She scrubbed the worn mosaics and 
 dusted the black stalls a lonely and pathetic figure labour- 
 ing to silence thought in the gloom of the old sanctuary. 
 Yet often, in the midst of these mechanical occupations, the 
 sound of footsteps from the sunlit court, or the unexpected 
 appearance of one of the brethren black in the radiance 
 of the porch would cause her heart to leap. 
 
 The veneration in which Stephanos was held by his 
 associates amazed Zetitzka. Knowing but too well the 
 ignoble side of his character, she would stare incredulously 
 when she saw him saluted with every mark of respect, or 
 when his piety was commented on with reverence. Not 
 only did all within the monastery judge him holy, but it 
 was even whispered that he held converse with the saints. 
 But his absorption into the more austere life of the com- 
 munity a life that smacked more of a mediaeval past
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 83 
 
 than of the somewhat lax and semi-Oriental devotion of 
 the present neither deceived nor impressed Zetitzka. 
 Bitter experience prevented her doing justice to the monks' 
 asceticism. She was in no state of mind to appreciate 
 it. She even made the mistake of denying its sincerity. 
 In it she saw only lip-service and hypocrisy. There could 
 be no true religion, she argued, in a heart such as his. It 
 was but one and that an artificial side of his nature. Of 
 the other she felt only an overpowering and instinctive 
 abhorrence. That it still existed she felt convinced, led to 
 this decision by her woman's intuition, though it would 
 have puzzled any but an expert reader of character to see 
 in this sainted monk the man who had turned her innocent 
 life into an endless and unavailing regret. 
 
 " He saves his immortal soul." The whispered remark 
 had reached her as she stood one morning outside the 
 refectory. Two of the brethren were watching Stephanos 
 as, like a shadow, he passed slowly across the sunshine 
 of the court. The murmur of approbation had awakened 
 in her a hot rebellion against the Providence that had 
 meted out suffering to the innocent and immunity to the 
 guilty. His soul, indeed! What was his soul to her! 
 The selfishness and the cruelty of it goaded her afresh 
 and not these alone, but the burning injustice, the terrible 
 power that is given to one human being to make or mar 
 the life and happiness of another. Oh, if only she had 
 known! If only her good saint had warned her. But 
 no, the cup of experience had been held relentlessly to 
 her lips; blindly she had drunk of it, and the taste of 
 its bitterness would be with her always, all the weary and 
 shameful days of her life. 
 
 And yet so inextricably are the threads of tragedy 
 and comedy interwoven in life's fabric even in these days 
 of anxiety there occurred incidents of an almost humorous 
 cast. Of such was her first meeting with Brother 
 Gerasimos. 
 
 Several mornings after her arrival she was crossing the 
 court, having performed her duties in the Catholicon, 
 when she caught sight of him seated in a corner of the 
 cloisters. The dejection of his attitude gave her courage 
 to draw near. Self-centred though she was, she could 
 not but notice tears in his bleared little eyes. He started
 
 84 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 at the sound of her footsteps. His side-long, guilty look 
 struck her as singular, an impression that deepened as 
 she observed that he fell to telling his beads with an 
 obviously feigned abstraction. Zetitzka wavered. But her 
 instinctive dread of him as an inmate of Barlaam was for- 
 gotten at the sight of his grief. 
 
 " Are you unhappy? " she asked. 
 
 " No," he said ungraciously. 
 
 With indifference for suffering had rendered her cal- 
 lous to rebuffs Zetitzka turned away. Slowly she walked 
 to the end of the cloisters. She stood there, showing the 
 old monk her straight back, the length of her olive-tinted 
 neck, and the clustering blackness of her hair. 
 
 " Come back! " snuffled a tearful voice behind her. 
 
 She was unconscious of inspection as she again ap- 
 proached. A moment she stood before him in silence. 
 Brother Gerasimos appeared to be weighing something in 
 his mind, for, still keeping his eyes on her, he bit absent- 
 mindedly at his thumb-nail. 
 
 " If I tell you " he said slowly u you will not speak 
 of it to the brethren and by no means to Brother Nico- 
 demus? " 
 
 Her promise visibly relieved him, yet still he seemed 
 unable to make up his mind. At length, with an in- 
 describable air of secrecy, he produced a fragment of a 
 newspaper from beneath his cassock, tried in vain to read 
 it, then wiped his red-rimmed eyes with the back of a grimy 
 hand. So forlorn and helpless was he that, greatly to her 
 surprise, Zetitzka was moved to compassion. 
 
 " Is it there? " she questioned kindly. 
 
 The old man blinked up into the brooding, young face, 
 which nevertheless bent above him with a light of pity in 
 the eyes. 
 
 " Yea, verily," he snuffled weakly: " but but the print 
 is bad." 
 
 Falling in with his humour, she took the paper from 
 him and glanced at the part indicated by his forefinger. 
 The fragment was crushed and stained almost to illegi- 
 bility. It exhaled also a musty smell of groceries. 
 
 " Among the deaths? " she asked in a low voice. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Where, then? "
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 85 
 
 " Among among the marriages." 
 
 Little by little she learned that his only niece had 
 married, and that he had not been told of the event. 
 
 " After all," hazarded Zetitzka, gently, lured into for- 
 getfulness of self by the sincerity of the old man's grief, 
 " an invitation " 
 
 "It is not that," he interrupted, gesticulating eagerly, 
 almost angrily. " It is that I am forgotten as if I were 
 already dead. That is what hurts." 
 
 The silence that followed was broken by the sound of 
 distant singing. They both listened, gazing into the empty 
 sunlit court. 
 
 " Would you have gone to this wedding? " inquired 
 Zetitzka, looking at his bowed figure with wonder. He 
 gazed downwards at his naked toes, twitching in his 
 wooden sandals. 
 
 " No," he muttered; then, in shrill and querulous in- 
 dignation, " Kyrie Eleison! That makes no difference 
 none! " 
 
 " Perhaps " Zetitzka hesitated " perhaps the letter 
 was lost. ' ' 
 
 His mouth opened. His eyes told of swift thought. 
 
 " Could that happen? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Then then " he stammered in his eagerness " you 
 think she has not really forgotten me ? " 
 
 Her answer worked an unexpected transformation. 
 Smiles appeared at once. He was so much of an old child, 
 both in his sorrow and in his joy, that the mothering in- 
 stinct which lurks in every woman's heart came to the 
 fore. 
 
 " See! " Zetitzka pointed " there is a button off your 
 cassock." 
 
 Brother Gerasimos fumbled at the place with helpless 
 fingers, but his expression showed a shameless indiffer- 
 ence to buttons. 
 
 " And see, there is a stain." 
 
 " You waste your time," he remonstrated with bland 
 philosophy. " Scratching availeth not, neither on the 
 raiment nor on the body." 
 
 It was perhaps characteristic of his great age that he 
 observed neither her preoccupation nor her sadness. The
 
 86 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 exuberance and restlessness of youth would have been un- 
 welcome to him, so effectually had the years stranded him 
 on the sluggish side of life. But this lay brother, so gentle 
 and subdued, so appreciative a listener, and so com- 
 mendably sparing of speech, was indeed a God-send. 
 Under her influence Gerasimos warmed into unusual friend- 
 liness. He surprised himself. He beamed; he offered her 
 snuff; he even cracked one or two little unfamiliar jests 
 jests, be it understood, as old as Barlaam, and almost as 
 severely monastic, but which to his simple soul were the 
 very acme of humour, for as they bubbled from his lips 
 he cackled and grew glad. 
 
 When they parted he patted her arm. There was gen- 
 uine, though somewhat rusty affection in the act. 
 
 " We must talk often," he announced with relish. " I 
 like boys. The others" he shrugged his shoulders 
 
 " they they " He hesitated, cast a comical glance 
 
 at her out of the corner of his bleared eyes, then laughed. 
 His old man's chuckle struck a note of alliance so confi- 
 dent as to be irresistible. Nodding his head, he took a 
 pinch of snuff with wheezy satisfaction; then, confiden- 
 tially: " After all, Angelos, we must be charitable not 
 judge. You take snuff? No? Ah, to be sure, when I 
 
 was your age not yesterday; but, as I was saying 
 
 What was I saying? " 
 
 She guided him back. 
 
 " Was I? Well, perhaps you are right, though there 
 were other things, too, in my mind multitudes of them. 
 By Saint Pondromos, I know not whether it be the snuff 
 or the talk, but I feel better already! I love talking. I 
 tell you, I could talk about nothing for a week. Poly- 
 calal "
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ZETITZKA was in her cell. She had returned to it 
 quickly after the celebration of Vespers and the ninth 
 Hour, thankful to regain its privacy. The afternoon, like 
 all these long interminable summer afternoons, had proved 
 intensely hot, and more than ever had the stifling and in- 
 cense-laden atmosphere of the Catholicon oppressed her. 
 A faint buzz of voices came from the court, stirring the 
 heated air languidly, as warm water might be paddled by a 
 listless hand. 
 
 Her head ached, a protest from a nature born and bred 
 among hills and free uncontaminated winds against late 
 hours and absence of ventilation. But Zetitzka was un- 
 conscious of physical pain. Her protracted mental anxiety 
 engrossed her to the exclusion of all other sensation. 
 Moving softly, she stole to and fro in the little bare room, 
 setting things in order and rearranging the rug upon the 
 divan. But her actions were involuntary, for her thoughts, 
 as ever, were occupied in seeking some solution to the old in- 
 solvable problem. She was so weary of it all. How would 
 it end ? This strange unnatural life seemed to have claimed 
 her body and soul. It was in reality less than a week since 
 she had come, but it already seemed years. Her past, her 
 mother, her child, all appeared worlds away, lost in some 
 abyss of memory. Nothing was real but this fearsome 
 monastery, these old monks, these long, unfamiliar services, 
 and the haunting necessity for doing something soon. 
 
 She stood looking upwards at the window. Its tiny 
 panes, obscured by dirt and cobwebs, dimly revealed the 
 unclouded blue that mocked her so far beyond. She had 
 the wish to open it, but it was far above her reach; and, 
 moreover, it did not look as if it had ever been opened since 
 first the monastery was built. The wan light rested softly 
 upon her face, her melancholy dreaming eyes, and her 
 shapely and upright figure. 
 
 Rousing herself, she crossed the cell and poured a little 
 
 87
 
 88 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 water into a basin. So engrossed was she in thought that 
 the sound of the door opening caused her to start violently. 
 It was not Stephanos, as she, brooding upon the monk, had 
 for the moment feared, but Sotiri ; a sight sufficiently un- 
 welcome, however, for he alone of all the monastic inmates 
 was hostile to her, bearing her a grudge, partly because she 
 had been allotted his work, but more especially because she 
 had been given a cell of her own near the brethren. 
 
 In tones that betrayed resentment, he upbraided her 
 coarsely, taunting her with being the Abbot's favourite. 
 Then, his mood altering, he abruptly commanded her to 
 follow him to the Catholicon. It appeared that some trivial 
 portion of her daily task had for the first time been left un- 
 done. 
 
 But Zetitzka retorted with spirit, accusing him of break- 
 ing the rule that forbade any inmate to enter another's cell 
 without the consent of the Hegoumenos. Alarm lent indig- 
 nation to her voice. 
 
 Sotiri scowled upon her. He looked a forbidding object 
 as he stood blocking the narrow doorway unkempt, dirty, 
 stupid, and intensely bigoted, a specimen of all the worst 
 qualities bred by the Greek monastical system. Zetitzka 
 gazed at him with open dislike. 
 
 ' ' Will you obey ? " he said menacingly. 
 
 " No, "she flashed. 
 
 At the reply a malevolent grin overspread his face. 
 
 " Then I will chastise you now." 
 
 Zetitzka looked around anxiously, but her eyes rested 
 on nothing that could assist her. All at once her face 
 brightened. Through the open door, over Sotiri 's shoul- 
 der, she could see the old cloisters shimmering in heat, and 
 within their shadow a black figure Petros. But, on the 
 point of calling him, she hesitated. "Would it be wise ? She 
 recalled her doubts, her resolutions. This young monk had 
 already obtained too much influence over her actions. She 
 must at all costs keep her independence. Were she to ap- 
 peal to him it would be a tacit acknowledgment of his right 
 to protect her. Her destiny must be shaped by none save 
 herself. 
 
 As these thoughts flashed across her in swift intuitive 
 reasoning, she recognised their wisdom. Her courage
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 89 
 
 came to her aid. In silence, with head erect, she faced 
 her foe. 
 
 The lay brother cast a furtive glance along the deserted 
 gallery, then, apparently unaware of the dark figure in the 
 cloisters, he stepped across the threshold. 
 
 " Stand back! " cried Zetitzka sharply. 
 
 Her voice, unconsciously raised, reached Petros. As 
 she saw him leap to his feet, a feeling of glad relief came 
 to her. Before Sotiri could do more than grasp her arm, 
 he was confounded by the sound of his name. 
 
 " Sotiri," panted the young monk, " how dare you! 
 Release him at once ! ' ' 
 
 Abashed, Sotiri obeyed. 
 
 " He is idle and disobedient," he muttered, eyeing 
 Zetitzka with ill-concealed rancour. " He feigned to know 
 Brother Stephanos. It was a lie. He merits chastise- 
 ment. ' ' 
 
 Petros listened to him with ill-concealed impatience. 
 
 " And is that reason sufficient for breaking the rules 
 ay, and employing unseemly violence ? Come hither ! ' ' 
 
 Reluctantly Sotiri neared him. 
 
 " Begone! " The lad pointed sternly along the gallery. 
 " Verily the Abbot shall know of this. And look you, 
 Sotiri " he stopped him with a gesture " beware how 
 you offend again, for if so be that you touch this lad other- 
 wise than kindly, by Saint Barlaam, I will e'en chastise 
 you myself ! ' ' 
 
 Into the ringing tones, sonorous with newly acquired 
 manhood, had come a sudden heat of indignation. The 
 incident had called forth qualities other than Zetitzka had 
 expected. She could not but admire him; for the humor- 
 ous incongruity of a monk reproving violence and threaten- 
 ing it almost in the same breath eluded her, as it did 
 Petros himself. When the lay brother had shambled out 
 of sight, the boy turned to her, his expression changing 
 to one of much goodwill. 
 
 " Now, tell me, Angelos, wherefore did he molest you? " 
 
 But freed from danger, Zetitzka had no wish to accuse; 
 and, moreover, she was restrained by an instinctive re- 
 luctance to be beholden to him. Something whispered 
 to her that, of little importance though this episode
 
 90 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 seemed, it had yet brought to pass that against which 
 she had fought. A feeling of helplessness, almost of im- 
 potence, oppressed her. Within her freedom-loving soul 
 something rebelled. 
 
 " What were you doing? " he questioned with boyish 
 curiosity, peering into her cell. 
 
 " I was about to wash," she said reluctantly. 
 
 His irrepressible chuckle caused her to redden ; but, un- 
 aware of her embarrassment, he broke out : 
 
 " Now, verily do I perceive the reason of his wrath. 
 Bethink you, Angelos, every drop of water has to be 
 pumped up here from the gorge ay, by Sotiri himself, 
 with much heat and labour, and in the summer season it 
 all but dries up. In sooth he was vexed." He chuckled 
 again ; then, sobering, added quickly : ' ' But the fellow 
 has no right to enter your cell; even I, a brother, may 
 by no means do that. And what said he about Brother 
 Stephanos? Was he then formerly known unto you? " 
 
 Still embarrassed, Zetitzka looked up at him furtively. 
 She had hoped that he had forgotten the accusation. How 
 far could she trust him? Had he asked the question be- 
 fore, she would not have answered him ; but now his cham- 
 pionship of her seemed to have put them on a different foot- 
 ing. As she felt this, she grew alarmed. More and more 
 was she being irresistibly drawn into closer connection with 
 this young monk. 
 
 * Tell me," he prompted good-naturedly. 
 
 " Yes. That is that is, I did know him once. But 
 he has forgotten me at least, I think he has, and I don't 
 wish to remind him. ' ' 
 
 Petros nodded. That he would have liked to have ques- 
 tioned further was evident, but to her relief he let the mat- 
 ter drop.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN time Zetitzka came to know all the brethren Nico- 
 demus and Apostili, dark, gloomy men, with fierce eyes, 
 whom she instinctively felt were to be feared Philemon, 
 a gentle kindly soul, whose affections, in default of human 
 outlet, had flowed to the green world of plants, and grasses 
 and herbs, and whose dearest treasures were a few weakly 
 bulbs nursed with infinite solicitude in pieces of broken 
 crockery; Johannes, silent, white-haired, a mystic and a 
 seer; Elias, the Martha of the monastery, much taken up 
 with the little things of this life; and yet others, for Bar- 
 laam possessed in all twelve monks, though there were cells 
 for nearly double that number. 
 
 Had it not been for the anxiety that weighed her down, 
 Zetitzka might have taken pleasure in the conversation of 
 the more gentle-mannered among them; but, as matters 
 were, she sought to avoid them all. 
 
 Service over, and Petros successfully eluded, she would 
 hasten to her cell, or seek some spot that seemed to promise 
 seclusion. The subterranean passages lent themselves best 
 to concealment. Carved out of the solid rock upon which 
 the monastery was built, they led through gloom, save 
 where, at rare intervals, an opening gave sight of the sun- 
 lit world below. More than any other part of the monastery 
 did these passages speak of desolation. They were elo- 
 quent with voiceless memories, for as Zetitzka groped her 
 way along them, she came upon little cells hollowed here 
 and there, that even to her preoccupied mind told of 
 hermit occupants long since crumbled into dust. 
 
 Here it was that one afternoon she had sought shelter. 
 Seated on the ground where sunlight flooded the passage, 
 her arms encircling her knees, she remained for long mo- 
 tionless. The air, warm as a caress, quivered up to her 
 from the depths. Around her the rocks burned the touch, 
 but, immersed in dreams, she suffered no inconvenience 
 from the heat. Peace and profound silence inundated the 
 
 91
 
 92 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 monastery. To one unaccustomed to the voicelessness of 
 the heights, this absolute cessation from all sound came as 
 a sort of shock a hungering of the ears that would not be 
 satisfied. Thrust upwards into the light, drugged by day- 
 long draughts of fire, the little monastery dozed and 
 dreamed under the unchanging blue of the sky. Seen, as 
 it were a picture through a dark framework of rock, the 
 distance trembled faintly. 
 
 Sitting thus, Zetitzka forgot for awhile the weight that 
 oppressed her. Outwards, into the kindly sunlight, her 
 thoughts escaped as birds through the door of a cage. Her 
 heart fled to the hills the high hills ! She could see them 
 far off, veiled in lights that quivered, and in shadows that 
 veered. They spoke to her of home. "With semi-closed 
 eyes she watched a cloud trail its draperies over the naked 
 shoulders of the mountains then a point of incompre- 
 hensible brightness that held attention like a gleaming eye 
 and, finally, some huge upland form, that, heaving itself 
 above its neighbours, stared backward into Albania. 
 
 Albania ! Her native land ! Never before had it been so 
 dear! Never before had all that it meant to her come so 
 close to her heart! Her desires outstripping sight, she 
 sought to pierce beyond the blue barriers to the little vil- 
 lage that nestled in some remoter hollow of the hills. Long- 
 ings and apprehensions connected with her child beset 
 her; and, as she gazed, her heart dumbly yearning within 
 her eyes, the far hills swam in tears. 
 
 Still she sat motionless, with locked fingers. Many 
 thoughts came to her, memories of her childhood, all seem- 
 ing inconceivably happy and remote. With a wistful sad- 
 ness she recalled her girlish dreams of love and of a pos- 
 sible lover, vague, timid, beautiful. How they had misled 
 her! A shrinking delicacy of mind had robbed her of 
 the knowledge that might have aided. Her ignorance had 
 been her undoing. Following the instincts of her heart, 
 she had not wished to pry into life. Love was a holy 
 mystery. It would come in its own good time. 
 
 Zetitzka looked back upon the Zetitzka of the past as 
 upon a person with whom she had nothing in common, 
 whose motives appeared now almost incomprehensible, yet 
 for whose weakness she was doomed to pay the utmost 
 penalty.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 93 
 
 What had induced her to imagine herself in love with 
 Stephanos? She asked herself this in amazement, in pro- 
 found self -contempt. 
 
 As she sat semi-dreaming, Zetitzka brooded over it all 
 darkly, with pained perplexity. She could not understand. 
 Life was then cruel, and love a horror, an insult? It all 
 hurt. Were all men like this? Was there no God to 
 avenge? Did women always suffer? Once she had been 
 so happy, so unsuspecting! Why had this man not left 
 her alone? Why? Why? 
 
 Suddenly a faint sound came reverberating along the 
 passage. Always more or less consciously on the alert, 
 Zetitzka started to her feet, and, as the sounds continued 
 to draw near, glided swiftly into one of the rude caves 
 hollowed out of the inner wall of the passage. The move- 
 ment was instinctive, promoted more by a state of mind 
 that shunned companionship, than by fear of whoever it 
 might be. From her place of concealment, she commanded 
 the tunnel, and, owing to the darkness, could see without 
 being seen. 
 
 Barely had she taken cover than a monk came into sight, 
 walking slowly with bowed head. As he paused in the 
 shaft of light, she recognised Stephanos. His back was 
 towards her, but in the intense stillness she heard the thick 
 click of his wooden rosary beads. 
 
 As ever, when forced to encounter this man, she was 
 seized with indignation and loathing. But after her first 
 inward gasp, she stood stock-still, watching him with wide 
 fascinated eyes. 
 
 He remained almost without movement, his black figure 
 in its sombre draperies sharply delineated against the strong 
 light that streamed through the rock-hewn doorway. In 
 the heart of the immense cliff, subterranean though lifted 
 high above the earth, the silence was of the grave. 
 
 The moments seemed years to Zetitzka. An insufferable 
 sense of oppression overpowered her. She stood trans- 
 fixed, tormented by emotions almost beyond control. But 
 as he continued to stand there, and as her agitation in- 
 creased, a swift and terrible suggestion came to her. It 
 was less a thought than one of those sudden mysterious 
 promptings of subconscious mind occupying itself with the
 
 94 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 solution of an old dilemma. It whispered: " If he goes 
 to the verge, one push will do it." 
 
 Zetitzka's heart stood still, then began to hammer in 
 her breast. Her blood, suspended for a breathless second, 
 rushed upwards she felt it inundating her brain, singing 
 loudly in her ears. Would he go? Dear Saints! For 
 patience ! for strength ! Cold sweat broke out upon her as 
 she lurked in the blackness; her eyes, her attention, her 
 every sentient possibility all riveted themselves upon the 
 man with a concentration so painful in its intensity that 
 her very existence seemed to hang upon his moving that 
 one little yard. And all the while her mind was schem- 
 ing, planning she would dart out, avoiding that stone, 
 that hole, four swift steps would suffice, then O God ! One 
 push! 
 
 He moved. Zetitzka's fingers twisted themselves in the 
 folds of her tunic. 
 
 For a moment it seemed as if he intended to follow the 
 passage ; then, as though acting under some sudden impulse, 
 he slowly approached the brink. 
 
 She could now see him standing on the unprotected 
 verge, black against the dazzle beyond. A fierce exulta- 
 tion leapt to her heart. At last he was in her power. Now 
 was the time now ! 
 
 Not daring to breathe, Zetitzka crept forward. Stealthily 
 she neared him. He did not move. Her eyes were fixed 
 on his back. Her wild and lawless blood inflamed her to 
 the deed. This was the opportunity for which she had 
 watched, and waited, and schemed. One push, but one, 
 and she would rid herself of this man for ever. The 
 silence grew sinister; all nature seemed to hold its breath. 
 
 Within a yard of her victim she stopped, and, concen- 
 trating all her courage, all her resolution, nerved herself 
 for the fatal thrust. 
 
 God! What was that? An inhuman voice rang in the 
 darkness staying her hand, freezing her blood the iron 
 voice of the semantron, screaming its metallic warning to 
 the man upon the precipice brink. 
 
 Stephanos, turning abruptly, met her face to face. 
 ' What do you want? " he ejaculated in surprise. 
 
 His deep and painfully familiar voice struck a chill to 
 her heart. It forced her to think of him as an imminent
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 95 
 
 danger, yet as one who had mysteriously receded beyond 
 reach of her vengeance. An immense discouragement fell 
 upon her. 
 
 Instinctively she had backed into the shadow, influenced 
 not by fear, but by aversion. Still the monk held her with 
 gloomy questioning eyes. 
 
 " "Why don't you answer? " he demanded sternly; then, 
 as she remained tongue-tied, " You are the new lay 
 brother? " 
 
 Her reluctant affirmative barely reached him; indeed, 
 it is doubtful if he heard, for, averting his head, he mut- 
 tered incoherently into his beard. 
 
 Unconsciously relieved by his strange preoccupation, 
 Zetitzka looked at him steadily with a concentrated hos- 
 tility, noting little things about him, each with a shock of 
 uneasy aversion, so clearly and so poignantly did each 
 recall the past. Her eyes wandered from his heavy over- 
 hanging eyebrows to a curious red birth-mark upon his left 
 temple. She remembered the latter well, and how it be- 
 came a vivid crimson when he grew excited. He had aged 
 much. His hair, beneath his tall black hat, attracted her 
 notice. She had thought of it as short and black, and be- 
 hold, it was long and grey ! New and deep lines had graven 
 themselves across his face. His cassock hung loosely upon 
 his gaunt frame. Only in his hollow eyes, now fixed ap- 
 parently upon space, there lurked the fires of a feverish 
 vitality. 
 
 It was the first time they had spoken together since 
 that ill-omened day of parting, and the tumultuous and 
 torturing thoughts to which it gave rise flooded her heart 
 and flamed in her eyes like signals of distress. To be so 
 near him to hear his voice to recollect all to feel again 
 the anguish of the old incurable wound and to know that 
 he had escaped her each and every one of these seemed 
 to be a hand thrusting her relentlessly into some depth of 
 unplumbed despair. 
 
 " Why did you seek me? " 
 
 As he asked the question he raised his head. Zetitzka 
 found, to her surprise and relief, that she could listen 
 to him with a certain detachment that his old domination 
 over her was gone. But, as she continued to look at him, 
 it flashed to her mind that he was the father of her
 
 96 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 child. This enforced relationship, this inexorable con- 
 nection between the being she loved and the being she 
 hated filled her with an almost incredulous consternation. 
 As she shrank from it a solitary consolation leapt to her 
 heart. She recalled their parting. He did not then know 
 the tie that was destined to bind them together. He was 
 doubtless still in ignorance. That secret, at all events, was 
 her own. She hugged the assurance to her breast. If it 
 depended upon her, he should never know never, never. 
 
 ' ' Why did you seek me ? " he questioned again. 
 
 The words were inoffensive, but the hard frown of his 
 eyes imparted to them a weight of intolerable suspicion. 
 That she should be thus insolently interrogated, and by 
 him, left her speechless. 
 
 " Answer at once," he commanded, in sudden anger. 
 
 An instinct told Zetitzka that were she to speak, as 
 speak she must, he would instantly recognise her. All 
 fear of the inevitable exposure, however, vanished, swept 
 out of sight by the violence of her passions. But before 
 she could give vent to the volume of living anger that 
 blazed in her heart, there came a swift change. In- 
 credible though it may seem, he had forgotten her! She 
 noticed with dumb amazement that his attention had 
 shifted to the wall immediately behind her back. Into his 
 weary hollow eyes had come the expression that had so 
 often filled her with uneasiness the hunted look of 
 one who flees in vain from the terrors of an offended 
 conscience. 
 
 Half turning, Zetitzka followed with awe his fascinated 
 gaze. Upon the dark face of the rock some long-forgotten 
 hermit had scrawled a cross, a rude thing, but two streaks 
 of white paint still shining dimly in the obscurity. 
 
 Wholly oblivious of her, in silence, Stephanos raised 
 trembling fingers to his breast and forehead. Then, as she 
 stood in the deep shadow, mutely observant, he moved 
 slowly away into the inner darkness of the passage, his 
 head sunk to his chest, lost to everything save his own 
 tormented thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT was the custom of Dimitri the muleteer to visit the 
 Meteora monasteries just so often as business led his steps 
 in their direction. Sometimes he escorted travellers 
 thither strangers of diverse nationalities who paid him in 
 good Greek notes; at others, he conveyed merchandise to 
 the monks, oil in barrels, bags of flour from the little mill 
 on the Peneios, or vegetables from the village gardens. 
 Once in a great while he acquired distinction by officiating 
 as postman. 
 
 One bright morning Dimitri set out for Hagios Barlaam. 
 His gay swagger was even more pronounced than usual, 
 for, in addition to a load strapped upon the back of Nikola, 
 his mule, was he not the bearer of a parcel addressed to 
 the Hegoumenos ? 
 
 It had not been without difficulty that he had rescued 
 the latter from the grip of the postal authorities at Kala- 
 baka. The curiosity of the fat postmaster had come 
 perilously near to breaking the string, the sealing-wax, and 
 the eighth commandment! Not he alone, but likewise the 
 chemist, the innkeeper, and even the one ornamental 
 gendarme, had in turns endeavoured to deduct the con- 
 tents from the feel of the brown paper but Dimitri had 
 carried it off with a laugh. 
 
 " Find out what is in it, and tell us when you return," 
 cried the chemist after him. 
 
 " Do not forget the two pesetas tax," shouted the post- 
 master. 
 
 The little group watched him indolently as he swung up 
 the village street, his white f ustinella snapping in the breeze, 
 and Nikola two paces in front picking her way daintily 
 over the stones. 
 
 " A popular fellow," mused the innkeeper; " he would 
 make a bar pay." 
 
 " M m," doubted the postmaster, a half-smoked but 
 unlighted cigarette between his lips. " M m that is 
 7 97
 
 98 
 
 look you, if he did not drink all the profits. Yes, a good 
 
 fellow, but to my mind too leave-alone too Blessed 
 
 Saint Nicholas! You have seen all of you. He did not 
 even seem to care what was in that parcel ! ' ' 
 
 The gendarme wagged his cocked hat. 
 
 "You would choose a bachelor," he said; then added 
 sententiously, " Bachelors are too happy." 
 
 " True," sighed the chemist, thoughtfully twirling his 
 wedding-ring. " But," he added hopefully, " he is young. 
 He may still marry." 
 
 " 'Twill not be the fault of the girls if he remain single," 
 said the innkeeper; " any one of them would jump at 
 him." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," objected the gendarme, 
 who was father of two. 
 
 " Jump," repeated the innkeeper, emphasising his state- 
 ment so unexpectedly with his pipe-stem on the table that 
 the gendarme involuntarily obeyed. " But he! 'Tis a 
 smile to one and a jest with another, and away he goes 
 singing with his mule. Bah! " he snapped his fingers 
 " he has never been really in love in his life. Now at 
 
 his age, I " He broke off with modest and far-away 
 
 smiles. 
 
 ' ' Muleteers are like that, ' ' assented the postmaster. ' ' I 
 have in my time employed three. All were unaccountable. 
 It comes from being so much with brute beasts. To see 
 him on a rock ! You would say : ' a mule ! ' Thank 
 Heaven ! ' ' he gazed complacently upon his ample stomach 
 " I am no mule! " 
 
 " Yet he is a good son," mused the chemist. " I have 
 known him all his life; and never once, since his father 
 died, has he grudged his mother medicine." 
 
 ' ' Maybe he wants to poison her ! ' ' tittered the gendarme, 
 who was a bit of a wag. 
 
 ' Poison her! " The chemist snorted indignantly. 
 
 ' Would I sell him anything to poison her! No, indeed, 
 
 'tis his excellent heart; he always pays me ready money. 
 
 I wish "here he transfixed the gendarme with a meaning 
 
 eye " I wish all sons followed his example." 
 
 But the gendarme was gazing abstractedly at his boots. 
 
 Meanwhile Dimitri was climbing the rocky path that 
 led to the monasteries. The day was sultry. The mule-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 99 
 
 teer was constrained to unbutton his shirt and push back 
 the little round cap that sat so jauntily upon his head. 
 In his picturesque dress manly, athletic, good-looking 
 he formed an attractive addition to the landscape. As he 
 climbed he smoked a cigarette and hummed a ditty be- 
 tween closed lips. 
 
 His progress was not rapid Nikola saw to that. 
 
 Already the pinnacles of Meteora shimmered through a 
 haze of heat. The shadows of man and mule shouldered 
 before them, black on the white dust of the track. 
 
 " Ai i eah! " cried Dimitri, wiping the sweat from 
 his face. 
 
 Nikola had stopped her sides heaving. 
 
 " Come, old lady," remonstrated her master. " You 
 slept all day yesterday. You eat too much. You become 
 fat. Come ! "We must be there before eight o 'clock. The 
 flies pester you, eh? Well, then, what has the good God 
 given you a tail for? Another effort ah, gently! you 
 will loosen the straps." 
 
 Neither master nor mule gave the scenery a thought. 
 Why should they? Had they not known it all their lives? 
 Others travellers for the most part exclaimed loudly and 
 asked many foolish questions, with sudden halts trying alike 
 to Nikola's mouth and Dimitri 's patience but to them 
 it was part of their lives. When the great pinnacles 
 flashed at dawn, it was time to take the road; when the 
 crests grew death-like and grey, it was time to go home. 
 That was all. Yet each had their preferences. Nikola 
 preferred a certain secluded part of the ravine midway 
 between Barlaam and Triada. There dwarf oaks grew, and 
 a trough filled miraculously with ever running water was 
 to be enjoyed. She remembered this spot even before it 
 came into sight, and invariably quickened her step. If she 
 could put enough road between herself and her master she 
 drank deep a forbidden pleasure; if not, she snatched at 
 the leaves as she walked and munched them greedily. 
 
 Dimitri, for his part, preferred the monasteries. The 
 monks amused him hugely. Their mastica, too, was an 
 excellent drink trust them for that! It was pleasant to 
 loaf in the sunlight of the courts, smoke innumerable cigar- 
 ettes, and banter the brethren; pleasant, too, to stand on 
 the precipice brink with the village of Kalabaka a sheer
 
 100 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 thousand feet below, and admire the microscopic propor- 
 tions of his own cottage. 
 
 When having anchored Nikola to a stone in the gorge 
 Dimitri reached the top of the ladders, he found Brothers 
 Nicodemus and Gerasimos in the tower of the windlass. 
 This was a favourite haunt of the brethren. One or more 
 might often be seen gazing listlessly outwards and down- 
 wards. The little shell of a hut was as aerial an outlook 
 as the car of a drifting balloon. From it the eyes ranged 
 over the chaos of cliffs intersected by ravines to the far 
 plains of Thessaly. The brethren took a contemplative 
 pleasure in gazing into the distance. It fed the Oriental 
 quietism that saturated their lives. Under its soporific in- 
 fluence they rarely spoke. Occasionally one black- 
 robed figure, leaning over the rail, motionless, would be 
 heard to mutter another would reply then back would 
 they sink into inanition, and the silence would close in as 
 though it had never been broken. 
 
 " Calamera sas," cried Dimitri in cheery greeting. 
 
 " Ora calee," responded Nicodemus drowsily, while 
 Gerasimos blinked at the new-comer like a venerable owl 
 disturbed in its slumbers. 
 
 " I have brought you some flour," announced the mule- 
 teer. " I put it in the net. You had better pull it up." 
 
 The brethren looked at the windlass, which, with its 
 four great arms, occupied the centre of the ramshackle hut. 
 Gerasimos yawned. 
 
 ' ' If we send for Sotiri or Brother Petros, ' ' he suggested 
 faintly. 
 
 Dimitri laughed. Echoes repeated the jovial sound. 
 
 " Out of the way! " he cried, flinging off his little em- 
 broidered jacket. With creaks and groans the windlass 
 began to revolve. 
 
 ' I admire strength," said Gerasimos. 
 
 " Prayer is better," reproved Nicodemus. " I was 
 strong once ; to look at me you would have said ' an ox ! ' " 
 
 Gerasimos opened his mouth with amazement. 
 
 :< I was puffed up with pride of my thews and sinews," 
 continued Nicodemus solemnly, " recking not in my folly 
 that all flesh is as grass, but God opened my eyes, and here 
 I am." 
 
 " Past all doubt," agreed Gerasimos, nodding his tall
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 101 
 
 hat; then to the muleteer, who was lustily working the 
 windlass ' ' What sing you, Dimitri ? ' ' 
 ' The song of the road." 
 
 " But methought I heard mention of arms! " 
 
 " Ay, two soft arms at the journey's end so runs it." 
 
 " A man of sin," groaned Nicodemus, highly scandal- 
 ised. 
 
 " But," objected Gerasimos, a puzzled look on his 
 simple face, " what did they at the journey's end? I fail 
 to comprehend " 
 
 ' ' Better so, ' ' interrupted Nicodemus sourly. 
 
 Upwards out of the beating sunshine into the cool 
 shadow of the hut swung the bag of flour. The monks 
 seized it as it oscillated over space, and with one jerk drew 
 it inwards. It fell on the rude flooring, and a cloud of 
 white dust drifted through the doorway. The two old men 
 their duty done returned to the bench. Their sombre 
 attire, bent shoulders, and white beards contrasted forcibly 
 with the gay dress and gallant carriage of their com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Anything new? " questioned Dimitri, then with a laugh 
 " I am a fool nothing ever happens here." 
 
 The brethren exchanged meaning glances. 
 
 " "We have news," announced Nicodemus, swelling with 
 importance. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," corroborated Gerasimos, rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 " I also have news," cried the muleteer, not to be out- 
 done. 
 
 " What? " questioned Nicodemus. " A betrothal in 
 Kalabaka, belike? Bah! We have heard of it already. 
 Nay? What then?" 
 
 " Perhaps a death? " suggested Gerasimos pleasantly. 
 
 " They have broken their windlass rope at Meteoron," 
 announced the muleteer. " Ay, as they were drawing up 
 the net." 
 
 " Holy Virgin! " exclaimed the monks with one voice. 
 
 " Anyone killed? " piped Gerasimos. 
 
 " Worse," sighed Dimitri, inwardly delighted at the 
 sensation he was creating. 
 ' How worse? " 
 
 " A cask of wine smashed. I saw the spot myself the
 
 102 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 good wine all red on the rocks. Had it been a monk " 
 
 He snapped his fingers with gay unconcern. 
 
 " Impious fellow! " frowned Nicodemus. " Have yon 
 no veneration? " 
 
 " For you? None. Nay, scowl not at me I have been 
 to Volo. I have heard 
 
 " What have you heard? " snapped Nicodemus. 
 
 " Nothing that I well recall. Some talk maybe in the 
 market ; perhaps a lie. They say that the monks here " 
 
 "All holy men! " 
 
 " Humph! But useless; are to be done away with, and 
 that convicts are to be put in their place. By the Vir- 
 gin! " his eyes roved speculatively over the ravines 
 " They will be clever devils if they manage to escape from 
 Barlaam." 
 
 If there be one thing in the world at which the monks 
 of Meteora writhe, it is this very rumour. In a tense, 
 indignant whisper Brother Nicodemus explained to Dimitri 
 that as a malignant liar he was damned past all hope of 
 redemption. Gerasimos, equally moved, strove to insert 
 saints edgeways. 
 
 " Gently, gently, brothers," interposed the muleteer. 
 " Did I say it of myself. I would be sorry look you, 
 my business would be gone. Convicts are not brought 
 up upon oil, I take it. Ay, and more. I would miss the 
 Abbot and you twain know well if I care for Brother 
 Petros! " 
 
 " You are no fit companion for him," growled Nieo- 
 demus. 
 
 Dimitri shrugged his broad shoulders. 
 
 " I do him no harm; nay, I do him good a jest is 
 worth a dozen pistevos. Have I not known him since a 
 child Peste! I remember well the first time I saw him! 
 I gave him a ride on one of my mules; it did one good to 
 hear him laugh. Poor little rat! " 
 
 " Keep your pity!" Nicodemus turned a scornful 
 shoulder. " The lad is happy; he has chosen the better 
 part. And as for friends he lacks none all love him 
 here." 
 
 " Ay, do they," corroborated Gerasimos warmly. 
 
 " And Brother Stephanos? " grinned Dimitri. " He 
 loves him, I warrant ! ' '
 
 FOBBIDDEN GROUND 103 
 
 " Speak not of him. You are not worthy to clean his 
 sandals. Brother Petros holds him in seemly veneration, 
 as do all in the monastery." 
 
 The muleteer spat sceptically. For awhile no one spoke. 
 Gerasimos, his head tilted backwards, drifted into the easy 
 slumber of old age, while Nicodemus clicked his beads and 
 stared with unseeing eyes into the sunlight. From the 
 inner court came faint sounds of life a far-off voice call- 
 ing, then silence, broken only by the creaking of old wood- 
 work in the heat. Far below one could see a herd of goats, 
 a small and slowly-moving object in the glaring dust of 
 the track. 
 
 " Where is the lad? " said Dimitri abruptly. 
 
 " Within," mumbled Nicodemus. " I saw him but now 
 
 with " he turned swiftly to his friend " Brother 
 
 Brother Gerasimos, I say! " 
 
 ' ' Hai ! hai ! ' ' cried Gerasimos, scrambling to his feet. 
 "Is it time for Matins? What is this? Dimitri still 
 here! Blessed Pondromos! I dreamed I was in the 
 Catholicon." 
 
 " We have forgotten to tell him our news! " 
 
 " So we have! Tell him, brother." 
 
 " We have a new inmate," announced Nicodemus, com- 
 placently stroking his beard. 
 
 " He came three days agone," piped Gerasimos, unable 
 to keep silence. " He is young and well favoured 
 younger even than Brother Petros. And it is his pious 
 wish to join our blessed community. God be praised! 
 Poly cola! " 
 
 " Ay, and he and Brother Petros are much together. 
 You see, your pity is wasted; if the lad were not happy 
 he would not laugh." 
 
 " I will seek him," cried Dimitri, and he swung away 
 into the shadow.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SEATED in a rocky niche that edged the precipice, 
 Zetitzka was deep in thought. So near was she to the 
 void that from a little distance she appeared to be over- 
 hanging the abyss. Her entire background, viewed from 
 the monastery, consisted of immense space, the depth of 
 shimmering valley, and the faint quivering substance of 
 far-off hills. Her attitude told of dejection ; the drooping 
 head, the listless pendent hands, the general air of lassi- 
 tude and abandon all testified to the immense depression 
 of her spirits. 
 
 Sunlight enveloped her. It poured its liquid fire upon 
 her head, unprotected save for the small lay brother's 
 cap, emphasised the blue lights in her hair, touched the 
 soft contour of one olive-tinted cheek. 
 
 She had almost abandoned hope. That Stephanos should 
 escape her twice was a calamity that had upset all her 
 calculations. Not that, had other things been equal, her 
 perseverance would have been thus easily vanquished, but 
 her second failure had implanted superstitious fears within 
 a mind ever prone to credit the supernatural. It had 
 come to her suddenly that there must be forces fighting 
 for the monk against which, with all her courage, she was 
 powerless. What these forces were, she knew not, but 
 she surmised them to be connected with the monastery 
 that had given him shelter, and with the miraculous icon 
 that had watched over his safety in the Catholicon. 
 
 For the first time since she had undertaken the grim 
 task, doubts oppressed her. The events of the preceding 
 day had plunged her into a black despondency from which 
 it seemed that nothing could arouse her. She felt be- 
 wildered helpless. She knew not where to turn. If the 
 present were full of danger, the future was simply un- 
 thinkable. As long as Stephanos lived she dare not go 
 home. As little dare she continue to remain in this 
 monastery. 
 
 104
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 105 
 
 Roused suddenly by the sound of footsteps in that place 
 where all sound seemed a desecration, Zetitzka raised her 
 head. 
 
 Dimitri had halted in surprise. The lad before him was 
 undoubtedly the new inmate of whom the monks had 
 spoken, but the reality was so far removed from his expec- 
 tations that it set him wondering. 
 
 ' ' Umph ! " he grunted to himself, as he again moved 
 forward, " there is one at all events who has made a mis- 
 take." 
 
 It had been in his mind merely to inquire the where- 
 abouts of Petros, but something unusual and interest-com- 
 pelling in the face before him made him forget the question. 
 
 He hailed her with a friendly smile. 
 
 " You are new here, eh? " he asked genially, seating 
 himself by her side. Zetitzka, but half-aroused from 
 sombre thoughts, murmured an apathetic affirmative. 
 
 " You wonder who I am? " he went on easily, with the 
 entire lack of self -consciousness that invariably put others 
 at their ease. " Well, that is soon told; I am the mule- 
 teer in these parts. You will see me often, for I come 
 up to the monasteries nearly every day not always to 
 Barlaam, of course, though I like this one best. Now you, 
 my friend," he eyed her with frank curiosity, "whence 
 come you? " 
 
 Zetitzka moved uneasily. In her mountain village the 
 sexes were somewhat rigorously kept apart. To be ad- 
 dressed as a comrade by this very masculine individual 
 made her feel shy and awkward. If she had acted upon 
 instinct she would have run away. 
 
 ' ' Well, ' ' he said smilingly, ' ' have you forgotten ? ' ' 
 
 Reflecting that this man was no monk, and probably 
 had little to do with the monastery, she named the village 
 in which her parents lived. The muleteer smacked his 
 leg. 
 
 " I know it," he cried. " I thought you must be Alba- 
 nian by your accent. Yes. I have been there. Oh ! many 
 years ago, and only once, for it is out of my beat. The 
 Khan overlooks a little torrent that makes a devil of a 
 noise in spring." 
 
 He continued to talk pleasantly. Zetitzka found her- 
 self listening to him with a troubled interest, occasionally
 
 106 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 raising her long-fringed lashes to steal a look at him, noting 
 his open countenance, his easy gestures, his gay, careless 
 manner. She could not but like him, and wondered what 
 he would do if he knew she were a girl, and whether, with 
 all his kindliness, he would help her. 
 
 All at once he broke off, yawned, and began to mop his 
 forehead on which the damp curls were plastered stickily. 
 
 " Tis too hot here," he objected; "if we go over 
 there? " 
 
 She followed him reluctantly into the shade, for within 
 her heart she longed to be alone. With deft fingers her 
 companion rolled and lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " I know someone from your village," he said between 
 puffs, " Nik Leka, the lame pedlar." 
 
 Zetitzka listened uneasily. Already she repented of her 
 frankness. 
 
 The muleteer chuckled in reminiscence. 
 
 " He bet me a knife once that I would not jump across 
 the rocks above the waterfall. You know the place I 
 mean a mile above Kastrati? No? Well, never mind, 
 I have the knife still. You know him? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' A droll fellow ; a bear, one might say, but a bear with 
 a kind heart when not doing business. He travels farther 
 than I no regular beat. A fine life; a man is his own 
 master, no mules, only his own legs to consider. Though 
 one of his must take a lot of consideration, for it is always 
 crying halt! " He chuckled again, then, looking thought- 
 fully at her, added, " I wonder now that you never thought 
 of peddling? " 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 " You are too young to come here." In his blue eyes 
 there was unaffected and somewhat wondering interest. A 
 moment he paused, then asked abruptly : ' ' Why did you 
 come? " 
 
 Again she knew not what to say. Dimitri smiled. 
 ' Well never mind, ' ' he said lightly, pitching a stone 
 into space. "Perhaps I can tell. Oh, no cause for fear. 
 You can trust me though I dare swear you have told 
 it all ere this to the monks in confession. No? " 
 
 Despite her efforts at self-control she could not help 
 flushing.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 107 
 
 " I am like that myself," continued the muleteer, with 
 fellow feeling, " though it never went so far as to cause 
 me to enter a monastery." 
 
 " But " she faltered. " I do not understand 
 
 "Not understand? Peste! Why play the simpleton? 
 
 Look you " He would have laid his hand on her 
 
 shoulder, but instinctively she avoided him. " Look you," 
 he continued, unheeding her movement, "there are two 
 good things that can be made bad things money and 
 women. Money has never come my way ' one does not 
 find pesetas in the hoof of a mule, ' as the saying is, but a 
 man does not live to be thirty without knowing something 
 about women. Now you from the first moment I saw 
 you I knew what was the matter I said to myself ' Dimitri, 
 there is a woman in this case.' ' 
 
 She would have contradicted him, but self-consciousness 
 tied her tongue. 
 
 ' ' Aha ! " he exclaimed triumphantly, twirling his little 
 moustache. " I am right. Oh, how could it be other- 
 wise! For, between ourselves, in spite of these grave- 
 clothes " he plucked gaily at the hem of her dingy tunic 
 " you are not exactly ill-looking. Nay, turn not away! " 
 He surveyed her flushing face with a twinkle. " But, my 
 friend, you have made a mistake yes, the great mistake 
 of taking a woman too too seriously. Oh, think not that 
 I wish to malign them! By the Saints, no! My diffi- 
 culty is I love them all. But I do not make your mistake 
 no; kiss and forget, that is what I say, for if a man 
 does more he is sorry for it afterwards." 
 
 "You are wrong," she cried, roused at last into con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. She continued vehemently : 
 
 " You are wrong. It is men who are not worth it. 
 They do all the harm. They do not care how much they 
 make women suffer." 
 
 Dimitri 's bronzed face expressed bewilderment. His 
 eyes wandered in unfeigned astonishment from the gestic- 
 ulating hands to the flushed cheeks that betrayed the 
 emotions she could not repress. 
 
 " So! " he muttered, " you think that, do you? " 
 
 But 2/etitzka, her burst over, took refuge in silence. 
 
 They both sat awhile without speaking; Dimitri think-
 
 108 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ing with unusual seriousness, Zetitzka, with averted head, 
 striving to master her agitation. Around them brooded 
 the great peace of the monastery warm, sunlit, silent, 
 steeping all things in slumber like some ancient spell. 
 
 " My friend," began the muleteer, " you have surprised 
 me. After all, 'tis none of my business. That reminds 
 me I have a parcel where shall I find the Abbot ? ' ' 
 
 She directed him in a low voice, her eyes downcast. 
 
 " Good." He rose to his feet. " I will seek him and 
 Brother Petros too. This place makes one sleepy. Now 
 you you bear me no ill-will, eh? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " That is well. Shall we say a glass of masticaf I 
 could drink up the Peneios to-day if it flowed mastica! 
 You will get it in the refectory. Ah, you have found it 
 out already ? I might have known it ! Not so fast a full 
 glass, do not forget." 
 
 He called the last words after her as she crossed the 
 sunlit space, then watched until she entered the little low- 
 browed door. When she was no longer to be seen he 
 scratched his head. His face told that he had by no means 
 recovered from his astonishment.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 STEPHANOS was on his knees engaged in flagellation. 
 Sien by the imperfect light of a small wick floating in oil, 
 his naked back was crossed and recrossed by dark lines. 
 In front of him, upon the wall of his cell, hung a crucifix, 
 a work of early Byzantine art. 
 
 So engrossed was the monk in his occupation that for 
 Borne time he was unaware that the Abbot had entered the 
 cell and was gazing down at him. 
 
 Shrinking pity, tinged curiously with an awestruck and 
 even reverential admiration, filled the spectator's mind. 
 Tales and legends of holy men, hermits, martyrs, and even 
 saints, who had thus mortified the body to the everlasting 
 glory of the soul passed before him, with no precision of 
 detail, but only as creating a halo of veneration within 
 which he saw this act of Stephanos. 
 
 The Abbot had suspected this. Once before he had 
 heard the muffled sound of blows, and on more than one 
 occasion had he seen the monk wince when chafed by his 
 cassock. But the aged priest had little of the grim 
 mediaeval spirit that took delight in self-torture. His was 
 a more enlightened belief, a gentler and more humane re- 
 ligion, strange considering his surroundings. This want 
 of appreciation, however, he unhesitatingly condemned, 
 judging it to be weakness and backsliding, and succeeded 
 so well in creating an artificial mental atmosphere, that 
 he venerated Stephanos as one in whose presence the 
 monastery was indeed blest, a man of God, an example to 
 all, even a future worker of miracles, a saint. 
 
 Pausing in his self-inflicted punishment, Stephanos 
 looked up at his superior. He presented a miserable spec- 
 tacle; his eyes bloodshot; his chest, covered with black 
 hair, glistening with perspiration; his coarse and naked 
 feet protruding from beneath the folds of his cassock. 
 
 " My son," said the Abbot in a voice that mingled un- 
 affected humility with his ofiice and authority, " is there 
 need for this? " 
 
 109
 
 110 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " Ay," groaned the monk wearily, " only thus can I 
 drive out the devil." 
 
 The old man seated himself upon the low divan. " Tell 
 me," he said. 
 
 For some time he waited; but, as Stephanos seemed un- 
 able to obey, he began : 
 
 " You, my son, so worthy " 
 
 " Worthy! " interrupted the monk with sudden and in- 
 tense bitterness. " If you but knew ! " 
 
 ' Tell me," repeated the Abbot. 
 
 Stephanos pushed his long and matted hair from before 
 his eyes. Still on his knees, he began to crawl slowly 
 and painfully to the old man's side. There was something 
 pitiable and even bestial in his appearance. The Abbot, 
 bending to bless him, suddenly drew back. 
 
 " Blood! Holy Mother! You are all wet with it! " 
 
 " "Would I could lash out every drop! It might wash 
 away my sins." 
 
 * ' Human blood will not do that, my son. ' ' 
 
 The head of Stephanos drooped to his chest, then jerked 
 upwards. When he closed his eyes he saw the flames that 
 never went out. 
 
 The cell was very quiet. Everything within it looked 
 shadowy, unreal. The calm face of the Christ, lit by the 
 tiny wick, shone transfigured. 
 
 Yes ? ' ' encouraged the Abbot. 
 Dreams," whispered the monk. 
 We all have dreams." 
 
 But mine are evil spirits ; they they tempt me. ' ' 
 But you resist? " There was anxiety in the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " No. I fall in thought not once, often. They bring 
 back my sin. Do you understand? I do it again. I I 
 wallow in it! " 
 
 His voice expressed remorse and self-loathing. The old 
 priest looked at him with infinite sympathy. 
 
 " I know," he murmured, half below his breath. 
 
 " You do not know! " cried Stephanos with sudden pas- 
 sion. Then, with an apologetic gesture as he caught a 
 glance of mingled surprise and disapproval on the Abbot's 
 face : ' ' Forgive me, venerable father, but you you have
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 111 
 
 lived here always all your life. You have fought the 
 flesh but have you fought things things you remember 
 
 things you have done that that " he broke off; then, 
 
 after a pause, during which he stared fixedly on the floor, 
 he continued with bitterness: " I have sinned even by 
 coming here. I thought to escape but I see now that one 
 cannot do that, not till one rots in the grave." 
 
 The old man looked at him and marvelled. 
 
 " If his soul have need of this, how much greater need 
 has mine," was his thought. With veneration, even as 
 one seeking spiritual good touches the feet of a saint, he 
 laid a hand on the monk's naked shoulder. Stephanos 
 shrank back. 
 
 " Do not touch me! " he said wildly. " If you knew 
 you would spit at me. I am a lie. I am a reproach to 
 the monastery. Nay, you don't know me none of them 
 knows me; not one! I will tell you what I am a monk 
 with the heart of a profligate. Well," he gazed at the 
 Abbot with a sombre and defiant stare, " you despise me 
 now." 
 
 " Despise you? I? God forbid! I but respect you the 
 more. ' ' 
 
 Stephanos betrayed the heat of sudden irritation. 
 
 " You do not understand," he protested, gesticulating 
 with his naked arms. " You make of me a whited 
 sepulchre. But the fault is mine ay, and the guilt. I 
 can bear it no longer. Listen. I will tell all." 
 
 "Alack!" thought the Abbot, "he is distraught. 
 Vigils and fasts have worn out the feeble body. ' ' Aloud he 
 said: " Come, my son, sit here." 
 
 By any other of the brethren the invitation would have 
 been esteemed an honour, but Stephanos muttered a refusal. 
 The Abbot, however, reaching out a hand, raised the peni- 
 tent and sate him by his side on the divan. 
 
 " Take time, Brother Stephanos," he said in a studiously 
 matter-of-fact voice ; then, having snuffed and blowing the 
 brown grains from his fingers, " perhaps, to-morrow 
 
 " No," pleaded the monk, with a return of his irrational 
 excitement, " to-morrow may be too late. Now." 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 All at once Stephanos began to speak.
 
 112 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " I have deceived you. That is part of my sin. You 
 thought me holy. I allowed you to think so. I am the 
 worst of sinners." 
 
 A gentle incredulity shone in the old priest's eyes. 
 
 Stephanos continued : ' ' You never asked why I came 
 here." 
 
 " Did I not? Yet I remember well we spake thereof. 
 You fled from the world." 
 
 " I fled " he paused with bowed head, and hands 
 knotted together " I fled from a woman." 
 
 He uttered the last word with extraordinary rancour. 
 So full of animosity was his tone, so unpleasantly did it 
 jar on the Abbot's humour, that the old man was con- 
 scious of a sudden warning of sympathy. Accounting this 
 a weakness, he pressed the monk's hands between his own 
 with additional kindness. 
 
 " Do not tremble, my son. Be comforted. Your con- 
 science is clear. I know all." 
 
 " You do not know all. I tell you I deceived you. I 
 kept it from you even in the confessional. ' ' 
 
 The Abbot withdrew his hands. Stephanos did not move. 
 The flickering candle-light shone upon the old man's face, 
 revealing its agitation. 
 
 " This sin you speak of yon did not conceal it when 
 you took the Lesser Habit? " 
 
 The monk bowed his head in assent. 
 
 The Abbot gazed with incredulity at the culprit. He 
 recalled how he had given absolution to this man upon his 
 entry into Barlaam. For a moment he was lost in be- 
 wilderment, for never before had such an offence come 
 under his notice. To his simple and truthful mind it 
 appeared impossible. Then, in a wave, came grief and a 
 sense of bitter personal disappointment. Rising, he crossed 
 the cell, and fell on his knees before the crucifix. There 
 ensued a few minutes of tense silence, then the Abbot 
 pressed his lips to the relic, crossed himself devoutly, re- 
 gained his feet, and looked down at Stephanos. 
 ' Tell me," he said, " tell me all." 
 
 The monk quailed at his tone. But even as his con- 
 science shrank, there came to him strength born of his 
 wild and disordered imagination. Raising his head, he
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 113 
 
 stared his superior full in the face. His eyes betrayed no 
 fear, though darkened by sombre shadows. 
 
 For a full minute he sat silent, collecting his thoughts. 
 Then in short and broken sentences, that gave his listener 
 the impression of violent agitation imperfectly restrained, 
 he burst forth: 
 
 " I lived alone in a hut on the outskirts of an Albanian 
 village. I was partly Greek I had books I killed no 
 one that was enough for them they despised me. My 
 God! The very children threw stones. May Satan " 
 
 The Abbot silenced him with a gesture, and asked, 
 " Why did you continue to live there? " 
 
 " One place is as another. I was a trader once, and 
 have seen cities, but God told me to forsake my calling and 
 to worship Him apart. I was in Albania when His Voice 
 reached me, so I stayed." 
 
 He fingered the lash absently, muttered incoherently, 
 then tossed his dishevelled head. 
 
 " Continue," said the Abbot. 
 
 With an effort Stephanos obeyed. 
 
 " I tilled the ground. I had saved money, and one re- 
 quires little to eat." 
 
 " True," assented the Abbot. 
 
 " God was with me," continued the monk in an awe- 
 inspired voice. " We walked together, and I was happy 
 until until she came." 
 
 Terribly agitated, he broke off, wiped the sweat from 
 his face, then continued: " I noticed her first on the hill- 
 side. Her walk her proud free air fascinated me. She 
 was with another girl. I avoided them; but I trembled. 
 The next time she was alone, She spoke to me she 
 asked the time of day. The words were naught; it was 
 her look full of pity, and and like an angel from Heaven. 
 It moved me so that I answered her gently I, who hated 
 her race. She came to me in dreams, evil dreams. I was 
 wretched. I prayed and fasted without avail. Struggle as 
 I might, I was chained to her by every thought. Ay, asleep 
 or awake I heard her voice calling me, tempting me. I 
 hear it still." 
 
 There was a profound silence. The Abbot's grave and 
 troubled eyes never wavered from the penitent. 
 
 a
 
 114 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " We met again," continued the monk, " not once, but 
 often and in secret for I persuaded her to keep our meet- 
 ings from her people until well, until they could no longer 
 be concealed. When with her I forgot all, even my soul. 
 I set myself to win her. But when alone I fought, I 
 prayed, I cried aloud to God, and beat myself. But what 
 good! To see her was again to forget all all but her. 
 And each time I met her I sank deeper. Venerable father, 
 I tell you, it was a devouring furnace. I was on fire. I 
 thirsted for her as for a drop of water in hell. Her eyes ! 
 her voice ! My God ! ' ' 
 
 With a gasp he again broke off. The breath of uncon- 
 trollable passion filled the quiet cell. The monk sat with 
 his hands knotted together at arm's length. His eyes 
 haunted and unseeing, stared fixedly at the floor. 
 
 Abruptly he resumed: " One night a storm raged in 
 the mountains. She was returning from a fair, and came 
 to my house for shelter. 'Twas the first time she had been 
 there. I could not bid her begone. We stood side by 
 side listening to the thunder and the rain. Every time it 
 lightened I saw her face. Once in sudden fright she 
 clutched my arm. The devil tempted me. I resisted 
 God! how I resisted! but I fell." 
 
 He covered his face with his hands. The Abbot sat 
 quite still and looked at him. Into the old man's eyes 
 grave, yet innocent as a child's crept a bewildered ex- 
 pression, that slowly gave place to comprehension and 
 horror. Calm and untroubled as was his life, this aged 
 priest had yet moments when the sorrows and sins of 
 others racked him as though they were his own. The story 
 struck him as with a physical blow. It filled him with 
 feelings of repulsion for the brutal passions it portrayed. 
 Nor did it lose by the circumstances under which it was 
 narrated (though the Abbot thought not of them) the 
 profound silence of the monastery and the semi-naked 
 fanatic confessing in the gloom. 
 
 While they sat silent, the door opened softly so softly 
 that, immersed as they both were in thought, neither 
 noticed it. 
 
 " Tell me more about her," said the Abbot, forcing him- 
 self to speak calmly. " Did she love you? "
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 115 
 
 Stephanos shuddered. " She said so; but I do not think 
 she understood. I I had some power over her. ' ' 
 
 "Poor girl! " 
 
 The monk bit savagely at his finger-nails. 
 
 " And did you deceive her? Did you promise her 
 marriage? " 
 
 Stephanos glanced furtively into the old man's stern, 
 truth-compelling eyes. 
 
 " Answer, my son." 
 
 " There was some talk of it," muttered the monk, 
 abashed; adding suddenly, " She tempted me." 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' cried the Abbot sternly, ' ' your own evil passions 
 tempted you. With all my heart I pity her. " 
 
 Stephanos raised his head, visibly taken aback. 
 
 " But "he began. 
 
 " Not a word. She was alone, defenceless, your guest, 
 
 and you you It was brutal! You behaved like a 
 
 devil and then like a coward! However great your sub- 
 sequent sin, this alone " He broke off, deeply agitated, 
 
 then asked: " Have you seen or heard of her since? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " There there was no child? " A flush crept into the 
 Abbot's pale face. At the answer he drew a breath of 
 relief. 
 
 " Thank God, at least, for that! " 
 
 A moment's silence, then the old man spoke again: 
 " I willtry to find her." 
 
 Stephanos started, fear shone in his eyes. 
 
 " She may she is sure to be unhappy. It is plain to 
 me that she loved you. Something may perhaps be done 
 
 for her some sisterhood, perhaps. God will direct us 
 
 What is that? " 
 
 The door had again creaked this time more audibly 
 than before. The faint sound, grating on the intense 
 silence, had a mysteriously uncanny effect. It conveyed 
 the impression that the little door was being softly and 
 stealthily pushed open by a cautious hand. Both men lis- 
 tened. Stephanos raised his head. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked in a low voice, looking at his 
 superior. 
 
 " The door," murmured the Abbot. " Methought nay, 
 I feel sure it opened. ' '
 
 116 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " Perhaps the wind? " 
 
 " There is no wind to-night." 
 
 The voice of the Abbot betrayed superstition. As he 
 spoke he made the sign of the cross, his eyes turned 
 with lively apprehension towards the space, now a foot 
 in width, that gave sight of the blackness of the corridor. 
 Again both men listened, holding their breath; but the 
 silence was now profound unbroken. The monastery lay 
 plunged in the utter quiet of the summer's night. 
 
 " It is strongly borne in upon me that we must pray for 
 this poor girl," said the Abbot softly. 
 
 " For her! " cried Stephanos, taken aback. 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 " But she is a woman! " 
 
 " Women suffer for our sins." 
 
 " They are our sins! " Stephanos jerked himself erect, 
 his deep-set eyes blazed, the veins on his neck stood out like 
 whipcord. " They are our sins," he vociferated; " we 
 come here to escape them. The devil made them to lure 
 man to destruction. A woman brought sin upon earth. 
 A woman tempted Saint Anthony. A woman ' 
 
 " A woman gave Jesus Christ to the world," interrupted 
 the Abbot, gazing with dim eyes at the crucifix. 
 
 Stephanos followed the old man's gaze. His head, 
 affected by long fasts, felt strangely light and weak. He 
 felt emotional, almost hysterical, on the verge of angry 
 tears. Shudders from overstrung nerves ran through him. 
 Everything became infected with this physical weakness 
 to the point of hallucination. The Abbot's shadow on the 
 whitewashed wall menaced darkly the light from the Holy 
 Image sent a ray of intolerable brightness into his brain. 
 He felt it going in and in as though it were a gimlet. The 
 pain he suffered amounted to torture. 
 
 The silence lasted so long that Stephanos grew 
 uneasy. 
 
 " You say nothing, venerable father? " he muttered. 
 
 11 Why did you desert her? " demanded the Abbot. 
 Painful constraint was audible in his voice. It was the 
 tone of one who strives to hold all personal prejudice in 
 leash till he has thoroughly sifted the truth. Stephanos 
 felt and resented the change. It seemed to his disordered 
 brain as though there were a conspiracy against him.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 117 
 
 And yet, despite his fanatical contempt of human criticism, 
 he was vaguely conscious of a desire to stand well in the 
 opinion of this one man. 
 
 " It was God's wish," he cried, half eagerly, half de- 
 fiantly. " Since a boy I had longings for the religious 
 life. I was not as other boys. God and the devil were 
 always fighting for me. I would sin, then repent, then 
 sin again. But somehow somehow I felt that one day 
 God would conquer would how can I tell you? would 
 take me to Himself. ' ' 
 
 He stared fixedly at his hands still grasping the lash, 
 touched a smear of blood with the point of his forefinger, 
 traced a cross absently, then continued: " venerable 
 father, don't you understand? This woman was of the 
 devil she was the devil. He came to me, in her like- 
 ness: he tempted me, and I fell. Then God sent a Holy 
 vision to fight for me to call me. Was I wrong to obey ? 
 No! And once here what could I do but keep silent till 
 God bade me speak ? At first, I confess, conscience seemed 
 to reproach me. To take the vows and keep back aught 
 yes, that seemed deadly sin. But I was in God's hands: 
 He brought me. We still talked together face to face, as 
 you and I do now. With prayer and tears, here, in this 
 cell, I besought guidance. And God spoke in the night. 
 He said : ' Stephanos, crucify the flesh. But no word of 
 confession to man. ' I obeyed. If He told me to fling my- 
 self over the precipice, I would do it. Think you I care 
 for your penances ? ' ' He sat erect ; his voice rang with a 
 fierce splendour of scorn. "No: God is my judge. I 
 wait for Him! " 
 
 The Abbot listened in silence. His benevolent face ex- 
 pressed consternation and amazement. So accustomed 
 was he to put himself in the place of the sinner that his 
 mind, by mere force of habit, sought the old familiar 
 groove. In vain. For once his divine gift of sympathy 
 was at fault. His view of life was a peaceful sunset; 
 this man's was an eclipse. The confession had, however, 
 one redeeming quality sincerity. The Abbot felt that at 
 last he was in possession of the whole truth. He tried to 
 think of this as an extenuating circumstance. Again he 
 failed. Being without precedent in his experience, it took 
 him aback.
 
 118 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 The Greek monastic system, he knew well, did not look 
 too closely into the bygone sins of those who entered its 
 ranks. It salved its conscience by becoming responsible 
 for their souls from the moment of their joining the com- 
 munity. Had Stephanos but confessed all at the time of 
 his admission into Barlaam, nothing could have been ad- 
 vanced against him. But his offence lay in that, by mak- 
 ing an incomplete confession, he had obtained absolution 
 under false pretences. 
 
 Two things struck the old man as he stood there plunged 
 in painful thought. The first was that the wretched 
 being before him had no idea of the gravity of 
 his offence, the second that it was his duty, as Abbot of 
 Barlaam, to report it at once to his ecclesiastical superior, 
 the Bishop of Trikala. The latter arose from a suspicion 
 in his mind that this sin demanded a punishment other 
 than the light penalties it was his custom to inflict. His 
 whole nature tender-hearted to a fault shrank from 
 such an extreme course; but from the moment that it 
 revealed itself as a duty, he did not hesitate. Yet deep 
 wells of pity were stirred within him. Poignant disillu- 
 sionment in Brother Stephanos his pride, the shining 
 light of the monastery gave place to a sorrow that had 
 in it much of the Christ-like quality of suffering for 
 others. 
 
 The unhinged note, the wild and blasphemous pre- 
 tensions, the boastings, the scorn, all struck the Abbot 
 with unfeigned anxiety. Never before had he met a monk 
 so charged with violent passions, so forgetful of the defer- 
 ence due to his superior. For the first time it occurred to 
 him that Brother Stephanos was not altogether responsible 
 for his actions. 
 
 His austerities, too the Abbot looked with troubled and 
 infinite compassion at the crouching figure upon whose 
 swollen and naked back the blood was scarcely dry 
 pleaded powerfully in his behalf. Whatsoever his offences, 
 he had punished himself with no sparing hand. 
 
 But it was with a soul, not with a material body, that 
 the aged priest felt that he had to do. Stephanos repre- 
 sented to him one of the little community for whose 
 spiritual welfare he judged himself responsible. His 
 prayers for the world for the millions of men and women
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 119 
 
 unknown to him were the natural outpourings of a love 
 that embraced all God 's creatures, tender, yet necessarily im- 
 personal; but his prayers for his own children were the 
 very voice of his heart, hopeful, yet full of fear peti- 
 tions sent daily to the Great White Throne inscribed in 
 the blood and tears of the intercessor. For them he fasted 
 and did penance, for them he denied himself all comforts, 
 watching while others slept, praying while others kept 
 silence. He lost sight of his own soul in his anxiety to 
 save theirs. He had one ardent desire, never omitted 
 from his prayers, to meet God at the last, face to face, and 
 to be able to say: " Lord, here are the little ones en- 
 trusted to me Thine every one." 
 
 But now it was brought home to him with a conviction 
 that gained momentarily in strength, that the case of 
 Brother Stephanos had escaped beyond his personal con- 
 trol, that he must submit it to a higher judge. Yes, what- 
 ever it might cost him in grief and shame, he must write, 
 stating all things clearly, asking for instructions. It 
 would take two, or even three weeks, before he could re- 
 ceive a reply. Not only was Trikala distant, but the 
 Abbot had a suspicion that the bishop was at that moment 
 travelling round his diocese. Meanwhile it might be neces- 
 sary to inflict some form of penance, and even to isolate 
 this erring brother from the other inmates of the monastery. 
 These, however, were matters requiring thought, in silent 
 and devout meditation. 
 
 In the low, measured voice of one who weighs his words 
 carefully, the Abbot spoke, touching on the heinousness of 
 the sin both as regarding its commission and its subse- 
 quent concealment, seeking to bring its seriousness home 
 to the sinner. 
 
 For the former, said the aged priest, looking down at 
 the monk with grave eyes, naught but the humble and 
 contrite heart would atone; but regarding the latter, more 
 complicated in that it partook of an offence against the 
 monastic order, he would inform the culprit of his deci- 
 sion later. 
 
 Stephanos listened unmoved callously, thought the 
 Abbot, with pain and was still doubled upon himself in 
 an attitude of unreasoning stupor when his superior quitted 
 the cell.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE sun had set in one of those stupendous conflagra- 
 tions that metamorphose the west into a furnace and all 
 nature into a hushed spectator. From its lofty natural 
 tower like some Simon Stylites on his pedestal Hagios 
 Barlaam watched the dying light. 
 
 Picturesque at all seasons, the little old monastery drew 
 romance to itself in the highest degree as dusk crept up- 
 wards from the ravines. The giant crag that supported 
 it towered from the profound and sombre gorges into the 
 last delicate rose-flush of day. At that hour the venerable 
 buildings, coldly grey at other seasons, became almost 
 beautiful, suffused with transient colour that imparted a 
 warm and fugitive glow to their weather-beaten walls. 
 
 But, though lifted above the light mists and fast-en- 
 croaching gloom to a twilight of its own that was tender, 
 luminous, and all too brief, Barlaam seemed to die with 
 the dying day: it masked itself in shadow, grew slowly 
 grey and wan, blurred gradually into one nebulous but 
 coherent whole, and, while still retaining the faint out- 
 lines of human structure, became as far as possible one 
 with the cliff and with the night. 
 
 It was in this hour of dusk that Barlaam most im- 
 pressed the imagination. "When the gloom of imminent 
 night enveloped it, it loomed upon the sight but as a fan- 
 tastic shadow-monastery, less apparently real than the 
 rocks at one's feet, less visibly substantial than the clouds 
 overhead. It became ominous, fabulously sinister. It 
 passed into an atmosphere of legend. Its loneliness and 
 isolation awoke awe. Mystery haunted it about. One 
 gazed upwards from the path at ghostly rampart and dim 
 beetling crag, and wondered what manner of men dared 
 to inhabit a place so desolate, or to call it by the familiar 
 name of home. 
 
 But its inmates had no such imaginative fancies. 
 Familiarity had robbed their wild surroundings of wonder. 
 
 120
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 121 
 
 In an indifferent way it is to be supposed that they were 
 proud of their monastery, for they smiled when a rare 
 traveller expressed admiration, but shrugged apathetic 
 shoulders if questioned as to its age. Their ignorance and 
 lack of curiosity were alike remarkable. They did not see 
 the use of talking about it. It was there: nothing more 
 was to be said. 
 
 If forced by some persistent visitor, they would reluct- 
 antly admit its precarious situation to have disadvantages 
 the ladders did not suit old bones, to be obliged to work 
 a windlass whenever it was necessary to bring anything 
 into the monastery was without doubt a drawback but 
 time and custom had minimised these inconveniences; and 
 true it was, if transferred elsewhere an event that rarely 
 happened the brethren became homesick ; they missed the 
 height, the silence. 
 
 But if atmospheric effects and imaginative phases 
 escaped them, such fancy as they possessed found abundant 
 vent in superstition. One and all, from the Abbot to 
 Sotiri, shared a credulity almost beyond belief. Their 
 ignorance fanned it, their meditative life fostered it. 
 It became not only a part of their religion, but of their 
 very personalities, the subsoil from which sprang many 
 of their thoughts and actions, binding them to the present, 
 linking them with the past, pointing upwards to the 
 future. Thus, they would take pleasure in referring to 
 this spot or that, to this object or that, in reverent but 
 appreciative tones; cross themselves, or genuflect, as they 
 drifted aimlessly through the courtyard, or paused a 
 moment in the shadow of the cloisters ; cherishing in their 
 simple minds the memory of some legend, or miracle, 
 handed down by word of mouth from the past how re- 
 mote a past none among them knew or cared. 
 
 But, for all that, it may well be that, unknown to them, 
 the material aspect of the monastery possessed a certain 
 influence over their minds; that Barlaam, glad at sun- 
 rise, drowsy at noon, haunted at dusk, or sinister at night- 
 fall, stirred even their thin blood to unconscious recipro- 
 cation. Certain it is that one among them, Petros was not 
 indifferent. 
 
 Beside Zetitzka on the precipice brink, tHe boy had 
 fallen into a reverie that accorded well with the pensive
 
 122 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 scene unrolled before him. His duties for the day over, 
 he had captured his new comrade as she was on the point 
 of retreating to her cell, and had persuaded her to accom- 
 pany him, explaining that upon this vantage-ground of all 
 places was to be found the coolness that came only with 
 dusk and the night wind. 
 
 The girl had allowed herself to be persuaded, not with- 
 out difficulty. 
 
 They seated themselves upon the verge, within a few 
 yards of the spot where Zetitzka had met Dimitri on the 
 preceding day. Together they gazed at the mountains of 
 Albania, black against the tender sky at the valley, far 
 beneath them, self-withdrawn into some enchanted atmos- 
 phere midway between the repose of night and the con- 
 straint of day at the river that reflected the afterglow 
 at the village of Kalabaka, dim in the underworld, with 
 one light like a drowsy eye twinkling faintly through mist- 
 wreaths and trails of windless smoke and, lastly, across 
 the shadowy ravine at the solemn and uplifted mass of 
 Meteoron. 
 
 No one else was in the outer court, only the boy and girl, 
 alone, with all the wonderful world at their feet. 
 
 The little space of level ground seemed all the more 
 dangerous to Zetitzka, seen thus in the gloaming. No 
 attempt had been made to smooth the inequalities of the 
 plot. Rocks at the unprotected edge assumed fantastic 
 shapes, holes lurked, shadows cheated the eye. A stumble, 
 and one would be precipitated into the blackness of the 
 abyss. Yet Petros would often stand poised on the ex- 
 treme verge and point out to her where the swallows nested, 
 or where his eagle was wont to-,perch; or he would leap 
 from rock to perilous rock where a missed footing meant 
 death, and all with an assurance born of long familiarity, 
 as though to hang over a precipice with a thousand-foot 
 drop were as simple as to cross the courtyard. 
 
 They conversed in low voices, with long hushed pauses. 
 
 The little that Zetitzka could be induced to say never 
 failed to interest her companion. Her ideas had for his 
 unsophicated mind the charm o'f novelty and unexpected- 
 ness. They seemed also to carry weight, to be the out- 
 come of experience far beyond her years. Again and 
 again while she was speaking he had the feeling that he
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 123 
 
 was listening to someone double his age; so that it needed 
 the testimony of his eyes turned abruptly to the brood- 
 ing but singularly attractive face at his side to convince 
 him that it was only the new lay brother. Unknown to 
 himself, it was the feminine point of view that took him 
 aback, tantalised him, allured him. 
 
 And yet another thing. The views of this Angelos ap- 
 peared to be all turned to a minor key, which to Petros 
 was incomprehensible, seeing that the world was so fresh 
 and full of interest. They forced him reluctantly to 
 think of sad things and as his experience of " sad things " 
 was limited of the death of Brother Jerome, an aged 
 member of the community who had died but a year agone. 
 Over the grave in the populous little cemetery among the 
 rocks the brethren had droned a lugubrious air that wailed 
 of dust unto dust. The words, as well as the dirge, and 
 indeed everything connected with this his second remem- 
 bered funeral, had impressed the boy profoundly, affected 
 him with a sense of awe, of pity tinged with distant hope, 
 a feeling too of being one of the guests at a mysterious 
 marriage feast so firm was his faith and yet of the per- 
 sonal remoteness of such a calamity, so full did he himself 
 feel on that bright May morning of life and the joy of all 
 created things. 
 
 That the new-comer's outlook should remind him of 
 this melancholy experience was remarkable. Petros, some- 
 what at a loss, attributed this fact to the secret sorrow 
 which marked this boy, as it were, with a halo of romance, 
 a distinctive atmosphere that dignified even such menial 
 occupations as the sweeping of floors and the dusting 
 of stalls. In his heart, Petros felt slightly awed. There 
 was at times a grim and tragic intensity about his new 
 companion, noticeable even in her very sparingness of 
 speech, that could not but impress the boy, himself so 
 prone to gay and spontaneous volubility. Her attitude 
 was certainly disquietingly suggestive. It seemed to open 
 hitherto unsuspected doors to possible experience; vaguely 
 alarming, it is true, yet mysteriously alluring, if only on 
 account of its incomprehensibility. No doubt the world 
 was an evil place. It had cruelly blighted this young 
 stranger; for, guided by some instinct for which he would 
 have been at a loss to account, Petros felt convinced that
 
 124 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Angelos had not been ever thus was not, indeed, thus 
 by nature but was suffering from temporary depres- 
 sion attendant on the blow of which the Abbot had 
 spoken. Warm-hearted and intensely sympathetic, the lad 
 had at once set himself to counteract this baleful influ- 
 ence. Steeped in the monastic atmosphere of piety, and 
 radiating a faith as simple as it was sincere, he had sought 
 to apply the balm of religion to this troubled soul, but he 
 had found his new companion strangely irresponsive, 
 strangely apathetic. She did not disbelieve, she did not 
 argue, but she looked at him with melancholy, inscrutable 
 eyes that made him feel she was far beyond his reach. 
 
 Not that Petros despaired ; his nature was too optimistic 
 for that; but for the moment he ceased to wrestle, con- 
 soling himself with hopes centred upon the efficacy of 
 personal prayer. When with her he not unf requently tried 
 other tactics, seeking to banter her out of her preoccupa- 
 tion, contrasting her with other boys he had known light- 
 hearted, strong-limbed, thoughtless lads from Kalabaka 
 and Kastrati, who on half-holidays took pleasure in visit- 
 ing the monastery. His tone when touching on the dif- 
 ference would be grave and dignified, as befitted a monk 
 admonishing a presumptuously-sorrowful lay brother. 
 
 " Look at your hands," he cried on this occasion, point- 
 ing in the dusk to where they were clasped about her 
 knees. Zetitzka, startled, put them quickly behind her, 
 for, essentially feminine, they constituted a danger. 
 
 ' ' Well, ' ' bantered the boy, ' ' have you ever seen a man 's 
 hands like that? " 
 
 " Nay, be not vexed! " he continued quickly, as she 
 remained silent: " By Saint Barlaam, I like you in spite 
 of them! " He nodded cheerfully, as one who triumphs 
 over obstacles; then, with engaging impulsiveness: 
 " Hearken, Angelos, I will tell you somewhat of im- 
 portance. 'Tis a secret, but I can trust you. A week agone 
 I besought the Holy Virgin to send me something young. 
 I had in my mind a dog or a cat to keep me company in 
 my leisure hours Dimitri comes so rarely. Alack! I 
 prayed with little faith; for, between ourselves, I had be- 
 sought the boon many times, and I was discouraged. Truly 
 was I answered, not according to my deserts, but out of
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 125 
 
 her divine compassion. Mark! a dog or a cat, prayed I 
 and she sent you! " 
 
 He laughed in triumph. But Zetitzka made no com- 
 ment. 
 
 " The venerable father was right, as always," Petros 
 continued earnestly. " Prayer is always answered, even 
 mine, as Brother Nicodemus says, the least deserving." 
 
 As though the reflection had suggested some familiar 
 orison, she heard his beads click in the hot dusk. 
 
 The big stars palpitated out, one by one. A planet, 
 serene and untroubled, kept bright vigil above the black 
 line of roofs. The night around them had no audible 
 voices, for the murmur of the river Peneios far below, 
 and the singing of the nightingales in the village orchards, 
 grew faint and died long ere they could reach the heights. 
 
 The brethren had all eaten and gone to their cells. The 
 old monastic buildings shrouded themselves in night, draw- 
 ing the darkness like a cowl over their little bleared window- 
 eyes. 
 
 For awhile the conversation circled about the monastery, 
 with occasional flights into a profaner world. Petros took 
 pleasure in making Zetitzka his confidant. He chatted 
 freely of many things of his friendship with Dimitri ; of 
 fasts and ceremonies; of a manuscript he had lately un- 
 earthed from the dust of the library, full of breathless 
 entertainment concerning cannibals and missionaries; of 
 his fondness for certain rich and, alas! rare kinds of 
 food ; of the annual visit of the bishop, chiefly memorable, 
 it appeared, for a feast wherein all took part ay, even 
 the lay brethren ; whereupon Zetitzka was smacked on the 
 shoulder and bidden to be of good cheer. Everything in 
 this dying monastic world was fresh, and young, and full 
 of interest for him. 
 
 His exuberance and love of " make believe " vitalised 
 even the saints the grim, mediseval saints who stared 
 wide-eyed and wooden from the entablatures, or frowned 
 out of stiff little Byzantine frames with backgrounds of 
 tarnished gold. Zetitzka was initiated into their charac- 
 teristics, and learned, somewhat to her amazement, that 
 Saint Pondromos still interested himself in the healing of 
 toothache, colds, and similar ailments; that Saint Pan-
 
 126 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 teleemon was a sure ally against oppression, connected, 
 it came out, with Brother Nicodemus ; that the very name 
 of Saint Barlaam if pronounced in time and with suf- 
 ficient faith was sufficient to rout a multitude of devils. 
 
 Every topic upon which the boy touched was so saturated 
 with the monastic atmosphere that Zetitzka, listening, half 
 bewildered, half indifferent, could with difficulty convince 
 herself of its reality. It all seemed a part of the night 
 that hemmed her round, of the abysmal blackness that 
 yawned at her feet, and that cut her off so hopelessly from 
 the familiar world below. 
 
 He had his visions, too, this young monk, of all the 
 fine things he was certain of doing " one day." Zetitzka 
 wondered dully at his enthusiasm. By Saint Barlaam, 
 he would leave the world better than he found it! He 
 would evangelise the heathen! He was all fire and zeal, 
 all for doing brave things with life, complacently oblivious 
 of the fact that life proposed to do things with him. 
 That fine quality in him demanded fine responses from 
 existence. Limitations he cheerfully ignored rather than 
 scorned. It seemed to his youthful and generous mind 
 as easy for the future Petros an ecclesiastical dignitary, 
 mark you, of no mean lustre! to erect and endow fifty 
 monasteries, as for the present Petros to eat his supper. 
 
 From his enthusiastic though hazy descriptions, 
 Zetitzka caught sight of a renovated Barlaam, with every 
 cell occupied, with even richer vestments, cheerful in 
 its air of perennial religious festival, and Petros himself, 
 its much beloved Abbot, in a cassock trimmed entirely 
 with new fur. 
 
 He had wasted but little time upon thought, having 
 been mostly taken up with sensations. For him, the pres- 
 ent was tinglingly alive, the one thing important. The 
 future, though alluring, was but a golden dream. His 
 days had been so ordered for him by that mediceval monastic 
 system of which he was the product, that he had formed 
 no scheme of life, or of the universe, beyond what he 
 had gathered from ancient manuscripts, from the sayings 
 of the Abbot, or from fragments of misleading knowledge 
 picked up from the brethren. And yet there fell from him 
 at times a suggestion that was no mere echo an in- 
 dependent thought that searched and probed, a hint of
 
 FORBIDDEN- GROUND 127 
 
 another Petros of whom this boy was but the raw material. 
 At such moments of insight an older and less self-absorbed 
 person would have foreseen the man that was to be a 
 stronger, maturer personality, mellowed by experience, with 
 a deliberate conclusive outlook on life; for in this young 
 monk there lay dormant potentialities of feeling and of 
 action of which neither he nor others were as yet aware. 
 
 But these glimpses were fleeting, for at the next mo- 
 ment he would be heard chuckling over some boyish 
 escapade, or seeking to enlist Zetitzka's sympathies on ac- 
 count of some trivial offence which had brought swift 
 penance in its train. 
 
 " S-sst! " he cried suddenly, pointing a fearful finger 
 on high. " See that bat? Brother Nicodemus says they 
 are evil spirits. He prays to be guarded from them so 
 do I!" 
 
 He muttered apprehensively as the little rodent zig- 
 zagged overhead. But Zetitzka barely heard the monkish 
 Latin of his prayer. Her thoughts were centred upon 
 herself. More than ever in the mysterious starlight did 
 all that had happened to her since she left her home 
 seem a dream from which she still hoped to awaken. This 
 boy also, whose companionship circumstances had thrust 
 upon her, seemed at this quiet hour as visionary as did her 
 surroundings: his simple confidences came to her like an 
 echo from a world with which she had nothing in common. 
 His so-called troubles were to her mind too childish to 
 arouse sympathy. To sleep in church ! To break an icon ! 
 She could have laughed in the bitterness of her heart. 
 
 She felt tired, both physically and mentally. The ten- 
 sion of the last few days, combined with loss of sleep, 
 had told upon her, and now she felt glad just to sit still 
 and do nothing thankful, too, for the kindly night that 
 hid her from men's eyes. More especially at such times 
 did the recollection of her child come to her. Her recent 
 past had been so bound up with its tiny helpless exist- 
 ence, her every thought both by day and night so conse- 
 crated to its well-being, that, separated from it, she felt 
 lost. Its absence created a void that nothing could fill. 
 A sense of physical incompleteness oppressed her. Her 
 strong young arms felt empty. She missed, and yearned 
 for, the small head nestling against her breast. It was
 
 128 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 as though something vital had been wrenched out of 
 her body. Starting from uneasy sleep, she would often 
 listen eagerly for the little breath that she was so accus- 
 tomed to hear coming and going beside her. Then sud- 
 denly she would realise that she was alone in Barlaam 
 and motionless, wide-eyed, she would lie sick with longing 
 in the blackness of the night. 
 
 But now, soothed for the moment by the welcome 
 obscurity, her fears temporarily lulled by the deserted 
 aspect of the courts and the comforting presence of this 
 boy who had constituted himself her companion, Zetitzka 
 allowed herself to drift. Her mind did not sanction this 
 quiescent attitude: it was persuaded into it in spite of 
 itself. She knew it would not last long. The emotions 
 she had undergone had been so poignant, so swift in transi- 
 tion, so heaped one upon another, that they had predisposed 
 her to welcome any moment that promised rest and peace. 
 She was faintly aware of this change in her mood, but 
 had neither the energy nor the ability to trace it to its 
 source. She was too tired, too filled with the feelings of 
 one who has been worsted in an unequal fight. Some- 
 thing had proved stronger than she. Was it the monas- 
 tery? 
 
 With an effort, Zetitzka remembered how Barlaam had 
 scowled down upon her in the dusk of her arrival, before 
 she began to scale those fearful ladders ; she also recollected 
 how she had matched her resolution against its stern veto 
 and had arrogantly fancied herself the stronger. 
 
 What had happened? Although she had retained her 
 footing in these forbidden precincts, although none of the 
 inmates had discovered her secret, yet, after all, she was 
 no whit more advanced in her projects than she had been 
 upon the day of her entry. More! The monastery had 
 bent her to its service; it had crushed her pride, it had 
 thwarted her persistently. By surrounding the man, who 
 was to have been her victim, with a guard, not merely 
 of religious services and fellow-monks, but of superstition, 
 mediaeval as its own mysterious past, Hagios Barlaam had 
 robbed her of her prey. There was grim irony in its atti- 
 tude. It seemed to wait, to tolerate her desecrating 
 presence but for the furtherance of its own sinister 
 schemes, meditating doubtless some dark act of vengeance
 
 FOEBIDDEN GROUND 129 
 
 upon herself which eluded her knowledge, but which filled 
 her with vague apprehension. 
 
 As these thoughts passed through her mind, Zetitzka 
 cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. There it was! 
 dark, fearsome, crouching in the dusk against the back- 
 ground of benighted hills. It appeared to be watching her. 
 It also had a wrong to redress, an insult to avenge. 
 
 The sound of approaching footsteps broke upon the 
 silence. Looking towards the inner court, Zetitzka and 
 Petros could see a figure emerge from the cloisters. 
 
 " 'Tis Brother Stephanos," commented the boy, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 It was as though a hand of ice had been laid upon the 
 girl's heart. In a flash her lethargy dropped from her. 
 
 The monk neared them, dim in the obscurity. 
 
 * ' He does not see us, ' ' whispered Petros again. ' ' Shall 
 I speak to him ? ' ' 
 
 " No ! no ! " implored Zetitzka. She could with difficulty 
 control her voice, for she felt herself trembling. 
 
 The experience of the night before rushed to her mind : 
 it had haunted her all day the harrowing confession over- 
 heard in the blackness of the corridor. Unable to sleep, 
 goaded by relentless thoughts, she had been impelled to 
 seek Stephanos, had been unable indeed to keep away, 
 with no clear idea of what she, a woman and unarmed, 
 could effect, hoping against hope that fate might in some 
 unexpected way prove her ally. But the discovery 
 that the Abbot was already with the monk had banished 
 hope from her heart. 
 
 To a mind brooding upon previous failures, and more 
 than half persuaded to attribute them to some super- 
 natural agency, the coincidence came as a final shock a 
 final proof. There was no longer room for doubt. Fate 
 had decided against her, and she had stood there, with 
 no suspicion that she was playing the part of eavesdropper, 
 but overwhelmed with an immense dejection, chained also 
 to the spot by the sound of the deep, familiar voice speak- 
 ing of her, of her child, of the wrong its owner had done 
 her had stood there motionless, till the imminent fear of 
 discovery had enforced flight. 
 
 And now she looked at the dim figure, watched over 
 by some mysterious Providence looked at him with feel- 
 9
 
 130 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ings too tumultuous for words. His presence there, alone, 
 on the precipice brink, taunted her. It mocked her with 
 the unattainable, as though it jeered: " See! I am here. 
 Death is at my feet, but you are powerless to punish me. ' ' 
 
 Again the bitter injustice of it ate like vitriol into her 
 heart. There came a mist before her eyes. She had to 
 put a strong curb upon herself to hide her feelings from 
 her companion. 
 
 The quiet night kept watch. These tormented human 
 souls were part of it, raised high above the sleeping world, 
 one with the clouds and the stars. 
 
 Yet the strangest, the most singular phase of the situa- 
 tion, eluded Zetitzka, even as it remained unknown to 
 Stephanos. The man and woman who had branded each 
 other's lives, who brooded upon each other's memory con- 
 tinually, who were to each other as tinder is to flame, were 
 stranded together upon this remote pinnacle-top, so near, 
 yet never coming into contact.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SLOWLY Stephanos turned and retraced his steps. 
 Zetitzka drew a long breath. 
 
 * ' Verily, ' ' murmured a voice at her side, ' ' verily, a good 
 man! " 
 
 She turned sharply towards her companion. 
 
 " Good! " she cried. The bitter and scornful emphasis 
 caused the boy to stare at her in astonishment. 
 
 " But assuredly," he insisted, " such holiness bringeth 
 honour to the monastery. Already do they talk of him 
 at Hagios Triada and Meteoron. 'Tis even prophesied he 
 may become a saint, ay, and work miracles! " He paused 
 to give this expectation full effect, then with a burst: 
 " O Angelos, right joyful would it be for this dear Bar- 
 laam to possess a real saint, abounding in love and miracles. 
 Bethink you, pilgrimages and pilgrimages would come 
 here, and much glory to God and our monastery would ac- 
 crue. ' ' 
 
 But she did not reply. 
 
 ' ' You like him not ? ' ' said Petros brusquely. 
 
 She stared at him in sudden alarm. 
 
 He continued: " I saw you look at him to-day, as he 
 passed you in the Catholicon. You have bad thoughts, my 
 friend; naught but prayer and fasting will purge them 
 away. But ill becomes it for me to admonish. I do not 
 like him myself." 
 
 " Ah! " she cried, letting out her breath in a gush of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Nay," he continued dolefully. " Be not glad. It is 
 because my heart is vile." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But, yes, otherwise I would by no meang have these 
 thoughts. The venerable father says I ought to conquer 
 them. But there " he shrugged his shoulders with out- 
 stretched hands " the evil one is stronger than I." 
 
 131
 
 132 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " Why do you dislike him? " she questioned sombrely. 
 
 He thought awhile, then embarked upon a tale of how 
 a harmless anecdote, culled by Brother Gerasimos from the 
 Neon Asty, had been robbed of all humour by Brother 
 Stephanos. According to Petros, the unexpected presence 
 of the monk had fallen like a blight upon the company. 
 
 " That is so like him," commented Zetitzka with bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 " I told all to the venerable father," continued the boy, 
 " and he explained it was because the thoughts of Brother 
 Stephanos were fixed alway on lofty and devout matters. 
 But he himself is not thus, yet he meditates much. It 
 puzzles me mightily. I wonder sometimes if the blessed 
 saints were gloomy and hard spoken. I doubt it, for they 
 have kind and gracious countenances, ay, and some of 
 them look as if they were trying to smile. Have you taken 
 heed of Saint Sebastian in his icon near the Bemaf Right 
 charitable does he look, ay, in spite of the arrows." 
 
 Zetitzka saw his tall hat wag meditatively in the dusk, 
 then she caught a whisper: " Much is still hidden from 
 me, but I will assuredly know all when I become an 
 abbot." 
 
 They sat without speaking for several minutes. The 
 night breeze fanned them lightly, bringing faint scents 
 from the sleeping valley. All at once Petros yawned, then 
 stretched himself. 
 
 " It is late, ' ' he said, ' ' let us go back to our cells. ' ' 
 
 " Wait, "cried Zetitzka. 
 
 He looked at her with drowsy surprise, for her tone 
 was constrained. But the night hid her expression from 
 him. 
 
 Something had come unexpectedly into her heart, a feel- 
 ing as if self-control were exhausted, an imperative desire 
 born of the hour and his kindness, to confide, to seek 
 advice, to find someone who would befriend her. 
 
 " I want I want 
 
 Petros, drowsy, indulgent, waited with mild curiosity; 
 but the dark figure beside him said no more. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Her tone gave the lie to the word. It roused in the lad's 
 mind a keen desire to know.
 
 FOEBIDDEN GROUND 133 
 
 " Is it ? " 
 
 " No, no; it isn't." She had sprung to her feet. 
 " Never mind. Let us go in." 
 
 He, too, got up and began reluctantly to follow her, 
 for she had started to cross the court. He could see her 
 flitting before him, black and misty in the starlight. Her 
 behaviour puzzled him immensely. 
 
 Suddenly, when least he expected it, she came back 
 hastily, stood before him, gazed into his face doubtfully, 
 questioningly, almost wistfully, as though seeking some- 
 thing. Her manner was strangely agitated ; her eyes very 
 dark and lustrous. She filled him with vague uneasi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Well," he said awkwardly, " what is it? " 
 
 " It is no. I don't think I can tell you." 
 
 " If 'tis your secret " he began somewhat scorn- 
 fully, but broke off as he heard an unmistakable choke. 
 Impulsively he laid a hand on her arm. 
 
 ' ' Don 't touch me, ' ' she cried testily ; then with an in- 
 voluntary catch in her voice that went straight to his 
 heart, " O Brother Petros, forgive me! I I can't bear 
 it." 
 
 " Never mind," he soothed, entirely nonplussed. " Nay, 
 think not of it any more, though I know not what you 
 mean. Come, you are tired. We will go to bed." 
 
 " No. I must speak." She caught his arm. He felt 
 her trembling. For a moment she paused, then all at 
 once the words overflowed, vehemently, recklessly, goaded 
 into utterance by distress, forced from her too by hot 
 Southern impetuosity. 
 
 Petros, more and more bewildered, could make nothing 
 of it. It appeared that this unaccountable lay brother 
 wished he were dead that he ought to go back some- 
 where, but dare not that something Saint Barlaam alone 
 knew what! had been all useless, worse than useless. 
 
 Amid much wild talk one thing was obvious, even to 
 Petros. His new companion was miserable. But before 
 his sympathetic but bemused brain could think of any- 
 thing to say, there came another swift, inexplicable change. 
 He was urgently implored to forget the whole incident. 
 Being of a literal turn of mind, he gravely pointed out 
 that this would be impossible.
 
 134 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " But you will tell no one," she entreated. 
 
 " Nay," he replied, after thought. " The Abbot would 
 not wish me to repeat it. But tell him yourself. You 
 have no idea how sweetly he can comfort." 
 
 In silence they walked slowly side by side to the dor- 
 mitories. 
 
 Barely had Zetitzka entered her cell than she again heard 
 his voice. 
 
 " You mean not what you said? " he whispered 
 earnestly. 
 
 " What? " she questioned. 
 
 " About going away." 
 
 She pressed her hand to her brow. The darkness, the 
 silence, and the whole distressful and hopeless situation 
 weighed like lead upon her. 
 
 " I do not know," she murmured dejectedly. 
 
 He came nearer. 
 
 " You cannot you must not go. Nay, you have only 
 just come." 
 
 " Hush! " she whispered, for in his eagerness he had 
 raised his voice, " hush, you will wake them." 
 
 He continued rapidly, but in more guarded tones: 
 
 " One does not come to a monastery to leave it at once. 
 It is a serious step. You have scarcely seen aught of our 
 life. Is it the food you do not like? " 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " Then wait a month two months, and we will talk 
 of it again. When you have witnessed one of our great 
 festivals you will wait to see another. The Abbot liketh 
 you well; he would be sore grieved if you departed now. 
 And I what would I do ? I would be right miserable. ' ' 
 
 She shook her head. He seemed conscious of her dis- 
 belief, though the darkness shrouded her from his sight, 
 for with renewed earnestness he went on: " 'Tis true, 
 I would be very lonely now without you. Moreover, it 
 would not be grateful to the Blessed Virgin. She sent 
 you. You are a direct answer to prayer. Dear brother, 
 stay." 
 
 Zetitzka could not but feel touched. He was so sin- 
 cere, so tremendously in earnest. Instinctively her heart 
 warmed to him. She had ceased to fight against his 
 influence. The fact that she now relied upon him and
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 135 
 
 even clung to him for support failed to alarm her. In- 
 dependence seemed a doubtful good. It was much more 
 to the point that in her loneliness, and in this prison- 
 house of her adversity, she, at all events, possessed a 
 friend.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 MORNING mists filled the ravines. White, diaphanous, 
 clinging, they lay like a becalmed sea, above which the 
 pinnacles of Meteora floated like islands into the faint 
 gold of the sunrise. Every rock and stone, every leaf 
 and twig in the submerged area glistened with moisture, 
 dawning in chill, wet lights, blurring as the mist clouds 
 shifted, fading mysteriously into a background of grey 
 nothingness. 
 
 Already, even in the gorges, the heat was oppressive. 
 The windless air hung heavy, and as if no ventilation had 
 kept cool during the long night these bedchambers of 
 nature, whose walls were giant cliffs, and whose ceiling was 
 the sky. 
 
 Along the rough track that climbed and descended 
 alternately came Petros and Zetitzka. They walked 
 rapidly, making light of the irregularities of the path. 
 
 ' ' What said the Abbot when you asked leave ? " in- 
 quired Zetitzka. 
 
 " At first, when I mentioned Lavra, he looked grave; 
 then, after thought, said he : ' My son, take this. ' See ! ' ' 
 Petros proudly held up an antique metal cross sus- 
 pended from a rosary " this is hollow and containeth a 
 small but most precious relic. I wot not precisely what 
 a bone or holy hair, belike. The venerable father said 
 'twould ward off aught evil. He gave it to me. Assuredly, 
 'tis high honour to be so entrusted." 
 
 For a moment he swelled with importance, then, for- 
 getting his dignity, executed a leap over a boulder. 
 
 " We need not return till Compline. We have here 
 store of victuals bread and wine ay, and sweetmeats! " 
 He nodded back at her appreciatively. " The venerable 
 father is ever thus. You do not know him yet. He would 
 give the very cassock off his back. I bespake Sotiri to tend 
 him well, and in no wise to forget his midday meal. I 
 
 136
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 137 
 
 forgot it once, and was mightily penitent, but the venerable 
 father was of opinion that he had eaten as usual ! By the 
 saints, you are accustomed to hills one can see that ! ' ' 
 
 His eyes rested upon her with frank approval. Her 
 movements were free and unconstrained, a gait rendered 
 possible by the scantiness of her lay brother's costume. 
 
 Suddenly aware of critical inspection, Zetitzka reddened. 
 There were times when the woman in her would out 
 when this short tunic seemed to her a bold and indelicate 
 covering, revealing more than it concealed of her limbs. 
 
 To her relief he did not notice her confusion. 
 
 The tone of their conversation was lighter than Zetitzka 
 had imagined possible. Had she been informed, upon her 
 arrival in the monastery, that before a fortnight would 
 elapse she would not only go on an expedition with this 
 young monk, but would chat with him easily and naturally, 
 she would have contradicted her informant with scorn. 
 For the latter, absence from the monastery was responsible. 
 She felt as if an immense and crushing weight had been 
 lifted from her heart as if only now, for the first time 
 for many days, she were able to breathe with freedom. 
 From the moment that Petros had proposed the outing, a 
 secret and feverish anxiety had possessed her lest some un- 
 foreseen obstacle should prevent it taking place. Not till 
 the ladders were descended did she believe that she had 
 really escaped ; and now that she was actually on the path, 
 now that every onward step was carrying her farther and 
 ever farther from Stephanos, a profound sense of emancipa- 
 tion filled Zetitzka 's heart with inexpressible relief. For 
 the monastery and her enforced servitude within it, she 
 was conscious only of an instinctive aversion, a repugnance 
 that had deepened immeasurably since her repeated failures 
 had compelled her to realise that she must bow to the 
 veto of Destiny. Her presence there, among these old 
 and fanatical monks, had become a mere tempting of 
 Providence, an act of foolhardiness that could now lead 
 to nothing but discovery. With all her might she longed 
 never to return. 
 
 It was but an inevitable reaction from the long days 
 and nights of haunting anxiety, that all that was young 
 in Zetitzka, all that clung pathetically to the gay and 
 laughing side of existence the side so sternly denied her
 
 138 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 by Fate should welcome this change, should greet it 
 with outstretched arms, should turn to it gladly, as chil- 
 dren turn to merriment, and flowers to sunshine. Bar- 
 laam once behind her, her feet, as it were, once more 
 on the " terra cognita " of the world's level, all her sur- 
 roundings became changed. As to a prisoner restored to 
 freedom after languishing in confinement, all nature spoke 
 to her with new voices. She seemed to listen to a per- 
 sonal message in the lark's song, to rediscover something 
 touchingly tender and intimate in the familiar faces of 
 wayside flowers. The past became an evil dream, the 
 present a welcome reality. 
 
 "See!" cried Petros suddenly. "The mist clears. 
 There is Meteoron." 
 
 Her eyes followed his pointing finger. Up the sheer 
 face of the cliffs the mists smoked and shredded, allowing 
 the summit to struggle through. Petros, hands to mouth, 
 shouted loudly. His cry came back to them, repeated 
 many times, as the precipice snatched at the sound; then, 
 after an interval, the ghost of a far-off greeting fell from 
 the heights. It sounded thin and weird, like the scream 
 of a bird, and, looking up, they saw the face and beard 
 of an old monk, hundreds of feet above them, gazing out 
 of a rude door or window. 
 
 " Why do they build monasteries so high? " inquired 
 Zetitzka in a tone of wonder. 
 
 " Tis safer." 
 
 " From brigands? " 
 
 " Nay, from Crusaders." 
 
 He laughed at her puzzled face, and gladly embarked 
 upon the tale of how the monasteries of Meteoron were 
 founded long, long ago, in the dark Middle Ages, by 
 hermits fleeing from the lances of knights who hunted 
 them down, as men hunt wild animals, among the rocks. 
 
 Zetitzka listened with interest, her eyes travelling up 
 the face of the stupendous cliff to where, precarious as 
 an eagle's eyrie, monastic roofs showed grey against the 
 blue. The story of bloodshed and adventure stirred her 
 to excitement. 
 
 " And did the hermits kill them too? " she asked eagerly. 
 " They could easily roll rocks upon them from up there."
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 139 
 
 The young storyteller surveyed her wide eyes and 
 heightened colour with mild astonishment. 
 
 " Nay," he replied; " I think not so." 
 
 " Then what did they do? " 
 
 " They they prayed for them." 
 
 Her contemptuous exclamation awoke his annoyance. 
 Informing her that she was little better than an infidel, 
 he led the way with much dignity. Indifferent to his dis- 
 pleasure, Zetitzka followed, her thoughts still on the heights. 
 
 " What I want to know " she began. 
 
 Petros, his indignation forgotten, waited till she had 
 rejoined him. " What I want to know," she repeated, 
 " is, how did they get up? " 
 
 " Who?" 
 
 " The hermits. How did the first one get up? There 
 were no ladders in those days.". 
 
 Petros' eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Listen, my boy. When I was young and foolish 
 a mighty time ago I asked the same question of Brother 
 Nicodemus; whereat he made reply that, as God in His 
 infinite wisdom had not seen fit to enlighten us on the 
 subject, it was presumptuous of us to seek to find out. 
 There ! let that be an answer for you likewise. ' ' 
 
 " 'Tis no answer," she retorted, determined to have the 
 last word. 
 
 As they wandered on, conversing cheerfully, even her 
 companion shared in her sight the glad metamorphosis of 
 nature. He was no longer a part of the monastery. She 
 almost forgot her instinctive dislike of his monkish costume 
 when she looked at his bright young face, that smiled 
 responsive to the summons of the day. More than ever did 
 she feel kindly disposed towards this young monk. Little 
 by little he had endeared himself to her. Her debt to him 
 was deeper far than she was aware ; but even the proportion 
 of which she was cognisant awoke her gratitude. 
 
 She imagined her feelings towards him to be similar 
 to those she might have had for a brother. Zetitzka had 
 never had a brother; but the thought came to her that, 
 if she had, and were in trouble, his companionship would 
 be as welcome as was that of this young man. 
 
 As they rambled on, their talk reflected the glad
 
 140 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 emancipation of their minds, for to Petros also was this 
 rare holiday an intoxication. Yet all the time it was on 
 thin ice that this boy and girl drew near to each other. 
 Zetitzka, by casting off the gloom that mentally isolated 
 her, and had hitherto proved her safeguard, stepped all 
 unawares into the zone of danger. Her movements 
 unconsciously betraying the shape of her supple young 
 figure her pleasure in the rare flowers that grew among 
 the rocks, her voice, her expressions, her smile, all 
 triumphantly proclaimed her sex. The gaze of Petros, 
 resting upon her with no conscious realisation of her 
 charm, seemed yet to touch some mysterious chord of 
 natural affinity between the sexes that vibrated harmoni- 
 ously within her bosom. Under this kindly influence much 
 that had been repressed crept into being, blossomed, and 
 grew glad. Nothing but the lad's immense ignorance of 
 women saved her from discovery. And even accepting 
 this ignorance in its entirety, it seemed at times as if he 
 must see, so unmistakably did the feminine shine forth in 
 all she thought, and said, and did. 
 
 How long would this blindness last? Each hour that 
 added to their intimacy added to her danger, for each 
 found her more off her guard. 
 
 Only once during that happy walk did her material sur- 
 roundings force her thoughts back to Stephanos. 
 
 The comrades had paused where the path, coiling down- 
 wards and doubling upon itself, permitted a backward 
 and last view of Barlaam. The pinnacle, upon whose 
 precarious summit it was perched, rose like a shaft out 
 of the blue ravine along which they had been travelling, 
 its base still in shadow, but its crest in sunlight. It was 
 the first time since her admission that Zetitzka had seen 
 the monastery from a distance and, as it were, in per- 
 spective; and the marvel of its position struck and held 
 her anew. 
 
 It seemed impossible to imagine that upon the tip of 
 that upright and slender finger of rock she herself had 
 lived and undergone emotions so harrowing. It filled her 
 with incredulity, and with an overpowering sensation of 
 personal insignificance. It appeared to her now as im- 
 possible to associate her loneliness and her despair with 
 that airy and fantastic summit as to imagine a heart-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 141 
 
 rending drama enacted in the nest of a bird. She gazed 
 at it in mute wonder. How tiny it seemed! How far 
 off! How frail! Surely a child's touch could topple it 
 over into that misty ravine? And yet and at the thought 
 her blood grew cold at that very moment Stephanos and 
 Destiny were there, awaiting her return. 
 
 And, as if further to emphasise the sinister accom- 
 paniment to the gay carol of life, as Zetitzka watched, a 
 dark speck sailed between her and the azure dome that 
 roofed Barlaam an eagle wheeling ominously; and the 
 grim note of tragedy that had darkened her life seemed 
 for the moment to darken nature also. 
 
 A shout from her companion startled her. Petros was 
 endeavouring to attract the attention of an old man stand- 
 ing, staff in hand, at some little distance from the path. 
 The stranger presented a wild and ascetic appearance, 
 one with the cliffs and the rocks. 
 
 " 'Tis Brother Johannes, the hermit," cried Petros 
 eagerly. " Hi! Johannes, wait! I come." Then turning 
 to Zetitzka: " Keep ever to the path, Angelos; I will 
 overtake you." 
 
 Obedient to instructions, Zetitzka walked forward alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE mists had vanished. The world was bathed in sun- 
 light and barred with shadow. To the west, delicately 
 neutral-tinted clouds had piled themselves high above the 
 rampart of cliffs. Not the faintest breeze stirred; the 
 heat was on the increase. 
 
 Before Zetitzka the gorge opened itself out into a more 
 spacious valley, green along a hidden watercourse with 
 the foliage of dwarf oaks; permitting the eyes to travel 
 over quivering distances to far uplands beyond. Below 
 was to be seen the red of village roofs, while dots of 
 whiteness on a sunburnt slope told of goats in search of 
 pasture. Zetitzka stood and watched the scene, uncon- 
 sciously influenced by its beauty. The tinkle of goat- 
 bells, thin and clear on the breathless air, pleased her. 
 They sounded familiar. She felt at peace. She had a 
 day of respite " a whole long day " she again told her- 
 self with a sigh of relief; and at the thought something 
 of the brightness of morning passed into her heart and 
 became visible in her face. 
 
 She was roused from the dreamful state into which she 
 had sunk by the sound of a child crying. Moving quickly 
 round an opposing rock, she came face to face with the 
 cause. On the outskirts of a thicket a woman was gather- 
 ing firewood; a little boy assisted her, while, in a rocky 
 cleft hard by, lay a baby, from which came the cry that 
 had attracted her attention. The plaintive sound drew 
 her towards it instinctively. Her expression softened to 
 a sweet and womanly tenderness. Forgetful of all save 
 that it was a baby and unhappy, she took it up and 
 cradled it within her arms. Her touch acted as a charm. 
 After a few spasmodic sounds, the crying ceased. Then 
 she remembered its mother. The woman, a few paces 
 off, was staring at her stupidly, in utter amazement not 
 unmixed with alarm; even the little boy from behind his 
 
 142
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 143 
 
 mother's skirts was gaping at her with wide-eyed appre- 
 hension. 
 
 " See," Zetitzka smiled reassuringly. " She sleeps." 
 
 The woman drew near. 
 
 " 'Tis true." She whispered the words under her 
 breath; then, her eyes passing swiftly with increasing 
 amazement from the smooth face to the monastic garb: 
 " What manner of man are you? " 
 
 " I I am a lay brother," murmured Zetitzka flushing. 
 " But I love children. How old is she? " 
 
 ' ' Twenty-one weeks, ' ' muttered the woman mechanically, 
 her eyes still riveted in astonishment upon her questioner. 
 
 " She is big for her age. And heavy! You need not 
 be frightened; I am used to children." 
 
 ' ' I am not frightened. One can see Holy Virgin ! never 
 did I know a man to hold a baby thus! even her own 
 father is not always so careful. And you where is your 
 mother ? What do you here ? Do they teach you to nurse 
 babies in your monastery? " 
 
 Zetitzka, confused, but responsive, echoed her laugh. 
 The two women continued to converse. The opportunity 
 of talking to one of her own sex was seized by the girl 
 gladly. Around them capered the little boy, his fear for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Suddenly Zetitzka started. She had caught sight of 
 Petros standing rigid with amazement on the path. 
 " Good-bye," she said hastily, and thrust the child into 
 its mother's arms. 
 
 " Hi ! hi ! Why so sudden ? " exclaimed the woman after 
 her; but turning, she too caught sight of Petros, and said 
 no more. 
 
 The comrades walked on side by side. Zetitzka, half 
 dreading, half anticipating the reproaches she knew to be 
 imminent, kept her eyes fixed on the path. 
 
 * ' Hearken ! ' ' broke out Petros, coming to an impulsive 
 halt. " What have you to say? " 
 
 " Nothing," she answered shortly, walking on. 
 
 " How nothing? " he cried, following her and gesti- 
 culating in his excitement. " You break one of our 
 strictest rules ay, verily, break it before my eyes, and 
 ^and call it 'nothing'! " 
 
 " What rule? I broke no rule."
 
 144 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " And how about talking to a woman! Looking her 
 boldly in the face! Laughing with her ay, laughing; I 
 saw you myself ! ' ' 
 
 " I forgot that," she said, and looked at him curiously. 
 
 ' ' Aha ! Now you see ! Oh, you are in a parlous state ; 
 my poor brother! Forgot? Ay, 'twas the devil made 
 you forget ; he has ever a woman up his sleeve. In sooth, 
 you will have to be chastised, for it behoves me to tell 
 all to the Abbot. Nay, be not thus alarmed, it is soon 
 over." 
 
 " You may have to endure stripes on the bare back," 
 he continued, not without sly relish, deepened by her sud- 
 den gasp. " Ay, or perform the cation; or fast, per- 
 adventure for a day ; or wash the brethren 's feet. I have 
 done all in my time. Believe me, fasting is by far the 
 most grievous. But, as the saints live, right sorry am I 
 that this happened to-day. Alack, 'tis ever thus in 
 life ! How wise and full of knowledge is our worthy Nico- 
 demus : ' Women, ' said he once in my hearing, ' are one 
 of the roots of trouble.' " 
 
 Petros spoke as might have Solomon, wiped the per- 
 spiration fro'm his shining face, hitched his bundle more 
 comfortably on his shoulder, and added : ' ' Let us go on. 
 'Tis too hot here. What were you doing to the infant? " 
 
 " I was putting it to sleep." 
 
 He stopped dead his mouth opened to its widest. 
 
 " You were putting it to sleep! You! Holy Pon- 
 dromos! " 
 
 ' ' Yes ; the poor little thing was crying. I knew at once 
 what it wanted. It was good the moment I took it up. 
 You need not laugh. There is nothing amusing in that." 
 She tossed her head. " Is that breaking another silly 
 rule? " 
 
 " Nay," chuckled Petros, " I think not so; but we will 
 ask the venerable father. ' ' 
 
 ' He! He knows nothing about babies! " 
 
 " He knows about everything. Oh, smile an you like, 
 but his wisdom is wondrous, far above that of this world! 
 Moreover, you confound things, as ignorance does ever; 
 it is no question of whether he be versed in the ways of 
 infants, but whether or no a lay brother be permitted to 
 put them to sleep. ' '
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 145 
 
 " Them? Only one." 
 
 " One sufficeth," said the young monk loftily. 
 
 They walked on side by side for a few minutes without 
 speaking Zetitzka deep in uneasy speculation Petros, who 
 had evidently forgotten the incident, humming a chant. 
 
 " Well," said he, suddenly catching her eye, " why look 
 at me like that? " 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 " As if nay, 'tis unheard of ! almost, forsooth, as if 
 you pitied me ! If you envied me now it would be seemly. 
 I am a monk." 
 
 She did not explain, but after a moment asked: 
 
 " Do you never speak to women? " 
 
 " God forbid! " He crossed himself hastily. 
 ' You fear them? " 
 
 " I do not I " he cried, nettled by her air of compassion. 
 ' Then why avoid them? " 
 
 " Because Why ask foolish questions? " 
 
 " What would you do if you met one here, on this 
 path? " 
 
 " I would not look at her." 
 
 ' ' But if she spoke to you ? ' ' 
 
 " If she spake. H m. First would I make the sign 
 of the most blessed cross thus ; then would I answer, one 
 word belike, without looking. The venerable father says 
 it is ever well to be courteous." 
 ' But if she went to Barlaam? " 
 
 "Barlaam!" He almost shouted the name in his 
 amazement. " You lose your wits. No woman goes 
 there." 
 
 'But if she did?" 
 
 ' ' If she did ? " A boyish smile crossed his face. ' ' Me- 
 thinks I would hide peradventure in the cloisters and 
 send Brother Nicodemus to hold parley with her." 
 
 He did not notice her sudden silence, but at the next 
 turning of the path, cried eagerly: " Behold, there is 
 Lavra ! ' ' 
 
 Before them, where the ravine gave to the valley, form- 
 ing the last stand of the pinnacles of Meteora, rose a tower 
 of rock, its summit crowned by the ruins of a monastery. 
 " My father and I lived there between the plague and 
 the earthquake," whispered Petros at her elbow' as they 
 10
 
 146 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 gazed upwards at the abandoned dwellings, naked in the 
 pitiless glare of the sun. " My father feared naught save 
 
 the wrath of God, but they do say " and he poured into 
 
 her ears a tale of distinctly medieval quality wherein monks 
 and devils played an equal part. Zetitzka listened, her face 
 puckered. 
 
 " But " she expostulated, " you lived there after the 
 
 plague, did you hear them? " 
 
 " Nay, but I was only a child and slept soundly of 
 nights. Moreover, Brother Nicodemus says that they are 
 in sooth fiends, feigning to be monks. He says likewise 
 that as long as my father lived and I tell you Angelos, 
 a right sainted man was he they were af eared to come. ' ' 
 
 " And now ? " 
 
 " Now you are here. For long have I wanted to go I 
 thirst for adventures but no one would come with me." 
 
 " But I too might have refused." 
 
 " But you will not! Behold, we are within its very 
 shadow! The ladders are behind that rock; they are 
 easy of ascent. You will come? " 
 
 " You you are sure that it is only at night the devils 
 sing? " 
 
 " Ay, and at dusk. We have all the day before us. 
 Once Brother Apostoli heard them at nightfall and ran 
 away with so pious a haste that he came near to breaking 
 his neck. He was in sorry plight, for the devils had 
 beaten him sore, and sober speech had departed from him. 
 Dimitri said he was drunk at times Dimitri is little bet- 
 ter than a Turk. But you are not frightened? " 
 
 Her negative reassured him; still chatting, he led the 
 way to the ladders.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE long happy hours of that summer day drifted by, 
 linking experiences into a golden chain that served to 
 bind the fates of Petros and Zetitzka yet more closely 
 together. There was that in the isolation of their sur- 
 roundings that made each take conscious comfort in the 
 other's presence. Upon closer inspection, the monastery 
 proved depressing in the extreme. Not a building but had 
 been shaken by the fierce spirit of the earth. The keen 
 sunshine, pouring from a sky of unalterable blue, em- 
 phasised the sense of desolation. An air of tragedy haunted 
 the ruins, for long ago a plague had stamped out the 
 monastic inmates. 
 
 Hither and thither they rambled, Petros leading the 
 way. For him the place was full of unforgettable memo- 
 ries. 
 
 " Here was it " he had paused in the shadow of the re- 
 fectory ' ' that my father and I first broke bread. By the 
 Saints, it seems like yesterday! " 
 
 As they stood together in the porch of the Catholicon 
 his ejaculations of regret were heartfelt. The building, 
 so familiar to him, was ruined almost beyond recogni- 
 tion. The roof had fallen in. Gaps could be seen in the 
 walls. Among the rubbish that encumbered the floor 
 grasses and wild flowers had planted themselves, their 
 delicate green and scattered stars of colour strangely gay 
 amid the pervading desolation. Though much had van- 
 ished, the place was not without evidences of bygone sanc- 
 tity, mysteriously appealing to the imagination. The 
 corona lay all twisted among fallen rafters. The Holy 
 Doors, that had aforetime concealed the Bema, had been 
 flung to the ground; and, as the comrades paused in the 
 entrance, a carrion crow, uttering a hoarse cry, flitted up- 
 wards into the sunshine. 
 
 Unaccountably subdued, but happy in each other's com- 
 
 147
 
 148 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 panionship, they wandered out to the level plot that over- 
 looked the precipice. Here, as in Barlaam, Zetitzka was 
 conscious of towering height. 
 
 " This is where I played," said Petros. He spoke in 
 a low voice, noting details with a curious eye, his thoughts 
 visibly in the past. Zetitzka looked at him compassionately. 
 She could see the lonely little boy stranded aloft with the 
 melancholy self-absorbed man. 
 
 " I played at monasteries," he explained with a laugh. 
 " I was the Abbot and these stones were the monks. It 
 was a new game. My brethren were silent, and gave no 
 trouble; when one disobeyed I flung him over the preci- 
 pice. ' ' 
 
 Nothing loath, he continued to tell of his past. The 
 Hegoumenos of Barlaam had offered a home within the 
 monastery to the widower and his little son, but the offer 
 had been declined. Lavra, haunted though it was by repu- 
 tation, appealed more to the broken-hearted man in search 
 of solitude and the consolations of religion. There had 
 he and Petros passed many peaceful years, visited by few ; 
 there had he prayed, and watched, and waited, and there 
 at the last had death found him. 
 
 Never before perhaps had a child been brought up 
 under circumstances more strange, amid scenery more wild 
 and gloomy. And yet Petros, with the adaptability of 
 youth and the happy temperament which was his birth- 
 right, had extracted pleasure from these early years he 
 even held them in happy memory. The ladders, from the 
 day on which he had been allowed to climb them alone, 
 had proved an unfailing source of amusement; the ser- 
 vices which his father, with a curious religious zeal, had 
 conducted single-handed in the Catholicon had filled him 
 with solemn and important pleasure, as though they were 
 a religious game. Nor, as it would seem, had his 
 father neglected his education. It had been a pastime for 
 the lonely man to instruct this fresh, young mind so full 
 of avidity for information ; to fill it with devout thoughts, 
 and rigorously to exclude from it all knowledge of the 
 world. He had possessed the gift of making lessons in- 
 teresting, for Petros did not regret these hours stolen from 
 the sunshine and his play. Of the lad's mother he had 
 spoken only at rare moments, as of an angel in heaven;
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 149 
 
 of other women, and the part they played in the scheme of 
 created things, he had spoken not at all. 
 
 All this did Zetitzka glean by degrees. The narrative 
 was told disjointedly, in spurts of remembered incident, 
 interlarded here and there with appeals to old-world saints 
 and quaint monastic phrases, sounding well-nigh risible 
 on the lips of one so young. At times the narrator paused 
 to fling stones into the gorge, or exclaim at the heat, or 
 suggest a raid upon the luncheon wallet. 
 
 They broke their fast in the shadow of the refectory. 
 Everything tasted good, even the sour, black bread and the 
 thin red wine strongly impregnated with resin. 
 
 The meal over, the boy lay among the weeds, indolently 
 na PPy> while Zetitzka seated herself by his side. Petros, 
 producing a cigarette a treasure begged from Dimitri 
 puffed away with boyish satisfaction. It did not even 
 seem necessary to talk. A sparrow fluttered down from the 
 eaves for a dole of crumbs, and, emboldened by the silence, 
 a lizard like a little green flame darted from out a crack 
 in the masonry. Above the ruined walls a skylark could 
 be seen beating his wings against the roof of the world. 
 The thin, faint rapture of his song just reached their 
 ears. 
 
 The memory of that summer's day was destined to 
 become one of the dearest possessions of this young monk 
 dearer than aught else in the world. Even at the time, 
 though he took it for granted with the careless assurance 
 of youth, it was full of peace and quiet happiness no 
 Nicodemus or Apostoli to look sour, no duties to perform, 
 only this new companion to impress and patronise a de- 
 lightful experience for one till now the youngest in the 
 community. 
 
 The air, at that height ever delicate and renewed, ex- 
 hilarated their spirits like wine. The blue sky was heaven's 
 own smile ; the sunshine the very soul of gladness. It was 
 impossible to believe that in a world so fair there could 
 be such things as unhappiness and despair. Very beauti- 
 ful, too, was the scene unrolled below them. Sun and heat 
 had woven a veil, azure and shot with gold, in the loom 
 of the morning. This translucent fabric, flung over the 
 wide panorama of gorge and cliff, valley and mountain, 
 had a certain festal air as of cloth of gold.
 
 150 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Zetitzka watched Petros through semi-closed eyelids, 
 half dazzled by the strong reflected sunshine, as he lay 
 face downwards among the luxuriant weeds. His tall 
 black hat always an incongruous object had fallen off, 
 and his thick brown hair straggled unheeded to his shoul- 
 ders. The touch of femininity which the latter might 
 have imparted was more than counterbalanced by the 
 strong outlines of his face. A wondering and unconscious 
 admiration tinged her thoughts. Had her mind possessed 
 culture, it might have likened him to a Viking, or a young 
 Greek god. The feeling that would have prompted the 
 simile was there, although the thought was beyond her. 
 
 Many times in course of conversation was she tempted 
 to forget his calling, lured by his manner and face to 
 think of him only as a type of young, gay, and vigorous 
 manhood. But his costume, his beads, and the glimpse 
 of his tonsure, when he turned his head with one of the 
 quick movements habitual to him, all brought her back 
 to the truth. And each time the reality caused her a shock 
 of almost incredulous amazement. 
 
 When he spoke of his childhood's home in Athens and 
 told how his father had taught him to read and write, a 
 quick gleam of comprehension came into her face. She 
 now understood how it was that he had seemed so superior 
 to the others why he did not giggle at mistakes in the 
 service, as did Brother Gerasimos, nor expectorate on the 
 Catholicon floor, as did Brother Nicodemus. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of a monastic anecdote, Petros 
 looked up to find her eyes fixed upon him. Something in 
 their dark, inscrutable depths seemed to reflect uncom- 
 fortably upon his youth and inexperience. He stopped 
 short and plucked testily at a weed. 
 
 " What age have you? " He put the question half 
 defiantly, then at the answer gave a crow of triumph. 
 
 "Eighteen! Then I am the elder!" His fingers 
 caressed the down of his incipient moustache. " Holy 
 Pondromos! You do not look your age. There is scant 
 promise of hair on your face." 
 
 " The saints forbid! " she ejaculated. 
 
 " That is mere foolishness and envy. A beard be- 
 cometh a monk bravely. All the brethren have beards. 
 I likewise will have one soon. Now you " he inspected
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 151 
 
 her with unqualified commiseration " You might as well 
 have been born a woman ! ' ' 
 
 " You need not despise women," she muttered in a 
 stifled voice, gazing past him to where the distant hills 
 could be seen above the ruins. " My boy, you have much 
 to learn. You think all women bad, and are afraid even 
 to speak to them. That is wrong all wrong. A woman 
 could teach you much. She may not be as brave as a man 
 but but she suffers more." 
 
 Petros gasped. An acolyte daring to lecture a monk! 
 A novice addressing a superior as ' ' boy ' ' ! The offensive 
 epithet topped the situation. 
 
 A heat of indignation leapt into his face, but cooled 
 as his glance rested upon the culprit. Unconscious of his 
 displeasure, Zetitzka was gazing into the distance. She 
 was seated in a pensive attitude, her cheek impressed by 
 the knuckles of her brown hand, her eyes full of sombre 
 thought. Seen in relief against the deep purple shadow 
 of the refectory wall, her chin and the column of her 
 throat glowed with the lustre of alabaster. 
 
 Petros stifled an impatient exclamation. There was 
 something about his companion that thwarted indigna- 
 tion. She baffled him, awoke his curiosity, lured him to 
 her by some personal magnetism that, while quickening 
 his interest and even awakening his affection, made him 
 vaguely ashamed, as of unmanly weakness. By rights he 
 ought to put her in her place, instruct her in the 
 respect which was his due yet he kept silent. He won- 
 dered at himself, sought to excuse himself by calling to 
 mind her unhappy past, of which he knew nothing, but 
 which was visible in a subdued and wordless melancholy 
 that, eluded for a time as her mood lightened, invariably 
 returned like an oppressive memory that refuses to be 
 banished.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ACCUSTOMED to the occasional advent of a lay-brother, 
 Petros had looked for something illiterate, dirty, and a 
 child of the soil, for the Greek monasteries recruit prin- 
 cipally from the peasant class. But this boy lying beside 
 him expressed himself with fluency, was clean in person, 
 and disconcertingly original in thought. 
 
 As he pondered, the solution of part of the mystery 
 came to him. Her quaint Albanian accent reminded him 
 that this youth came of ancient race. Petros had never 
 been to Albania, but, living so near the frontier, it had 
 often stirred his boyish imagination. Brigands lived 
 there! According to Brother Nicodemus, to whom the 
 unknown invariably suggested evil, it was the terrestrial 
 headquarters of the devil himself. Brother Stephanos had 
 come out of Albania, and by his very reticence had added 
 to the supernatural interest of the country. The blue 
 barrier of hills that reared themselves on the sky-line 
 alternately allured and repelled a mind simple and credulous 
 as that of a child; and sometimes, when the sun sank 
 behind the summits in a sea of blood, the boy would stand 
 on the precipice brink and wonder with unspeakable awe 
 if the red that stained the west were a sign that God 
 was angry with Albania. And now this strange youth 
 had come to them from that mysterious country what 
 wonder if he were different from others. 
 
 " And you are content to pass all your life like like 
 this? " 
 
 As Zetitzka asked the question in a tone of wondering 
 compassion, she waved her hand towards the courtyard. 
 The sunlit stagnation of the place exemplified well the 
 monotony of his existence. He stared at her, still in 
 amazement. Musingly she continued: 
 
 1 ' I have never been in a monastery before. We never see 
 
 152
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 153 
 
 monks where I live. There are priests but they are all 
 married. ' ' 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 Her look of interrogation forced him to explain. 
 
 " All priests marry in our church, or become monks 
 like me. Did you not know that? Kyrie Eleison! you 
 are wofully ignorant, methought that was known to 
 everyone. If their wives die, then must they at once enter 
 a monastery. Brother Elias was married before he came 
 to us. He spake once to us of his wife. He said that 
 what he loved most in the monastery was the blessed 
 silence." 
 
 " But once they have taken the vows monks cannot 
 marry? " 
 
 " Nay, by no manner of means." 
 
 " And you, you must stay here for always and always? " 
 
 " Past all question." 
 
 "Until you die?" 
 
 He made an impatient gesture. " Saint Barlaam, you 
 ask always foolish questions. And, moreover, all this is 
 well known unto you! Why look at me thus? It is not 
 seemly. Nay, I will not be pitied! I am by no means 
 going to die yet ! ' ' 
 
 Zetitzka smiled involuntarily. Her rare smile was sin- 
 gularly winning. A glitter of white teeth, and a dimple 
 at the corner of her mouth, like the impress of a tiny 
 finger, came into view. Her eyes lost their habitual sad- 
 ness. Her heightened beauty glowed out, revealed itself in 
 its true colours, soft, and inexpressibly sweet. So womanly 
 did she look that the marvel was that her secret should 
 remain undiscovered. But Petros merely frowned upon 
 her with comical disapproval. 
 
 Sobering suddenly, she continued to follow the trend 
 of her thoughts : 
 
 " It seems such an idle, useless life: no work, except 
 for the lay brethren, and for the monks only long, long 
 prayers, instead of walking about bravely with a knife and 
 a gun. To me it seems no life for a man. Now you " 
 
 she nodded at him " if you met an enemy " 
 
 " But I have no enemy." 
 
 Wonder tinged with envy looked from her eyes; then
 
 154 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 she nodded again. " True," she said, thoughtfully; " but 
 but if you had, would you kill him ? ' ' 
 
 " Saint Barlaam! " he almost shouted. " No! " 
 
 " Why not ? " She held her head high. " It is nothing 
 to be ashamed of. Men are always fighting. My father 
 has killed a man: he tells the story often. It is rare to 
 find a man in our village who has not killed someone. And 
 as for my uncle people speak of him still, for he killed 
 five enemies before he was killed himself ! ' ' 
 
 Her evident pride in these deeds of prowess made him 
 gasp. Petros had heard rumours of Albanian Arnauts, 
 and their bloody feuds, but from the lips of one so young 
 and gentle they came with a strange note of incongruity. 
 A strain of racial lawlessness was apparent at times in 
 the new-comer's voice and manner. It repelled Petros, 
 and yet mysteriously attracted him, for he felt unaccount- 
 ably drawn to his companion. 
 
 " Have you killed anyone? " he asked in an awe-struck 
 voice. 
 
 Her expression altered swiftly. 
 
 " No," she muttered, averting her face. It became 
 plain even to him that she was ashamed of the con- 
 fession. 
 
 " I rejoice! " he cried, clapping her on the shoulder 
 with a heartiness that made her wince " I rejoice exceed- 
 ingly! Think, only if you had! Why, your life would 
 have been an endless penance fasting, vigils, stripes! 
 Holy Saint Basil! And they might even have expelled 
 you ! ' ' His tone expressed a fearful appreciation of the 
 gravity of the punishment. Then, with a burst of com- 
 passion : ' ' You would be cast on the world, my poor 
 brother and, believe me, the world is a terrible place. 
 Brother Nieodemus says so. He says it is as full of devils 
 as is Meteoron of monks. Some take the shape of money- 
 bags, some of forbidden dainties, and some of women who, 
 if you hearken unto them, change into fiends and fly off 
 with your soul! " 
 
 The serious manner with which he imparted this 
 astounding information took Zetitzka aback. Credulous 
 enough herself for the folk-lore of her race related many a 
 grisly and supernatural legend she might have believed 
 him, had not her experience of life taught her otherwise.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 155 
 
 " Can it be possible," she thought, " for one almost a 
 grown man to believe such tales!" An amused and 
 almost imperceptible smile lurked within her eyes. To 
 Petros her slightly incredulous expression was but an- 
 other proof of her ignorance. He, too, smiled indulgently. 
 Their mental attitude towards each other was curiously 
 similar. 
 
 Then, boyishly anxious to remind her that on certain 
 matters she would find him uncompromising, he said, with 
 simple earnestness: 
 
 " As for what you said of my calling, it grieves me 
 sore to hear you talk so foolishly nay, sinfully! It is 
 a beautiful life. We monks endure want and even afflic- 
 tion, counting loss as gain. We give up the whole world 
 for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. That is better 
 than killing people! What can you know? You, for- 
 sooth! who had not even heard of the blessed Antimins! 
 And, moreover, your words contradict your deeds. Why 
 did you come here if not to lead this holy life? " He 
 paused triumphantly, but no reply came. Warming, he 
 continued: " I would that I could show you, but I too 
 am ignorant. You must ask the venerable father. As 
 for me, I have vowed with God's help to abide in the 
 monastery in virginity, temperance, and devotion to the 
 last breath of my life. I tell you, Angelos, I am proud 
 to be a monk. I have chosen a truly good and blessed 
 work, if so be that I persevere, for good works are per- 
 formed with labour and accomplished with pain." 
 
 He paused, breathless. Into his usually merry face 
 there had come a fervent look. His words had she but 
 known it were merely a quotation from the office of the 
 " Lesser Habit," but the conviction in his voice infused 
 the old monkish service with deathless vitality. Noting 
 her hesitation, he added with melancholy emphasis: " I 
 fear me, Angelos, you will never become a monk." 
 
 " And you," she questioned, " will you never regret 
 it? Nay, be not angry! I want to know. You are 
 young " 
 
 " Young I " 
 
 " Surely to be young is better than to be old. And it 
 is sad to shut yourself up like this before you know any- 
 thing of of life."
 
 156 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 He looked at her, half wondering, half wistful. 
 
 " Life? I suppose you mean life down there " He 
 
 nodded dubiously towards the shimmering valley. " Does 
 that bring happiness? " 
 
 To his astonishment, all light seemed to fade from her 
 eyes, and, though he coaxed her to explain, she would 
 say no more. 
 
 As far as was possible, during the long day, did the com- 
 rades avoid the interior of the monastic buildings. These 
 mere shells, consisting of little more than roofs supported 
 by tottering walls, were too eloquent of the sadness and 
 evanescence of existence to appeal either to Petros or 
 Zetitzka. 
 
 It was after all but natural that this boy and girl, 
 both so unconscious of the significance of their relation- 
 ship and of the inevitable awakening that hourly drew 
 nearer, should be engrossed with each other. The pres- 
 ent was all in all to them. They brought the very spirit 
 of young life into the ruined courts. In them the inti- 
 mate needs of the moment found expression. They stood 
 for the " now," that is always present, in contradis- 
 tinction to the " then," that is either unborn or has 
 ceased to be. All around them whispered dead voices. 
 The past cried to them insistently wailing of vanished 
 lives, of the inevitableness of death, of the stern facts of 
 existence, commonplaces, perhaps, but nevertheless great 
 poetic truths illustrating its lesson with grass-grown 
 court and deserted cloisters; but, with the bright and 
 egotistic thoughtlessness of youth, they shut their ears 
 to its warnings. 
 
 Towards evening a change was observable in the weather. 
 The heat had increased. Not a breath of air was to be 
 felt. From the north ominous clouds, ragged and dun. 
 came creeping over the face of the sun. The skylark had 
 vanished, beaten earthwards by the oppression in the 
 air. From where they were they could see the path 
 coiling downwards towards the village of Kastrati. Great 
 shadows, like immense birds of prey, swept it continually 
 with their wings. From the ruins no sound came. The 
 silence was profound and vaguely disquieting. 
 
 Petros and Zetitzka had risen to their feet. All at 
 once the lad started to cross the court, and the girl, un-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 157 
 
 willing to be left alone, followed him. Reaching the 
 verge they stood side by side, without speaking; behind 
 them, the ruins; before, and immensely below them, the 
 valley, still in sunlight, but being devoured momently by 
 the approaching gloom. 
 
 Both were moved by feelings of awe; Petros too by 
 sensations of ill-defined superstition connected with demons 
 and hostile spirits of the air. 
 
 Suddenly the boy turned to look for his companion, and 
 experienced relief to find her by his side. 
 
 " It comes this way," he whispered. Barely had he 
 spoken, than a mutter of thunder made itself heard. It 
 was like the roll-call of innumerable drums, muffled, far- 
 off. Rain began to fall, at first in huge reluctant drops, 
 warm on the face and hands, then faster and ever faster. 
 At the instigation of Petros they sought shelter in the 
 porch of the Catholicon. The storm broke over them 
 with an unrestrained fury suggestive of the tropics. The 
 lightning blinded their eyes, alternately snatching at 
 their surroundings, then relinquishing them to gloom. 
 The thunder drew near and became all but continuous, 
 exulting in its strength, bellowing in organ-like bursts 
 that roared loud above the shouting of the cliffs. All 
 nature became one vast orchestra whose deepest note was 
 thunder and whose highest was the newly-arisen wind 
 wailing among the ruins. There was something grand in 
 the storm, something peculiarly appropriate, too, in those 
 elementary voices raised suddenly in the silence. The 
 gorges had found expression. 
 
 " You are not afraid? " exclaimed Petros. 
 
 By the light of a flash he had noted her look. 
 
 She was glad that a sudden crash diverted his atten- 
 tion. How could she have told him her thoughts? that 
 this storm recalled the fatal night in the mountains when 
 she had sought shelter in the home of Stephanos. The 
 memory nearly stifled her. She had to put a strong curb 
 upon herself to conceal her agitation. How vividly, how 
 poignantly it all came back awaking anger, shame, and 
 bitter unavailing regret. 
 
 " It grows late; needs must we be going back," he 
 cried, bending his head to hers and speaking loudly. 
 
 " No, no," she remonstrated.
 
 158 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " But, yes, in an hour they will begin Compline." 
 
 " Wait till the rain stops." 
 
 She snatched at any excuse; but the rain had no inten- 
 tion of stopping. On the contrary, it increased in 
 violence, falling in dense sheets, obliterating the hills, 
 hoarsely vociferous on tile and flagstone, breeding rivulets 
 innumerable that fled from the roofs and guttered into 
 the abyss. 
 
 The loneliness of their surroundings made them in- 
 tensely conscious of each other, almost as though they 
 were the only living beings in the world. At an excep- 
 tionally alarming flash he drew her further back into the 
 porch, and, once there, allowed his arm to remain about 
 her shoulders. She made no effort to release herself. 
 His touch imparted a sense of protection, of human com- 
 panionship for which she was grateful. 
 
 While they stood thus they were startled by a muffled 
 roar not of thunder, but of something within the monas- 
 tery then silence, broken only by the steady thresh of 
 the rain. They looked blankly at each other. 
 
 " Can it " Petros checked himself, his eyes still 
 
 fixed on hers in wide apprehension. 
 
 " Yes? " she whispered uneasily. 
 
 " Do you remember that story of Brother Nicodemus? " 
 
 " About the devils? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '" I don't believe it" 
 
 "What? " 
 
 " I don't believe it." Zetitzka spoke with what her 
 mother termed her obstinate manner, but for all that she 
 cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. Her disbelief 
 shocked, yet vaguely reassured him. 
 
 " And if there were devils," she continued quickly, 
 " you said they came only at night. It is not late enough 
 for them yet." 
 
 He shook his tall hat ominously. 
 
 " Nay, but it is parlous dark. Perddventure they have 
 mistaken the hour." 
 
 Bidding her await his return he ran off into the rain. 
 In a few minutes he was again with her, a grin on his 
 wet face.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 159 
 
 "An adventure!" he cried gaily, shaking the water 
 from his tall hat. " The ladder has gone! " 
 
 She stared at him blankly. He continued: 
 
 " The rain must needs have loosened a rock. It has 
 fallen on the ladder ; two lengths have gone. ' ' 
 
 Still she stared, within her eyes a dawning consciousness 
 of the gravity of their situation. 
 
 " Then then we are prisoners? " 
 
 " Ay, past question. 'Tis a rare jest! " 
 
 " But we will have to stay here all night! " 
 
 His face betrayed that he had not calculated upon that. 
 
 " You will miss Compline," she continued nervously. 
 " Yes, and the midnight services. The Abbot will be 
 vexed. Ah, that sobers you! And moreover no one will 
 come near this place. It is haunted." 
 
 He stood before her, stroking his chin. 
 
 "It is true," he faltered. " I never thought of that. 
 Backsliding at all seasons God forgive me! But " 
 and he regained his cheerfulness, " be not thus downcast. 
 The good saints will protect us. One holy saint can, an 
 he has a mind, rout a multitude of devils. Perhaps even 
 they will reveal unto us a way. Ah, the tower of the 
 windlass! " 
 
 Together they hastened to the rude hut that, as in 
 Barlaam, overhung the abyss. One glance was sufficient. 
 The rope was rotten. 
 
 " No hope here," said Petros, chuckling. 
 
 She flashed an indignant glance at him. 
 
 " One would say you were glad! " 
 
 " I am glad. Nay, be not angry. Look you, Angelos, 
 all my life I have earnestly desired an adventure, so this 
 pleaseth me right well. 'Tis doubtless my vile nature. 
 Brother Apostoli says there are seasons when I merit the 
 lowest depths of hell. He ought to know, for God hath 
 revealed to him wondrous high matters in his prayers." 
 He wagged his head solemnly, then asked: " And you, 
 are you so desirous of getting back? ' 
 
 Her hasty negative made him smile. 
 
 " Then make no more ado. 'Tis but for one night. 
 The venerable father will of a surety send to seek us 
 when he sees that we do not return. After all, 'tis not
 
 160 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 our fault. It was a devil loosened that rock, helped 
 thereto by the rain. And if the fiends should come, have 
 we not the Abbot's cross? It exorciseth mightily. We 
 have here no breviary wherewith to say matins, so God 
 will lovingly overlook it if we sleep." 
 
 " Where? " she asked in a low voice. As she spoke 
 she cast a fearful glance towards the monastery. The 
 rain had ceased. Under the cope of night the ruins had 
 assumed an even more ominous aspect. 
 
 " In my cell," he said, replying to her question. " The 
 one wherein I was wont to sleep when a child." 
 
 She looked at him, her indignation gone, nothing but 
 a longing for sympathy left. Something virile about him 
 comforted her inexpressibly. 
 
 ' * You will not leave me, ' ' she pleaded. 
 
 The request slipped from her, almost unawares. She 
 neither wondered at it, nor regretted it. Her sense of 
 dependence upon this young monk had reached a new 
 stage. It now stirred her into a troubled sweetness, es- 
 sentially feminine the instinctive pleasure which every 
 true woman feels in being protected by a man to whom 
 she is not indifferent.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IN the sunlight the dormitory of Lavra would have 
 been melancholy in the dusk it was depressing beyond 
 words. 
 
 " That was my father's cell," explained Petros, indi- 
 cating a little door. " He died there and this " he 
 pointed to another " was mine." 
 
 They entered the latter. Zetitzka made out the usual 
 cubicle, stripped, however, of all furniture. 
 
 She looked round disconsolately. 
 
 " We will sleep on the ground," continued Petros, 
 " many holy hermits slept thus, Brother Nicodemus says it 
 breeds rheumatism and is highly acceptable to God. He 
 never does it himself. Come, let us pray and then we will 
 lay us down." 
 
 In the gloom she heard him repeat a pater noster, fol- 
 lowed by a fervent petition to the effect that they might 
 be guarded from evil spirits. She did not join in the 
 prayer. Something in the vibrating masculine tones of his 
 voice disquieted her for the first time. 
 
 " Now, let us sleep," said Petros with a yawn. 
 
 He stretched himself at full length upon the floor. 
 She, however, remained standing, strangely ill at ease. 
 
 " Will you not lay yourself down? " he asked wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 But still she stood, gazing at his outstretched form 
 under cover of the dusk. A feeling of nervousness 
 possessed her, tying her tongue, and making her acutely 
 self-conscious. What though he imagined her a boy 
 she knew him for a man. And yet, under the strange 
 circumstances in which they were placed, she could have 
 overlooked this, were it not for a shrinking fear of the 
 morning and the dread of discovery. Hitherto, in her 
 cell, with the one exception of Sotiri's intrusion, she had 
 been alone, free to perform unobserved the details of her 
 11 161
 
 162 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 woman's toilet; but here no privacy would be possible. 
 
 " What is it? " came the drowsy voice at her feet. 
 
 " Let me go away," she said hurriedly, in agitated 
 tones. 
 
 " Go away!" 
 
 " Yes. I will go into the corridor. It is cooler there." 
 
 ' ' Nonsense ! Have you a mind to meet your death to 
 speak naught of things evil ? Come, are we not brothers ? 
 Let us sleep side by side in love and sweet friendliness." 
 
 The prospect embarrassed her. She bit her underlip 
 frowned shrank into herself. Even his unconsciousness 
 failed to restore her ease. A feeling of impatience at the 
 whims of this unaccountable youth ruffled Petros, but 
 changed to good-natured acquiescence as she muttered that 
 if he remained she would be unable to sleep. 
 
 " As you will," he cried, springing to his feet, " I go 
 to my father's cell." 
 
 But even as he opened the door there came a swift 
 rush of wings. Zetitzka could not tell whence it came, 
 but in the hot darkness something cold and invisible 
 fanned her cheek, stirring her hair and roughening her 
 skin with fear. She uttered an involuntary cry. 
 
 " What is it now? " demanded Petros. 
 
 " I don't know. It is it is something in the cell! I 
 am frightened. Stay with me." 
 
 He peered at her over his shoulder in perplexity. She 
 looked like the intangible form of a wistful and perverse 
 spirit. 
 
 " I can make naught of you," he grumbled. " At one 
 moment 'tis ' Go,' and the next ' Stay.' Do you know 
 your own mind? " 
 
 N o o." 
 ' Then how may I know it? " 
 
 " Oh, don't talk! 'Just come back." Then, as he hesi- 
 tated, " Has it gone? Shut the door quickly, or it may 
 come in again." 
 
 He obeyed her reluctantly. The door once closed, a 
 sense of security caused her to breathe freely. 
 
 A last glimmer of light struggled downwards from the 
 little window above their heads, for the storm was over 
 and the sky was clearing fast. After a few desultory 
 efforts, conversation languished.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 163 
 
 From her voice, Petros could tell that she was drowsy. 
 He, on the contrary, became every moment more wide 
 awake. Noting that she had sunk to the ground, he 
 stretched himself beside her, and tried vainly to woo 
 sleep by repeating a prayer associated with his father. 
 
 Disquieting thoughts came to him as he lay open-eyed 
 in the darkness. Accustomed only to profound silence, 
 or to noises so muffled as to be unimportant, Petros found 
 himself listening intently to her breathing, and to her 
 uneasy movements as she sought relief from the hard- 
 ness of the floor. Never before had he slept in the same 
 cell with anyone, not even with his father, and he vowed 
 with determination that he never would again. To know 
 his companion so close that he had only to put out a 
 hand in order to touch her, was distracting. To calm 
 his thoughts he concentrated his mind upon the icon of 
 the Blessed Virgin, his favourite among all the icons in 
 the Catholicon, and now separated from him by so great 
 a space of benighted road, but other thoughts thrust 
 themselves forward. He could not tell what they were, 
 for rather were they feelings than ideas, but none the less 
 perturbing on that account. Had he been alone he would 
 have risen and prayed aloud, but the fear of awakening 
 his companion kept him motionless. The idea, that per- 
 haps, after all, the devils had entered the cell, came to him 
 in a sudden rush of terror, causing him to shut his eyes 
 tightly in case he might see them. After repeating every 
 prayer appropriate to the occasion which he could call to 
 mind, he cautiously looked around. Only darkness, 
 broken by the faint pallor of light from the window. He 
 listened intently. Only silence, caressed rather than 
 ruffled by the gentle intaking and outgiving of Zetitzka's 
 breath. The peaceful somnolent sounds calmed his fears, 
 but awoke a sensation of loneliness. He had never felt 
 it before to quite the same extent. Her propinquity, 
 added to her state of oblivion, made this feeling unbear- 
 able. He longed for her to speak, to give him the comfort 
 of conscious human companionship. But the soft sounds 
 continued without intermission. 
 
 Of a sudden he could stand it no longer. 
 
 " Angelos," he whispered. 
 
 No answer. Zetitzka was far away in a land of dreams.
 
 164 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 He put out a hand to touch her, then slowly dre-^ it 
 back. " Nay," he thought, " it would be right selfish to 
 disturb him. ' ' 
 
 Standing erect, he flung out his arms, taking care, how- 
 ever, to make no noise, then turning slowly went out into 
 the corridor. 
 
 The night was charged with electricity. It steeped the 
 senses of the young monk in a soft and enervating languor. 
 It deepened also the emotional mood that, like the vague 
 unrest of spring when April is at hand, throbbed and 
 tingled in his blood. 
 
 A night of forbidden dreams! The world sought to 
 tempt him. It was robed in beauty, alluring in its 
 mystery. The cliffs shone in the starlight, like wan faces 
 watching him above the gloom of the gorges. A great 
 planet glowed like a jewel on the dusky bosom of night. 
 The distance had ceased to be the plain and the river he 
 knew so well. It too had allied itself with the powers of 
 darkness, and was now naught but a temptation whisper- 
 ing of something he felt, but could not put into words a 
 something which he vaguely feared was evil. 
 
 With all his might Petros sought to banish the emotions 
 that beset him, but in an environment so favourable they 
 flourished and grew apace. He was filled with unrest, 
 saddened with longing. The latter troubled him the most, 
 though for what he longed he knew not. 
 
 His ignorance added immeasurably to his trouble. It 
 was like fighting a foe in the dark. All knowledge of life 
 had been purposely withheld from him by his father, and 
 later by the monks. He had been of so tender an age when 
 first he had joined the monastery that the brethren, with 
 a delicacy that did them credit, had taken a pleasure in 
 keeping him in the happy ignorance of childhood. Nature 
 had sought to enlighten him, as Nature will, but her un- 
 aided efforts, instead of explaining the mystery, but added 
 to his bewilderment. He had carried his difficulties to 
 the Abbot in the hour of confession, but the aged priest, 
 to whom this young soul, white and unspotted, was a 
 something beautiful amid the contagion of the world, had 
 contented himself with teaching the boy to combat all 
 incomprehensible emotions by prayer. To himself the 
 Abbot murmured : ' ' Not yet, not yet, time enough to
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 165 
 
 tell him when he is older. Yet, if only I could keep him 
 ever thus! In blessed innocence. Holy Mother of God, 
 what a victory ! What a perfect pearl for thy crown ! ' ' 
 
 As he stood there in the darkness, leaning against the 
 worn coping-stones of what had once been a parapet, it 
 came to Petros suddenly, with the sinister exaggeration 
 of fears born in the night, that he must be intensely 
 wicked; not merely with the wickedness common to 
 humanity, but of a heart given over to depravity, of a 
 soul lost, abandoned. The hot night seemed full of devils, 
 as though the spirit of darkness hovered overhead with 
 invisible bat-like wings. The world upon which he looked 
 down, as a sailor from the mast-head might gaze upon a 
 mysterious sea, seemed the veiled form of evil, of which 
 the stars were the eyes, cold, vigilant, malevolent. He 
 was alone, terribly alone, warring not only with the ex- 
 ternal and invisible spectres of his imagination, but with 
 himself, with his traitor heart that had laid siege to the 
 peaceful citadel of his soul. Horrified at his wickedness, 
 he fell to praying aloud, repeating instinctively the prayer 
 set down in the penance called the canon: 
 
 " Lord SJesu Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy 
 on me! " At every repetition he abased himself towards 
 the ruined Catholicon. 
 
 The moon circled above the monastery, steeping every- 
 thing in silver witchery. To Petros it seemed like God's 
 own smile a visible answer to prayer. Uplifted in spirit, 
 but still vaguely disquieted in mind, he again sought his 
 cell. 
 
 He paused upon the threshold. It was as if a trans- 
 formation had taken place during his absence. He had 
 left it dark he now beheld it bright. Moonlight streamed 
 inwards through the little window. It formed a broad 
 shaft of radiance that fell upon the floor and upon the 
 sleeping form of Zetitzka. All else was vague, shadowy, 
 obscured into unimportance. Only the sleeper stood out 
 bathed in a wonderful white light the one important 
 thing in the cell. She lay in the limp abandonment of 
 sleep on her back her head pillowed on one round bare 
 arm. She looked peaceful almost happy; for sleep by 
 touching away a line of care, had given back to her some- 
 what of the untroubled expression of her girlhood. The
 
 166 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 moonlight etherealised her comeliness, brushed with silver 
 the curves of her shapely figure. The fringe of her long 
 lashes lay upon her cheeks, and soft through parted lips 
 came the breath of dreamless slumber. Above all things 
 she looked intensely feminine. No longer upon her guard, 
 everything about her whispered of the woman. 
 
 Petros gazed in silence holding his breath. Could this 
 be Angelos, the lay brother! Very slowly he approached 
 her, taking care to make no noise. Why he did so he 
 knew not; obeying, it would seem, some instinct of which 
 he was unaware. When he was come within a couple of 
 yards, he stopped suddenly. 
 
 In the hot night, unfastened doubtless by some restless 
 movement of the sleeper, the breast of her lay brother's 
 tunic had fallen open. Upon this the eyes of the boy 
 were riveted. Through the black rift of the dingy gar- 
 ment, white in the moonlight, shone the pure soft outlines 
 of her woman's form. 
 
 Petros stood as if turned to stone. The expression in 
 
 his eyes passed slowly from incredulity to horror. For 
 
 awhile he stood trembling, fascinated, impotent to avert 
 
 his gaze. Then, of a sudden, the girl moved, and as if 
 
 et free from a spell he fled from her presence.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ZETITZKA awoke and rubbed her eyes. For a moment, 
 imagining herself at Barlaam, the fear that she had over- 
 slept beset her. But her surroundings speedily pointed 
 out her mistake. 
 
 In the cold grey light the cell stood revealed in all 
 its nudity. Its only redeeming quality was the glimpse 
 it gave of the world without the glint of pale blue sky 
 seen through the broken window. 
 
 As she sat up the girl's eye fell upon evidences of 
 Petros the empty wallet in which they had carried their 
 provisions, and the cloak of the young monk, disarranged, 
 as though hastily flung aside when he awoke from sleep. 
 These proofs that a man had shared her cell, had actually 
 slept beside her all night, struck Zetitzka with sudden 
 consternation. For the first time she realised the enormity 
 of the situation. In the darkness it had seemed only 
 natural that he should stay and protect her, but in the 
 uncompromising light of day it assumed monstrous pro- 
 portions. 
 
 With a sudden guilty start she remembered how she 
 had entreated him to remain with her, and at the remem- 
 brance she became one burning blush from head to foot. 
 Was ever anything so improper, so indelicate, done by a 
 girl before? What had he thought of her? What did he 
 think now? And then, with an immense insurgence of 
 relief, she recollected that she need not feel ashamed, for 
 in his eyes she was but a boy. 
 
 She was thankful that he had quitted the cell before 
 she awoke, but she wondered where he had gone. Per- 
 haps, she reflected, to the Catholicon to pray. 
 
 As her sleep-bemused mind picked up one by one the 
 loosened threads of existence, there came again the 
 memory of Barlaam and of Stephanos. It was as if a 
 black cloud had driven suddenly between her and the sun. 
 
 167
 
 168 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 So, this short holiday was nearly over! In a few hours 
 at most the dull dead weight of the monastery and of her 
 mission would press again upon every moment of her 
 life. 
 
 But bravely fighting her depression, she reminded her- 
 self that she could still count upon a brief period of respite 
 that all had gone well that her secret was still her own. 
 With a feeling almost akin to self -congratulation, she 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 Standing in the middle of the little cell, she carried 
 her arms above her head, her hands seeking for the long 
 hair that used to fall in profusion about her shoulders. 
 It was not the first time that force of long habit had 
 deceived her. Again the cropped tresses reminded her 
 that the massive and shining coils that had adorned her 
 head were now lying concealed among the rocks. Recol- 
 lection brought with it regret for the uselessness of the 
 sacrifice. Deep in her inmost being the spirit of undying 
 coquetry awoke, whispering to her that had she not thus 
 robbed herself of her chief beauty, she might still have 
 been attractive. But even as the echo of this idea made 
 itself heard, instinctive and primitive, not so much hers 
 as that of countless dead women speaking through her, she 
 blushed again, answering a thought that scarcely existed, 
 with all the innocent consciousness of a child. 
 
 The silence of the place was so intense that Zetitzka 
 caught herself listening for some faint indication of 
 monastic life; then she smiled as she called to mind that 
 all the inmates were dead, ages long ago, and that she and 
 Petros were the only living souls upon the pinnacle-top. 
 
 The wind breathed gently upon her through the open 
 window. Its purity spoke of the heights, and its freshness 
 of the dawn. Moving softly, she folded her companion's 
 cloak, then sought to make a scanty toilet, though the 
 denuded cell supplied nothing that could assist her, not 
 even a basin wherein to wash. Observing that her tunic 
 was unfastened, she buttoned it hastily. In all her ac- 
 tions there was a deftness, a silent celerity, that told of 
 one naturally neat-handed. She move noiselessly, almost 
 stealthily, as though she feared to awaken the echoes, and 
 at times she paused again to listen, her head slightly on
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 169 
 
 one side. Before she quitted the cell she fell on her knees 
 and prayed. 
 
 Prayer came more easily that morning. Ever since her 
 arrival at Barlaam prayer had seemed a mockery. How 
 could she approach a God whose name was Love, with noth- 
 ing but hate in her heart? But now a gentler mood had 
 come to her ; a wish to draw near to God ; a desire to live 
 at peace with all men. Absent from Barlaam, the load 
 of her wrongs seemed to press less heavily. With an in- 
 stinctive shrinking she felt that they were only awaiting 
 her return, but for the moment she strove to banish them 
 from her mind, and succeeded beyond anticipation. En- 
 couraging kindly thoughts, she included the names of 
 Petros and the Abbot in her prayers. Then, with peace 
 in her heart, she stepped lightly into the corridor. 
 
 The sun, barely above the ruined buildings, sparkled 
 upon the water that lay in pools between the displaced 
 flagstones. It winked a merry eye from the metal ball 
 that topped the dome of the Catholicon, it danced hither 
 and thither, flinging jewels of light over trodden weed 
 and trembled blossom, turning the courtyard into a garden 
 and the cloisters into a palace. 
 
 Already the heat fought with the freshness of the sum- 
 mer dawn. A haze, filmy as wafted gossamer, quivered 
 along the summits of the broken walls. Far off, seen 
 through gaps in the ruined masonry, the river and the 
 hills seemed still to slumber, dreaming dreams that fell 
 from the blue of the sky. 
 
 Zetitzka's nature responded joyously to the beauty and 
 the brightness. She was young enough still to float 
 buoyantly on the tide of hope the tide that ebbs in later 
 life and leaves us stranded on the shores of time. The 
 softened feelings in her heart centred themselves on Petros. 
 Thoughts of him stirred feelings of glad anticipation 
 and yet for the moment she was in no hurry to join him. 
 It was enough to know he was there her friend a sure 
 ally in case of danger. Still semi-dreaming, she took 
 pleasure in recalling facts connected with him; things he 
 had said ; his laugh ; his expression when under excitement ; 
 his sunny nature, that seemed to have drawn to itself all 
 that made life joyous. A sigh broke from her. His
 
 170 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 memory filled her with wistful regret, with an envy that 
 was free from all covetousness. Life to him was still a 
 white unwritten page; to her it was already defaced by a 
 black and shameful experience. A gulf lay between 
 them, yet her feelings overleaped it. The law of nature 
 that commands that opposites be drawn to opposites had 
 unconsciously influenced both. He had instinctively felt 
 attracted by her air of reticent experience she by his en- 
 gaging candour and simplicity. The young man and the 
 young woman had gravitated towards each other as 
 naturally and inevitably as youth is allured by youth, and 
 laughter is rendered responsive by laughter. 
 
 Yet always Zetitzka felt immeasurably the elder, de- 
 spite his two or three years of seniority. To her he seemed 
 still a child, the more so on account of his airs of boyish 
 dogmatism and fancied knowledge of the world. 
 
 As she stood in the early sunlight, with the monastery 
 basking around her, she drew the bright morning into her 
 blood, exquisitely alive to all the sweet communicable in- 
 fluences of nature. And it seemed indeed as if the be- 
 neficent and immortal spirits called by mortal names of 
 sun and breeze were graciously aware of the unconscious 
 worship in the girl 's heart, for they hovered over her like a 
 flutter of imminent wings, gilding her blue-black curls and 
 stirring her garment 's hem. It might well be, for they had 
 seen nothing fairer than her face, fresh as the dawn and 
 full of quiet reflected brightness as the blue overhead 
 a presence strangely sweet amid the ruins of Lavra. 
 
 All at once the intense solitude of the place made her 
 conscious of loneliness. Feeling that she had but to find 
 Petros to have this sensation dispelled, she ran towards 
 the ruined Catholicon. He was not there. She called 
 aloud, but her clear girlish voice was answered only by 
 lugubrious echoes. With a growing anxiety, which she 
 strove in vain to repress, she searched the cloisters, the 
 refectory, and the various buildings that huddled on the 
 small restricted summit. All were desolate, voiceless. 
 Thoroughly alarmed now, she hastened towards the preci- 
 pice that concealed the ladders. A rope made fast to a 
 post caught her attention. It dangled in space, forming 
 a connecting link between the monastery and the unin- 
 jured portion of the ladders full forty feet below. Zetitzka
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 171 
 
 gazed at it in bewilderment. Petros had spoken of no 
 rope! She knew for certain that it had not been there 
 on the preceding night. Then, in a flash, the truth struck 
 her. Petros had put it there! He had escaped by itl 
 She was alone in Lavra!
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AN hour later Dimitri, preceded by Nikola, fared 
 leisurely up the path that led past the base of Lavra. 
 The muleteer took a fearful pleasure in tempting Provi- 
 dence by choosing a track whereon few villagers would 
 travel. This he did partly to shock the neighbours, and 
 partly as he himself expressed it " for fun." Be it 
 noted, however, that he chose sunrise and not nightfall for 
 the adventure. 
 
 He cast a glance at the ruins as he approached. But 
 overhead nothing stirred. Desolate as of old, Lavra 
 frowned into the summer sky. 
 
 Suddenly Dimitri halted. A look of excitement over- 
 spread his bronzed face. He had caught sight of the 
 broken ladder. Before he had time to recover from his 
 surprise, something lying athwart the path attracted his 
 attention. It looked, he thought, uncommonly like a 
 human body a remarkable object anywhere; but here, 
 distinctly uncanny. Dimitri was perturbed into making 
 the sign of the cross. 
 
 The more phlegmatic Nikola plodded forward. With 
 sudden shame at his indecision her master made haste to 
 follow her example. When he came near, he saw to his 
 astonishment that the body, was that of Angelos, the lay 
 brother. 
 
 Quite unconscious, Zetitzka lay at the base of the lad- 
 ders. There was an inert pathetic abandonment in the 
 apparently boyish figure clad in dingy grey, lying there 
 to all intents lifeless, as though already a clod, one with 
 the stones, the cliffs, and all the inanimate fabric of the 
 revolving earth. She lay partly on her side, one arm 
 extended, the fingers of the outstretched hand still 
 tenaciously grasping the rotten rung doubtless the im- 
 mediate cause of the disaster. Her head, from which the 
 lay brother's cap had fallen, was tilted back, revealing 
 
 172
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 173 
 
 a scalp wound above the right ear. The latter had bled 
 freely. The vivid red, scarcely dry, contrasted with the 
 jetty blackness of her hair and the death-like pallor of her 
 face. 
 
 Dimitri looked at her with bent brows, then gazed up- 
 wards at the monastery. Many questions suggested them- 
 selves, but no answers. The muleteer was aroused from 
 the puzzle by the sound of Nikola sniffing curiously at the 
 girl's face. 
 
 "Sacred name!" he ejaculated, in sudden self-con- 
 demnation. " I stand here gaping while the lad bleeds to 
 death ! " Then, with a resounding smack on the grey hind- 
 quarters, " Out of the way, old lady! " 
 
 Kneeling by her side, he ran his fingers tentatively over 
 her limbs. Suddenly his hands fell limply to his sides. 
 With a new interest, at once breathless and absorbed, he 
 gazed into her face. It was upturned to his, the eyelids 
 closed, the mouth quiet; but for its whiteness and the 
 blood-encrusted hair, it might have been the face of one 
 asleep. -The muleteer's eyes strayed from her face to her 
 figure. For a while he gazed at her, like a man over- 
 whelmed by an impossible idea, yet not so much incredulous 
 as bewildered. Mechanically he took her hand. It lay in 
 his limp, small, brown, hardened by work, yet not without 
 a certain feminine delicacy. Dimitri drew a long breath, 
 then slowly nodded comprehension. 
 
 It was characteristic of the man that he did not again 
 touch her. When she showed signs of returning conscious- 
 ness, he moved discreetly to a little distance. Languidly 
 she opened her eyes. 
 
 " Where am I? " The mountain dialect came naturally 
 to her lips. Dimitri was watching her intently. 
 
 " You have had a fall," he said in Greek. 
 
 Zetitzka looked at him, almost, he thought, as though she 
 did not see him, then gazed helplessly at the ruins over- 
 head, at the broken ladder by her side, and, far up the 
 cliff, at the dangling rope. She tried to sit up. 
 
 " I must go," she said, and fainted. 
 
 When she again recovered consciousness she found her- 
 self lying on a cloak. A space had been cleared for her 
 among the stones. She noted these things in the listless 
 indifferent fashion of a person recovering from an illness.
 
 174 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Her head gave her great pain ; she felt, also, unaccountably 
 weak. But these physical sensations were as nothing com- 
 pared with her distress of mind. Some black cloud over- 
 shadowed her. She tried to recall it, but it eluded memory. 
 And yet it must be something horrible and imminent, such 
 a shadow of depression darkened her spirits. Curiously 
 enough, it was the thought of her child that started the 
 rapid and illuminating train of ideas that swept her on- 
 wards to the moment of her accident. Never before, save 
 once, had she felt so helpless, weak, and abandoned the 
 victim of a fate that beat her down with reiterated and 
 cruel blows. 
 
 She was alone. In all this grey world of rocks and 
 frowning cliffs, not a sound, not a movement. She lay 
 in the shadow of Lavra. At a distance of a few yards 
 she could see where the path wound, glaring white in the 
 pitiless sunshine, and up and beyond to where the ser- 
 rated outline of cliffs gnawed at the oppressive and sinister 
 splendour of the sky. The heat was on the increase. 
 The rocks that were already submerged flung it off like 
 the breath of a furnace. It weighed on the heart and 
 withered all impulses of strength and energy. The whole 
 scene, with its entire absence of life, saturated in sunlight, 
 and brooded over by profound silence, seemed unreal as a 
 phantom landscape, or an uninhabited planet wheeling its 
 lonely way through space in a fulgor of eternal sunshine. 
 
 Dim memories of a man, seen like a vision upon the 
 first opening of her eyelids, came to Zetitzka as she lay 
 sunk in stupor. Where was he? She did not care. He 
 had gone. Yet how to account for the cloak, a coarse 
 brown garment which she could see with her heavy, list- 
 less eyes without turning her head? 
 
 These and other questions forced themselves upon her, 
 vaguely, indefinitely, almost as though they concerned some- 
 one else, and yet the effort to answer them was beyond 
 her. 
 
 She made no effort to rouse herself. She knew that 
 some time she must go but not yet. She did not care. 
 What worse thing could happen to her? And, moreover, 
 when she tried to move, her right ankle gave her such 
 pain that she was glad to lie still. She wondered with in- 
 difference if it were broken.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 175 
 
 Sfie wondered, too, with equal indifference what would 
 become of her, of the Zetitzka who had made such a mess 
 of life, whom no one wanted ? Despairing thoughts chased 
 each other through her feverish brain. She seemed to 
 have sounded the deeps of life, to have reached the butt- 
 end where she must crawl to die, to have tasted the ulti- 
 mate sorrow that lay at the heart of the world. Her re- 
 cuperative energy hers in common with all young things 
 had been, as it were, suspended for the moment by this 
 final catastrophe the desertion of Petros and the shock 
 of the fall. She felt as though nothing could touch her 
 now. 
 
 A sound roused her approaching footsteps. A man 
 came into sight carrying a tin can, evidently full, for his 
 care lest he should spill its contents was visible. 
 
 His eyes, meeting hers, betrayed a comical mixture of 
 anxiety, relief, and self-reproach. 
 
 *' You are better! " he cried. " I had to go far. These 
 rocks, look you, no water. Drink this ; 'twill do you good. 
 It should be brandy; but I have not even wine to-day 
 nothing but oil." 
 
 He held it to her white lips, and seemed disappointed 
 that she could sip so little. Without interest, without 
 curiosity, Zetitzka noticed details about this man noticed 
 them in spite of herself, for they made but little impres- 
 sion upon her bruised and deadened brain. He had a 
 strong, good-looking, sunburnt face, with something reliable 
 in it. His picturesque costume struck a not unfamiliar 
 note. The white of his kilted fustinella spoke to her un- 
 consciously of the mountains; while the scarlet of his 
 sash, wooing her eye with a sensation of brightness, essayed 
 to lift her mentally into a region of colourful things 
 suggestive of a world far removed from this great de- 
 pressing chaos of rocks. But wearily she closed her eyes. 
 
 " You have forgotten me," he said. Then, with an 
 evident wish to be recalled to mind: " In Barlaam, last 
 Monday. Dimitri, yes. By the Lord! 'twas fortunate I 
 came this way." 
 
 He seated himself by her side. She remembered him 
 now. But he seemed different from the man she had 
 spoken to in the court of Barlaam. There he had been 
 bluff, rollicking, almost arrogant in his air of virile health
 
 176 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 and strength; but here he was subdued, unaccountably 
 gentle. She attributed the change to her accident, and for 
 the first time felt a slight warmth of gratitude. 
 
 Meanwhile he was tearing a coloured handkerchief into 
 strips and talking softly a soliloquy, independent of 
 answers. That wound, by the saints. R-r-rrp! went the 
 handkerchief. He would try not to hurt. R-r-rrp ! 
 What was the good of a handkerchief he never used? 
 Could the head be raised ? Oh, the least thing ! Confound 
 his fingers. Strapping a pack-saddle was more in their 
 line. What ! the ankle too ? There, how was that ? Why, 
 he was prepared to wager Nikola against a brass nail 
 that things looked better already. 
 
 Zetitzka scarcely heard him. She gave herself up to the 
 unusual feeling of being waited on. When he had finished, 
 she tried to thank him, but her lips trembled. Touched 
 by his kindness, and prompted by his evident curiosity 
 which shone naively through his stout assertions that he 
 did not want to know she endeavoured to relate the mis- 
 adventure. 
 
 " You you came down that rope! " he cried in amaze- 
 ment. Her account seemed to make the feat more real, 
 yet more impossible. At her answer his expression of 
 blank incredulity changed to one of bewilderment. 
 Greatly mystified, he sought relief in scratching his thick 
 crop of hair ; but the exercise brought him no nearer a solu- 
 tion. Doubts beset him. Not that he doubted her word: 
 it was impossible to listen and disbelieve. But the whole 
 insoluble mystery of her presence weighed upon him. 
 
 He looked long at her with unusual self-consciousness; 
 for, unused to dissimulation, it needed continual effort to 
 feign ignorance of her sex. He wondered what her age 
 might be. She looked extraordinarily young in that 
 monastic costume: he surmised she might be on the verge 
 of twenty. 
 
 Then, for the first time, the impropriety of the adven- 
 ture struck him. Petros and this fine-looking girl up there 
 alone all night. Dimitri's blue eyes twinkled. And her 
 stay in the monastery ? Barlaam ! Where women were 
 looked upon as incarnations of the evil one ? Again Dimi- 
 tri suppressed a chuckle. But his unworthy suspicions
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 177 
 
 were put to ignominious flight by the innocent candour in 
 her face. 
 
 " You are right," he cried, as though answering a re- 
 mark. " 'Tis none of my business. Name of a Saint! 
 you carry God's truth in your eyes. And I who 
 thought " he spat with vehement self -contempt, then, 
 glancing at her penitently " Devil take me, I always 
 think evil of others that is because I am like that my- 
 self. But I have a heart " he thumped that organ with 
 unnecessary violence ' ' yes, a heart that is sensible ; it 
 likes you; you have courage." 
 
 Zetitzka replied faintly that it was nothing, that any 
 boy would have done the same. 
 
 Dimitri stared. But all he said was : " Well, what is to 
 be done now? " 
 
 What was to be done? The world was so wide, and 
 yet there was nowhere to go. The only two places she 
 knew her home and the monastery were closed to her. 
 Petros had discovered her secret. She was sure of that 
 his sudden flight, her intuition, her guilty conscience, all 
 pointed unmistakably to the fact. Only too well she knew 
 his feelings about women. She could never go back to 
 the monastery. 
 
 For the first time, in spite of her suffering, she realised 
 how dependent she had become upon the comradeship and 
 support of this boy. She saw now that had he not been 
 there she would have left long ago, probably after her 
 second failure to fulfill her promise to her parents. That 
 she dared not go home seemed to make no difference. She 
 tried to imagine Barlaam the friendship of Petros changed 
 into aversion. The prospect appalled her. It would be 
 bad enough now even if he kept her secret. But would 
 he? She had no reason for imagining it. He was one 
 with the monastery in every word and action, as much as 
 a limb is one with the body. It was not to be expected 
 that he would keep silent. He had the start of her by 
 several hours. The chances were that by this time he had 
 told all. Her imagination shrank from the scene it con- 
 jured up, the whole place in a ferment, seething, furious, 
 thirsting to avenge the sacrilege. No! A thousand times 
 no! She could never go back to the monastery. 
 12
 
 178 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Apart from anxiety about her future, she was con- 
 scious of acute personal disappointment, as if she had 
 irretrievably lost something dear to her. How, she asked 
 herself, had Petros found it in his heart to desert her? 
 She did not blame him she only sorrowed. It brought 
 home to her how much this bright-faced lad had become to 
 her. She had imagined that she cared for him only as a 
 prop, but she now discovered that what she felt lay deeper 
 than that and she was right, for the tie that bound her 
 to him was the reliance which a sincere, staunch, and reti- 
 cent nature reposes upon the loyalty of a friend. This 
 discovery took her by surprise, and a great inarticulate 
 sadness welled up in her heart, and became visible in her 
 eyes. 
 
 The muleteer, who had been watching her intently, 
 bent forward. 
 
 " You are in pain? " he asked, mistaking her emotion. 
 " That ankle? It ought to be bound up. And I who 
 have nothing." Then, after thought " I must take you 
 back to Barlaam." 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 " No? " He eyed her in much perplexity. 
 
 Her gesture left the matter in his hands. 
 
 Dimitri saw that he was expected to take charge. This 
 forced him to think. His thinking was merely a blind 
 groping in possibilities, with nothing stable save a woman, 
 a mystery, and a rotten ladder and none of these, he 
 reflected whimsically, were celebrated for stability. Had 
 it been any other girl, he would have taken her straight 
 to the village; had it been an ordinary lay brother, he 
 would have taken him at once to the monasteries. But 
 this was neither and yet both ! 
 
 The conundrum was also rendered more difficult by her 
 reticence. He was forced to pretend she was a boy. He 
 fumed inwardly, jerking at his little moustache. That he, 
 Dimitri, should in all seriousness be asked to act as guardian 
 and knight-errant to a young woman masquerading as a 
 lay brother was certainly a state of affairs bordering upon 
 the fantastic. 
 
 The sight of the white face and the bandaged head, how- 
 ever, plunged him abruptly into a penitential mood. How
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 179 
 
 could he, brute beast that he was, remain inactive when 
 this brave woman was suffering in heroic silence? 
 
 And yet he felt conscious of unusual hesitation, totally 
 unlike himself. 
 
 ' ' You might come to our house, ' ' he said kindly. ' ' My 
 mother is there. But " 
 
 Zetitzka waited. 
 
 ' ' It 's it 'a ' ' His eyes were fixed on Nikola. * ' It 's 
 
 the oil I am taking to Meteoron promised for daybreak. 
 Besides Barlaam, eh? You belong there, you know. 
 They might let you stay with us one night; not more. 
 And, another thing " 
 
 Scratching his chin, he continued with much gravity: 
 " There is my mother eh? 'Tis against your vows to 
 speak to women." 
 
 But from her answer it appeared that to speak to 
 women was not such a sin after all. 
 
 She could barely finish the sentence. The cliffs seemed 
 to be toppling over: the sun that had at last reached 
 them to be growing dark. She felt as though she were 
 sinking again into blackness, and only by a great effort; 
 of will could she retain her hold upon the conscious world. 
 Dimitri's voice came to her from an immense distance. 
 
 " I am a mule. A mule, do I say. I flatter myself. 
 The more shame to me! We will be proud, my mother 
 and I, to welcome you. You will see she is famous for 
 bandages, the little mother! Curse the oil the monks 
 must wait. I wager you have had no breakfast? No? 
 Ah, I thought not. Come ; we will go. Nay, you must not 
 move. Let me lift you. Have no fear ; I will handle you 
 like eggs, you will see." 
 
 In spite of her size and weight, Zetitzka felt herself 
 caught up, borne away, all, as it seemed to her, in a 
 dream. 
 
 In another moment she was seated upon Nikola's back 
 the barrels of oil having been removed and rolled into a 
 crevice of the rocks, where, as Dimitri remarked, they 
 would be safe from observation till his return. 
 
 " I give you much trouble," she faltered, inexpressibly 
 ashamed of her weakness. 
 
 " Trouble I " He laughed with genial irony; for a mo-
 
 180 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ment his eyes rested on her with unusual warmth of re- 
 gard; then, bending forward and speaking with simple 
 earnestness : ' ' By the faith ! 'tis the best stroke of work, 
 the best " 
 
 He became abruptly silent, betraying an exaggerated 
 and altogether unnecessary apprehension lest the sure- 
 footed Nikola should stumble a gratuitous form of insult 
 which the little mule received with the silence of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 The memory of that ride came back to Zetitzka after- 
 wards as a haunting and distressful nightmare the jerk- 
 ings of the mule; the hardness of the pack-saddle; the 
 pain of her ankle; and the terrible faintness which she 
 struggled to overcome; their distorted shadows, black in 
 the glare; the grey world of rocks; the frowning cliffs; 
 the pitiless blue of the sky; the fierce sun pouring his 
 concentrated fire upon the empty gorge. 
 
 They moved slowly and in silence, Zetitzka holding 
 with both hands to the saddle-peak, jolting painfully 
 Dimitri leading Nikola with unusual care and an occa- 
 sional curse, seeking to minimise the dislocating upward 
 jerks and sudden sharp descents ; his attention not so fully 
 occupied but that he found time to steal many a wondering 
 glance at the pathetic figure in the grey tunic. 
 
 At the junction of the two paths Zetitzka could no 
 longer stand the torture. 
 
 " How far? " she questioned. 
 
 Dimitri looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " Not far now. A little ten minutes; just beyond " 
 
 He broke off with a startled oath, for, round a turning 
 in the track that led upward to Barlaam, two old men 
 came hurrying the Abbot and Brother Nicodemus.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE level sunlight, slanting athwart the monastic roofs, 
 fell upon the dormitory of Barlaam. In the mellow golden 
 illumination the old woodwork, polished by generations 
 of dead hands, took on wonderful high-lights, vying in 
 intensity with the lustrous note of the great fig-leaves hang- 
 ing motionless from their gnarled branches. All the many 
 little doors in the corridor were closed, save one, that of 
 Petros. 
 
 The long heat of the summer day was well-nigh over, 
 but the air in the drowsy court so effectually shut in 
 by the circle of low-roofed buildings still hung slumbrous 
 and heavy. No sound was audible save the murmurous 
 buzz of flies, and at times the faint scream of far-off 
 swallows, as they darted hither and thither in the breath- 
 less air. Yet the silence was not oppressive, but gave 
 rather the feeling of deep and unbroken peace of peace so 
 profound as to partake of the spirit rather than of the 
 body. 
 
 All at once the door of the Abbot's cell opened, and 
 the old man appeared on the threshold. His thin silvery 
 hair, unconfined by the customary headgear, fell to his 
 shoulders; his white beard descended to his waist. The 
 flowing lines of his black robe lent to his somewhat bent 
 figure an air of dignity, and even of grace. As he stood 
 there, so venerable and full of quiet serenity did he appear, 
 so harmoniously one with the old-world, time-haunted, 
 sun-steeped aspect of his surroundings, that he might well 
 have been taken for the incarnate soul of the place. 
 
 Resting both hands upon the railing, he leant over and 
 gazed long into the empty court below, from which the 
 sun was gradually withdrawing his rays. His movements 
 were leisurely, meditative; his expression that of one re- 
 called from some calm region of the spirit, to whom 
 the world of reality is as a passing show, " an illusion," 
 
 181
 
 182 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 as he himself would have phrased it. For a full minute 
 did he stand thus, as if forgetful of the reason that had 
 summoned him from meditation; then suddenly he raised 
 his voice. 
 
 " Brother Nicodemus," he called. 
 
 A pause ; then the refectory door opened, and the monk 
 in question came shambling across the courtyard. 
 
 " Has Brother Petros returned? " 
 
 " Not yet, venerable father." 
 
 A look of anxious wonderment came into the Abbot's 
 face. He stroked his beard. From the court below the 
 monk gazed up at his superior. His plebeian, bigoted, and 
 dirty countenance expressed virtuous disapproval, mingled 
 with that ill-natured satisfaction with which some natures 
 hail the trespasses of even their best friends. These feel- 
 ings, however, he was careful to conceal though voiced 
 later to the brethren. 
 
 The Abbot spoke again: " As soon as Brother Petros 
 returns, tell him that I would have speech with him." 
 
 Nicodemus snuffled assent, upon which the two men 
 separated. 
 
 Within her cell Zetitzka heard the command. 
 Stretched upon the hard bench that did duty for a bed, 
 the physical pain she suffered was all but forgotten in 
 the stress of mental anxiety. Ever since her fate had 
 been decided by the arrival of the two aged monks, the 
 poor girl had been racked by fear. The ascent to the 
 monastery by means of rope and net, which on another 
 occasion would have taxed her nerves, was as nothing 
 compared with the dangers which awaited her at the 
 top. When she found that Petros had not yet returned, 
 she experienced relief; a temporary respite, however, for 
 she knew well that sooner or later the young monk would 
 come back; and then what would happen then? She 
 dared not allow herself to imagine, for she feared the 
 worst. 
 
 Crawling to the door oblivious of pain she posted 
 herself so that she could see without being seen. 
 
 Slowly the moments passed! To Zetitzka, crouching 
 there, listening, waiting, they seemed interminable. 
 Every sound within the monastery brought her heart to 
 her mouth. Never before had the place seemed so re-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 183 
 
 plete with hidden menace its very air of sunlit stagna- 
 tion, of remote antiquity, was a mask behind which lurked 
 hostility and terror. Now, indeed, Zetitzka felt the weight 
 of an added desolation. There was no soul in this aerial 
 prison-house to befriend her. Her thoughts fled to Dimitri. 
 There had been something about the muleteer, particularly 
 during their last interview, that set her at ease. He had 
 made no protestations of friendship, yet his strength, good- 
 humour, unspoken sympathy, all made her feel that here 
 indeed was a man on whom a woman could rely. Her 
 heart had sunk when he had been forced to leave her, and 
 now with all her might she longed for him to be again 
 by her side. His parting words still rang in her ears. 
 " Be brave," he had whispered, as she had been drawn 
 upwards into space. " Be brave. We will meet again 
 soon." 
 
 A sudden sound caused her to start and stare anxiously 
 along the corridor. Was it Petros ? But, no ; it was only 
 Brother Apostoli sauntering across the courtyard. At last 
 she heard the voice of Nicodemus addressing the young 
 monk mingled reproaches and interrogations, as it 
 seemed, to neither of which did Petros appear to make re- 
 ply. At the little bridge the elder brother left him, 
 and the sound of approaching footsteps told her to be 
 ready. 
 
 Her agitation was extreme. Only imperative necessity 
 forced her to keep her ground. As Petros drew near, 
 she stood up and, nerving herself to the encounter, opened 
 wide the door of her cell. Raising his eyes, he saw her 
 white-faced and irresolute upon the threshold. A flash 
 of guilty knowledge leapt to the eyes of both. 
 
 It is noteworthy that, next to their eyes, their hands 
 betrayed their feelings his raised suddenly to ward off 
 evil, hers pressed to her bosom to fight down timidity. 
 
 " Hear me," she whispered. The boy receded a step 
 his expression haunted her afterwards ; it was transfixed 
 with fear, with horror, and yet with something of the 
 helpless fascination with which a little bird watches the 
 advances of a snake. 
 
 " You must hear me," she said, rendered desperate. 
 " You are going to the Abbot. He will question you. 
 You must not betray me."
 
 184 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 He seemed incapable of speech unable to move or avert 
 his eyes. She wondered if he had heard. 
 
 " Do you understand? " she said breathlessly, in- 
 sistently; then, with a tremble in her voice, " Oh, Brother 
 Petros, you were my friend ! I can explain all. I will go 
 away soon. I promise it by everything holy only don't 
 betray me! " 
 
 Still he stared at her. Hollow-eyed, with disordered 
 dress, his appearance told of his night in the mountains 
 when, driven by the scourge of thought, he had stumbled 
 he scarce knew whither. 
 
 They were interrupted by an opening door. The Ab- 
 bot's voice reached them. Hastily Zetitzka receded into 
 her cell.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 " So, my son, you will tell me nothing? " 
 
 The interview had lasted some time. Petros, with 
 hands clasped behind him, stood in front of the aged 
 priest. The Abbot's face expressed disappointment. Be- 
 tween his eyebrows two perpendicular wrinkles gave the 
 impression that he was puzzled as well as grieved. 
 
 " You will tell me nothing? " he repeated in a low 
 voice. Petros looked up uneasily. His eyes encountered 
 those of the Abbot. 
 
 " I can tell no more," he burst out. " venerable 
 father, ask me not! I beseech you! " 
 
 The Abbot nodded indulgently. 
 
 " There there, my son," he said, for the boy was shak- 
 ing. " No need to distress yourself. Take time. I do 
 not question you now as your superior, but as one who 
 loves you. I see well you are distracted. It grieves me 
 sore. I have known you long sixteen years and never 
 before to-day have I seen you thus." 
 
 He paused his right hand strayed mechanically to his 
 horn snuff-box, then, as though suddenly conscious of the 
 action, dropped dejectedly to his side. Somewhat of the 
 dying radiance of day strayed through the obscure panes 
 of the little window. Everything in the cell stood clearly 
 out, from the agony upon the suspended cross, to the hand- 
 ful of faded poppies flaunting their withered scarlet against 
 the grey of the wall. This fleeting light was like the smile 
 of the dying brightest before death. The silence was 
 full of sadness. 
 
 The Abbot continued seriously: 
 
 " You fled from Lavra before dawn, leaving Angelos to 
 face the descent alone. You wandered among the moun- 
 tains, all day, it would seem, without rest and without 
 food. At length, impelled by an awakening sense of duty, 
 you returned to Barlaam." 
 
 185
 
 186 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Petros muttered an affirmative. The Abbot became 
 graver. 
 
 " You have no excuse to offer no reason to give? " 
 
 Petros shook his head. 
 
 The Abbot continued: "To me is your conduct very 
 strange so unlike the lad I know. I I cannot under- 
 stand." He gazed with unaffected anxiety into the down- 
 cast young face before him; fingered his beads absently; 
 then, as though struck by an idea, he leaned forward. 
 
 ' ' Did you see aught in Lavra ? " he whispered in an 
 awestruck voice. Petros started, then flushed crimson. 
 
 " Aught evil or forbidden? " suggested the Abbot fear- 
 fully. 
 
 The boy stared speechless into his superior's face. Con- 
 viction fell suddenly upon the Abbot. Was not the place 
 of evil repute? Brother Apostoli's adventure flashed to 
 his mind, as well as many tales spread by the peasants. 
 And he had allowed these two boys to visit it! Much he 
 blamed himself. Why had he doubted? Were not Holy 
 Writings full of such tales? In the fulness of his peni- 
 tence, he burst forth: 
 
 ' ' My poor lad ! Nay, no need to speak. I see I see. 
 My relic has availed naught; yet it is of extreme potency, 
 and was blessed by a bishop. Alack! 'tis very plain a 
 devil has appeared unto you, possessing your weak body, 
 and driving you forth into the wilderness." 
 
 Petros listened with downcast head, tortured by an 
 hysterical desire to laugh. 
 
 " But we will cast him out," continued the simple old 
 man, eagerly. " Yea, we will cast him out. Now, God 
 be praised that you have returned to us. That is already 
 much. ' ' 
 
 In the silence that ensued, Petros heard the muffled click 
 of beads. The dusk had fallen: the bowed head of the 
 Abbot with its tonsure and long hair, became every mo- 
 ment less visible. Again the old man spoke. 
 
 ' ' The anxiety you have caused us, my son, is as nothing 
 to the wrong you have under evil influence, I wot, but 
 none the less certainly inflicted upon another." 
 
 Petros raised his head quickly. 
 
 " Brother Angelos. . . . Yes, he might have been 
 killed."
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 187 
 
 " Killed!" 
 
 " Assuredly! Did you not know? He fell from the 
 ladders, and now, even as we speak, lies grievously wounded 
 in his cell. ' ' 
 
 " But but " 
 
 " Ah, you are confounded and without speech. So is 
 it ever with those possessed. You have acted selfishly 
 cruelly as one distraught, knowing not evil from good. 
 Thank God, Who in His goodness gives you a chance of 
 redeeming your unworthy actions. Rejoice, my son; be 
 of good cheer. I give Angelos into your charge. For 
 his sake I grant you permission to enter his cell by night 
 as well as by day. The lad is ill feverish and in pain; 
 be to him a good Samaritan, nursing him with love and 
 all brotherly tenderness. So will the memory of your 
 
 offence be forgotten. Now " He passed a hand across 
 
 his eyes. " I am weary, and fain would sleep. Good- 
 night, my son. Well ? Did you not hear ? Saint Barlaam ! 
 what is this? " 
 
 Petros had fallen to his knees. 
 
 " Venerable father," he cried, grasping the hem of the 
 Abbot's fur-edged cassock with both hands, " I entreat I 
 implore you not to make me do this thing ! ' ' 
 
 Desperately in earnest, his voice rose in supplication. 
 The old man stared, speechless. 
 
 " I I cannot, I may not, say more. If it were my 
 
 own secret But my tongue is tied. It must be that I 
 
 am possessed by a devil. Nay, not as you imagine. Be- 
 think you, would I act thus of my own free will ? Great 
 God ! no ! ' ' He made a hard, wringing motion of the 
 hands; then, with fresh vehemence: " O venerable father, 
 be merciful ! ' ' 
 
 The Abbot was overwhelmed. The distress of the young 
 suppliant seemed to shake the little cell, filling it with a 
 breath from the turbulent world of unrestrained emotion, 
 strangely at variance with its atmosphere of ancient peace. 
 It agitated the old man painfully, stirring in his aged 
 body the memory of passions overcome by prayer, of 
 youth conquered by the years. His heart went out to the 
 boy. He seemed to see himself in this young, impulsive 
 nature that took the little things of life so seriously him- 
 self, how long ago ! Had he acted as his affection dictated,
 
 188 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 he would at once have given way, but the responsibility of 
 his office brooked no weakness. His duty was plain. 
 Obedience, implicit and silent, bound all within the monas- 
 tery. So stringent was this rule that it was never ques- 
 tioned. The Abbot's amazement was but the more com- 
 plete. 
 
 Petros, however, mistook his silence for vacillation. 
 
 " Send Brother Nicodemus," he proposed eagerly. 
 " For him will there be no danger." 
 
 The naivete of the request brought a smile to the Abbot's 
 face. He called to mind that in many ways Petros was 
 still a child. 
 
 " Tut, tut! my little son," he remonstrated, patting him 
 on the shoulder; "your looks are wild, your words are 
 naught but foolishness. ' Send Brother Nicodemus,' say 
 you and wherefore? If it be wrong for you, it will be 
 wrong for him likewise. Bethink you; to tend the sick 
 is enjoined on us by the dear Lord Himself. Nay, I am 
 too lenient. But 'tis the foul fiend speaking within you. 
 He abhors good actions. Now, no more words, but do 
 even as I tell you, for holy obedience ' sake. ' ' 
 
 The futility of further argument struck Petros with con- 
 sternation. For the first time in his life it awoke in him 
 a spirit of rebellion, of impotent despair similar to that 
 which goads a wild animal on finding itself trapped. Re- 
 spect for his superior and life-long training sealed his lips. 
 His eyes, however, betrayed the state of his mind. 
 
 The Abbot rose to his feet: tall and erect no longer a 
 frail old man, but the soul of authority made visible. Be- 
 fore his steady dominant gaze the eyes of the poor boy 
 fell abashed; his head drooped to his chest. 
 
 " Rise, my son," said the Abbot, quietly. Petros 
 obeyed. The Abbot placed his hands upon the young 
 monk's shoulders. 
 
 " Shall I tell you somewhat? " he asked. 
 
 A muffled affirmative answered him. 
 
 " It has ever been my great hope," began the aged 
 priest, with unusual gravity, " that on no distant day, 
 when I have gone, you may be even as I am now an 
 abbot. 'My son, I have watched you trained you, with 
 God knows how much love and fear. To no one else in 
 the monastery could I leave the work of my life, stead-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 189 
 
 fast in the assured hope that, with the dear Lord's as- 
 sistance, all will be well as well, nay, perchance better, 
 than it is now. But youth is impetuous a straw in the 
 wind of the world. ' ' 
 
 He paused. His eyes, resting on the downcast face, 
 grew wistful in their anxiety yearning to help, yet pa- 
 thetically conscious of the gulf of years. He continued: 
 
 ' ' When you are the Abbot of Barlaam, my son, you will 
 understand. For the present, be assured that what I com- 
 mand is best, and ' ' he paused again to give his words full 
 weight " must be obeyed. Now go. Take Brother An- 
 gelos his supper." 
 
 Ten minutes later Zetitzka was aroused by a timid 
 knocking. Upon her answering, someone appeared in the 
 low doorway who, though all but unrecognisable in the 
 dusk, she instinctively felt to be Petros. 
 
 Her heart beat very fast. An unconquerable shyness 
 sealed her lips. The obscurity seemed powerless to hide 
 her. 
 
 Trembling and with downcast eyes she waited nervously 
 for what he might say or do. There followed a long and 
 disconcerting silence. Then Zetitzka heard the clatter 
 of a tray hastily set down. The door closed in sudden 
 panic as it seemed, for the sound of flying footsteps came 
 to her, receding faint and ever fainter into the distance.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ' ' THE venerable father says he is possessed by a devil. ' ' 
 
 Nicodemus spoke in a hushed and awestruck voice, ad- 
 dressing Brothers Gerasimos and Philemon. The three 
 monks were seated on the wooden bench that ran round 
 the tower of the windlass. Before them and below, the 
 gorges swam in sunlight ; behind, the rude capstan extended 
 its four gaunt arms. The net used for the ascent lay on 
 the floor, while close by was to be seen the clumsy iron 
 hook fastened to the end of the rope. 
 
 The brethren, side by side, all clad in rusty black, and 
 slow in movement, resembled aged crows. 
 
 At the remark of Nicodemus, his friends crossed them- 
 selves with grave faces. 
 
 " Verily, he is much changed," croaked Gerasimos, wag- 
 ging a mournful head. 
 
 ' ' He has even lost interest in bulbs, ' ' wheezed Philemon, 
 biting black nails. 
 
 ' ' I am sorry for the lad, ' ' said Gerasimos, ' ' truly sorry. 
 He cheered us. I love him. Yea, I miss his young laugh. 
 The venerable father did wisely to command that he be 
 treated as usual. Devils must not be crossed rashly, but 
 with many pious precautions. ' ' He spat thoughtfully into 
 space, rubbed his ragged moustache with the back of his 
 hand, and continued : "I confess to ye twain that I was in 
 high hopes to expose the foul fiend this very morning. I 
 beguiled our dear afflicted brother into a corner and read 
 to him a murder case out of the Neon Asty. ' If it be a 
 real devil,' thought I craftily, ' it will rejoice over murder.' 
 But, no. The lad gazed at me the while with a lack-lustre 
 eye." 
 
 " You take too much interest in murders," reproved 
 Nicodemus. 
 
 " They make my flesh creep," said Gerasimos simply. 
 
 Nicodemus scowled. " Flesh was made to mortify, not 
 
 190
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 191 
 
 to creep. But were I Abbot of Barlaam, I would inflict a 
 grievous penance. The lad's inattention during service is 
 a scandal. Did neither of you twain notice it? " 
 
 " Ay, did we," corroborated Philemon eagerly. " And 
 so did the venerable father. I caught him looking often, 
 in sorrow as it would seem, for he made two mistakes in the 
 6th Hour." 
 
 "So he did," assented Gerasimos, stroking his beard. 
 " So he did. But methought it was the fault of his eye- 
 sight, for it fails him sadly, in spite of his spectacles. ' ' 
 
 "Spectacles!" Nicodemus ejaculated with harsh in- 
 tolerance. " I marvel much that the Abbot maketh use of 
 such worldly things. I have no need of them. I take it 
 we were born without spectacles." 
 
 He faced the others triumphantly, with the air of one 
 who clinches an argument. 
 
 " Polycala! " ejaculated Gerasimos. " How clearly and 
 well you expound anything that is not Scripture, Brother 
 
 Nicodemus and yet " 
 
 4 Yet, what?" 
 
 " We were born without clothes, you remember." 
 
 " I do not remember," said Nicodemus sulkily. 
 
 " The eggs were good to-day," remarked Philemon, after 
 a pause, during which all three sat without moving, their 
 eyes fixed dreamily upon the ravine. Gerasimos turned 
 his head indolently, like an old tortoise sunning itself in the 
 heat. 
 
 " One pistevo and one paternoster," said he drowsily, 
 " that is the time to boil a good egg." 
 
 " They say two pistevos at Meteoron," mused Philemon, 
 " but that is because the Hegoumenos likes his eggs hard." 
 
 " Did you notice Brother Stephanos at breakfast? " 
 struck in Nicodemus, his voice warming with devout en- 
 thusiasm. " He ate naught." 
 
 " The more for us," murmured Gerasimos. 
 
 Nicodemus turned upon him. 
 
 " You pervert my meaning. You make a god of your 
 stomach carnal-minded, lusting ever after the flesh-pots of 
 Egypt." 
 
 " Nay, I never think of Egypt," returned Gerasimos 
 composedly. 
 
 " Peace, my brethren." Philemon raised a dirty hand.
 
 192 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " This is not seemly. Leave it to lads like Petros and 
 Angelos to quarrel." 
 
 " Bethink you they have quarrelled? " 
 
 " Beyond a doubt. Were they not aforetime ever to- 
 gether, even as David and Jonathan? And now, as I 
 passed by the dormitories, I chanced on Brother Petros 
 with a tray and a white face, evidently of two minds 
 whether he should enter or no." 
 
 " And did he? " inquired both monks, with insatiable 
 curiosity. 
 
 11 He did, for I watched; but he was out of the cell 
 before you could doff your cassock." 
 
 " I never doff mine," commented Gerasimos. 
 
 Philemon scratched himself thoughtfully. " Something 
 ought to be done," he said, shaking his head. " If, per- 
 adventure, the Abbot be unable to exorcise the evil spirit, 
 Brother Stephanos might prevail. For I hold it is not 
 safe that it be allowed to roam about seeking whom it may 
 devour. ' ' 
 
 " Surely you confuse," piped Gerasimos eagerly. 
 " That is the work of a loose devil, not of an imprisoned 
 one." 
 
 "It is all one I make no distinction between fiends. 
 The holy fathers made none, and that is good enough for 
 me."^ 
 
 This, being sound doctrine, was hailed with an approv- 
 ing chorus of "Polycalas! "
 
 CHAPTER XXVIH 
 
 PETBOS, bare-headed, bare-footed, and ungirt, was seated 
 upon the precipice brink above the ladders. 
 
 Suddenly a shadow sailed across the face of the sun. 
 Raising his head listlessly, the boy saw his friend the 
 eagle poise itself gracefully on extended wings, hover a 
 moment with talons outstretched, then alight within a 
 dozen yards. A moment of intent, keen-eyed, questioning 
 inspection, then the bird, visibly reassured, waddled closer, 
 its ungainly movements on the rocks contrasting ludicrously 
 with its superb and easy mastery of the air. 
 
 Petros had won as much of its fierce, suspicious, and un- 
 tamable heart as it had deigned to bestow, won it by self- 
 effacement, patience, sympathy, quiet movement, and tit- 
 bits begged from the monastic kitchen or saved from his 
 own meals. He was fond of birds Saint Francis had 
 preached to them. They brought out certain tender and 
 lovable qualities in the lad's nature, thereby fulfilling a 
 duty to him which humanity had neglected. And in return 
 for tranquil observation these shy and capricious little 
 people of heaven and earth had ended by accepting him 
 almost as one of themselves. 
 
 But upon this occasion, after the first indifferent glance, 
 Petros took no notice of the eagle, but sat with his eyes 
 resting upon the distance, lost in thought. The bird ceased 
 to approach. For a moment it, too, gazed into the dis- 
 tance; then, with a sudden staccato movement, it bent its 
 head, sharpened its beak upon its claws, and began to preen 
 its plumage. 
 
 The face of the young man looked grey in the strong 
 light, worn with distress of mind and want of sleep. Con- 
 science upbraided him continually. Every moment seemed 
 to add to his sin. He would have to tell all to the Abbot 
 in the hour of confession; but, having been to confession 
 upon the day preceding that of his visit to Lavra, it was 
 13 193
 
 194 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 not imperative that lie should again confess for three, or 
 even four weeks. This, however, in no wise exonerated 
 him in his own mind, for there was a tacit understanding 
 in the monastery that should a monk have aught upon his 
 conscience he must unbosom himself without delay. 
 
 Like one in a dream, Petros gazed around. There, bask- 
 ing in the keen sunlight, were the ancient walls of Bar- 
 laam. Every seam and fissure visible, they resembled aged 
 faces seen in the unflattering mirror of the morning. 
 The boy looked at them with a dull wonder. Was this 
 indeed Barlaam? It seemed strangely unfamiliar; the 
 eagle likewise, the opposing cliffs, and the gorge down 
 there, still in shadow. He wondered why. The feeling 
 of comfortable and light-hearted familiarity with his sur- 
 roundings had gone, everything appeared to be alienated, 
 estranged. 
 
 Particularly was this the case with Barlaam. In his 
 imaginative and boyish way making of it, indeed, a sort 
 of lonely game Petros had often amused himself with pre- 
 tending that the monastery possessed a personality; that 
 it, like its inmates, was capable of likes and dislikes. 
 Its different aspects at different hours furthered this fanci- 
 ful idea. Unlike his fellow-monks, Petros was keenly alive 
 to the thought that generations of brethren, extending 
 like a human chain far back into the past, had lived 
 where he lived. This fact endowed the silent little monas- 
 tery with an atmosphere of mystery and romance. It also 
 made the place human and endearing ; for was not his 
 existence but a continuation of theirs? Hitherto Barlaam 
 had always seemed to smile upon this young dreamer of 
 dreams; even on grey days, or nights of storm, its sup- 
 posed mental attitude was kindly, protective, almost pa- 
 ternal. 
 
 But now the spirit he had so lightly evoked became a 
 terror. In spite of the benediction of sunlight, the monas- 
 tery appeared to frown, to threaten, to denounce. It 
 knew! Not a stone but cried sacrilege. The tiled roof of 
 the dormitory a shimmer of golden-red stained with 
 shades of various green seemed to stand out and away 
 from the rest in shuddering notoriety. She was there ! 
 
 It is impossible to trace all the thoughts that chased 
 each other through the young monk's mind as he sat mo-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 195 
 
 tionless upon the precipice brink, a prey to conflicting and 
 often entirely contradictory emotions. To essay to do so 
 would be as bewildering a task as that of an artist who 
 might endeavour to sketch some wild mountain scene in 
 swirling mist. 
 
 An obstinate denial of facts held first place. Angelos 
 was a boy! Petros dwelt upon their former intimacy, 
 eagerly recalling every boyish trait, persistently ignoring 
 all that was unmistakably feminine, till he almost persuaded 
 himself that nothing had changed. 
 
 " Angelos, the lad he had so often scolded and patron- 
 ised, the boy he had wrestled with in the Catholicon! A 
 woman! It was absurd." 
 
 Then the memory of Lavra flashing into his mind, 
 trenchant, incontrovertible, his castle of disbelief tumbled 
 about his ears. 
 
 And yet it was impossible to dissociate this enemy, this 
 " woman " from the boy he had made his friend. He had 
 come to know this lay brother so well. He had only to 
 close his eyes and he could see the familiar figure in the 
 dingy tunic; the short, lustrous, wavy, black hair that 
 seemed for ever rebelling against the conventional cap; 
 the face, olive-tinted, with the indefinable expression of one 
 who has known sorrow, and the great mournful eyes. Even 
 her occasional bitterness was attributed to the unknown in- 
 jury that caused her to appear at times hard and unbe- 
 lieving, and translated in the lad's mind into an additional 
 cause for sympathy. Yes, Petros knew and heartily liked 
 every trait; ay, and every tone of the voice, soft and 
 serious, with its slightly foreign accent. They were as 
 pleasantly familiar to him as the snuffle of Brother 
 Gerasimos, or the benevolent smile of the Abbot, things com- 
 fortably safe in this world of danger and now he was sud- 
 denly asked to hold them in abhorrence! 
 
 Gradually a doubt grew within his mind the first that 
 had ever attacked him. If Angelos were a woman, were 
 women really as evil as he had been led to believe? He 
 gasped as this unexpectedly occurred to him, then earnestly, 
 conscientiously, set himself to probe further. One by one 
 he recalled and pondered over her actions, even her looks, 
 seeking to discover wickedness, but finding only allurement 
 and charm. Little by little he fell under the spell of these
 
 196 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 reminiscences, remembering many an incident that at the 
 time had seemed to him unimportant, but now became 
 momentous and endowed with unexpected fascination. Un- 
 consciously they wooed him into a tender and pensive 
 reverie; and, as he sat immersed in dreams, his eyes lost 
 their anxiety and the lines of care all but vanished from 
 his brow. 
 
 Then all at once, with a start, he recalled his wicked- 
 ness and his concealment of sin. In a thrill of horror he 
 crossed himself, then fell to praying aloud. And again, 
 his prayer ceasing as suddenly as it had begun, his beads 
 fell from his listless fingers, and longingly, yet fearfully 
 as one fascinated against his will he gazed towards the 
 shimmering dormitory. 
 
 The eagle edged closer. His bright unwinking eyes 
 fastened themselves with a fierce impatience upon this un- 
 accountably-dilatory purveyor of monastic tit-bits. Then 
 angrily as a man might shrug protesting shoulders he 
 fluffed out his feathers. 
 
 Petros looked at his friend vacantly, yet finding in his 
 silent presence a certain odd and companionable sympathy. 
 His air of proud aloofness reminded him of Angelos. He 
 knew by experience that he had only to raise an abrupt 
 arm for the bird, apparently so confiding, to betray alarm. 
 Vaguely he wondered if the eagle also were a fiend in 
 disguise. 
 
 What was she doing what thinking as hour by hour 
 she lay alone in her cell? What did women think about? 
 But barely had he formulated the question than he shrank 
 from an inquiry so depraved; and yet, at the very next 
 moment, he scoffed at himself; for, after all, it was only 
 Angelos, whose thoughts he knew to resemble his own in 
 their longing for sympathy and companionship. But no 
 he again recoiled it was in very deed one of the for- 
 bidden sex who had penetrated to the monastery fraud- 
 ulently, deceiving all, even the venerable father, doubtless 
 with evil intent ; perhaps a fair seductress like the woman 
 who had tempted the worthy Saint Paphnutius. How 
 ran the legend? To get rid of her the saint burned 
 off his right hand; the woman fell dead; he prayed, and 
 she returned to life, and became a nun. 
 
 Again he looked towards the monastery. Not a soul was
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 197 
 
 in sight. All was quiet. The brethren were in their cells. 
 Was she also asleep? The Abbot had given him leave to 
 enter her cell at all hours; but thus far, beyond thrusting 
 her food within her door, he had not availed himself of 
 
 the permission. But now ? Was it not his duty to 
 
 see that no further evil happened to the monastery ? With 
 a woman one never knew. He would fain, also, com- 
 pare her with his recollection of the boy he had known. 
 He would just peep in. Peradventure she slept. And if 
 awake, he could always run away ; ay, or make the sign of 
 the blessed cross. 
 
 Rising to his feet, he walked slowly in the direction of 
 the dormitories.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE impulse carried Petros as far as the little bridge 
 that connected the court with the dormitory gallery. Upon 
 it he paused irresolute. Had the girl's cell been a lion's 
 den it is doubtful whether the boy would have suffered 
 from such an entire evaporation of courage. His imagina- 
 tion, fed upon the supernatural, intensified his fear. 
 Everything conspired to fan it. A sudden greyness, as a 
 cloud trailed its shadow over the heights, became to him 
 the frown of an all-seeing God. 
 
 At her door he paused again. Listening intently, he 
 could hear no sound. Opening the door stealthily, he 
 peeped in. 
 
 Zetitzka was lying on her divan. For the first time 
 since that unexpected meeting in the corridor Petros 
 voluntarily looked at her. Everything about her, from her 
 little naked feet to her unconfined hair, seemed different, 
 and as if it had acquired a new and subtle significance. 
 
 Her eyes were closed, but he could see her face nestling 
 in the soft black cloud of her short hair. It looked white 
 and drawn. It affected him. He had not expected it to 
 look like this. His fear greatly diminished. 
 
 Still he peered, standing in the passage ready for im- 
 mediate flight, his body bent forward, supporting himself 
 with one hand upon the lintel, not daring to breathe. But 
 Zetitzka did not move. The cell was shadowy and retired, 
 full of cloistered quiet, slumbrous yet cool in the warm 
 hush of the summer noon, infinitely peaceful. It seemed 
 impossible to associate it with the presence of aught evil. 
 
 Petros was thinking swiftly. She was like Angelos 
 yet not like Angelos. He could not have told the differ- 
 ence. Of course, she had to conceal her real name. He 
 wondered what it was. And her sorrow ? Did devils have 
 sorrows ? To be a devil at all must be matter sufficient for 
 sorrow ! But she did not look like a devil. Ah, that was 
 
 198
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 199 
 
 the wile of the evil one; Brother Nicodemus had often 
 dwelt on that. With fascinated curiosity he watched her, 
 swayed mentally this way and that. The wickedness of 
 her ! To dare to pollute Barlaam ! The effrontery ! To pass 
 herself off as a boy, to deceive everyone! Yet she looked 
 neither wicked nor bold, only pathetic and lonely, lying 
 there with anxiety and suffering imprinted upon her white 
 face. The more he studied her, the more she reminded 
 him of Angelos; and the more his fears diminished. 
 Memories rushed to his mind, of how he had been obliged 
 to assist her on the ladders her dependence upon him 
 in countless ways her bewilderment when he had ex- 
 plained her duties in the Catholicon. All, by ascribing to 
 her the reassuring characteristic of helplessness, conspired 
 to restore his courage. Other memories, too, came crowd- 
 ing to him : her winning sympathy and companionship ; her 
 sadness and the haunting appeal of her great wistful eyes ; 
 the touching quality of her gaiety, a sunny flicker that 
 came and went, requiring to be coaxed into life, an un- 
 obtrusive echo of his own. 
 
 Suddenly remorse and shame caused his face to flush. 
 She was ill lonely in pain his fault! The Abbot was 
 right, as ever; he had acted selfishly. His desertion of 
 this companion who suffered so bravely and in silence 
 struck him for the first time as cowardice. She had but 
 him in the monastery, she had entreated him to befriend 
 her, and he had fled her presence; thrust her food within 
 her cell as if she were a wild beast ; and now he was spying 
 upon her privacy with unworthy curiosity. In swift con- 
 trition, he flung the door open to its widest. 
 
 With a start, Zetitzka opened her eyes. Petros was 
 standing on the threshold. His figure, black against the 
 flood of light, exhaled a faint odour of incense. She looked 
 up at him with troubled, questioning eyes, flinging at the 
 same time a coarse rug over her naked feet. 
 
 " Do do you want for aught? " he stammered. 
 
 Her negative scarcely reached him. At one bound all 
 his fears had returned. Everything about her, from her 
 hands to her voice, proclaimed her sex the sex that he had 
 been taught all his life to hold in abhorrence. She was 
 fully as embarrassed as he. 
 
 " Will you not be seated! " she faltered.
 
 200 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 "Nay! " he cried. 
 
 She did not speak again, and he was beyond speech, 
 every thought seemed too alarming for words. They faced 
 each other in a long silence that was full of constraint. 
 The old ease, the old familiarity of intercourse had gone. 
 They had become clouds of inexpressible feeling towards 
 each other. 
 
 Zetitzka feigned to be interested in the pattern of her 
 divan-cover, but in reality she was thinking with an almost 
 painful intensity. More prominent even than the in- 
 describable relief that came with the certainty that he had 
 kept her secret, was the sensation of alliance connected 
 with this young monk. This new factor in their rela- 
 tionship brought him alarmingly near. It bound his fate 
 to hers. She could never again think of him with indif- 
 ference. Swiftly Zetitzka was realising one of the pro- 
 foundest truths of life, that the closest tie between two 
 human beings is a bond of secrecy upon a thing which 
 vitally and fatefully concerns both or either. This bond 
 had brought about a sense of intimacy in one night which 
 years might not have accomplished; for in touching the 
 chord of a secret and mutual experience, it made each feel 
 that they had gone deep into each other's lives, and that 
 these lives would retain this impression for ever. 
 
 Gradually, too, new feelings, all connected with this boy, 
 were introducing themselves into Zetitzka 's mind. 
 
 Dimly she recognised how much it must have cost him, 
 a monk, to keep her secret how deeply he had offended 
 against monastic laws and against his own conscience 
 and all for her, to save her, the enemy of his order, a 
 woman! Inexpressibly touched, inexpressibly grateful, a 
 wave of some new emotion surged up in her heart. This 
 unlooked-for chivalry filled her with wonder and admira- 
 tion, with a sense of confidence, of dependence, of touching 
 and vital obligation. 
 
 But Petros, all unaware of her thoughts, stood riveted 
 to the spot. His fingers twitched nervously upon his beads. 
 His throat was dry. He knew he ought to flee yet was 
 conscious of a guilty inclination to remain. Had she cast 
 a spell over him? for these alarming sensations must 
 surely be of the devil. His mind, working in its old 
 groove, tried to think of a prayer, but could not. It tried
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 201 
 
 also to feel appropriate horror and repugnance; but that 
 also failed. He could do nothing but stand before her, his 
 whole, shrinking, fascinated soul within his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly Zetitzka moved, and, fearful lest he should 
 again encounter her gaze, Petros looked hastily at the 
 door. The tray which he had brought an hour ago at- 
 tracted his attention. 
 
 "Saint Barlaam!" he ejaculated. "You have eaten 
 naught! " Then, forgetful of his resolve, and looking full 
 at her, " You must eat, or you will become ill." 
 
 The unconscious solicitude in his voice brought about 
 that which neither pain nor anxiety had been able to ac- 
 complish. Zetitzka 's mouth trembled, and her eyes filled 
 with tears. She felt the emotion rising, and fought hard 
 to conquer it ; but it was beyond her control. In her feeble 
 state she could not keep back her tears, and was dis- 
 tressingly conscious of them trickling one by one down 
 her cheeks. In sudden confusion she averted her head, 
 for the young monk swam in a blurred mist, and for naught 
 in the world would she have had him witness her dis- 
 tress. 
 
 But he saw it. It affected him deeply. It finished what 
 her fascination and her mystery had begun. Not that 
 alone, but the sight of her sorrow disarmed him of his only 
 weapon by robbing him of the fear that had been his 
 one safeguard. In a flash the woman, that to his mind 
 constituted the danger, vanished, to give place to a human 
 being, lonely, helpless, and in pain, seeking only to conceal 
 her unhappiness. A great tenderness of compassion welled 
 up in his heart. 
 
 " Weep not," he implored. His voice shook, and, near- 
 ing her timidly, he stretched forth a hand. 
 
 But Zetitzka did not respond. In the dead hush of the 
 cell the sound of her grief was pathetically audible. She 
 seemed to have forgotten him. 
 
 Petros gazed at her in consternation. He longed to com- 
 fort her, yet knew not what to say. Why was she 
 crying? Was it because she was wicked? But, man- 
 like, he refused to believe that aught so fair to look upon 
 could be evil. Little by little he began to take an uncon- 
 scious pleasure in looking at her. Her hand masked her 
 eyes, for which he was grateful, but her tremulous mouth
 
 202 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 and the long curve of her throat set his heart beating in- 
 explicably. Unversed in women's looks, he had no 
 standard of beauty whereby to measure her; but com- 
 parison had no place in his thoughts. He did not even 
 realise that she was beautiful. He forgot why he had 
 come; forgot his wickedness and distress of mind, forgot 
 his fear, and her disguise, forgot everything except that she 
 was there. 
 
 At length Zetitzka spoke. She did not look at him, re- 
 strained by a feeling of unconquerable shyness. Her words 
 awoke him as from a trance. What was she saying ? That 
 she could never thank him enough. That as soon as she 
 could move she would go away. 
 
 The latter was the only thing that seemed momentous. 
 It struck him with consternation. Its meaning suddenly 
 dawned upon him, not with relief as he had expected 
 but with an unimaginable vacancy of prospect. 
 
 " But but you cannot be moved yet! " he protested. 
 " In a week or a month 
 
 " Are you in pain? " he added quickly, for her face 
 had contracted. Then, as the wound in her head, from 
 which the bandage had fallen, caught his eye: " Holy 
 Saint Basil ! your hair is matted with blood. ' ' 
 
 Her indifference to the injury stirred him to fresh pro- 
 testations. 
 
 " Saint Barlaam! yes. It must have been like this 
 since yesterday. How I have neglected you ! But that is 
 over, thank God ! ' ' 
 
 Eagerly, with a temporary return of his old boyish man- 
 ner, he proposed various monastic remedies ' '* potent and 
 high-excelling," as he quaintly phrased it warmly recom- 
 mended an ointment made from rats ' bones and blessed by a 
 bishop, which, he gravely affirmed, had cured Brother Nico- 
 demus of a grievous stomach-ache " only a week agone "; 
 and, as an alternative, that the soles of her feet should be 
 rubbed with the fat of a young dormouse. Zetitzka, upon 
 the divan, listened dubiously. 
 
 " Be of good cheer," he cried, observing her reluctance. 
 " I know of somewhat that will work a miracle. Wait; I 
 return at once." Still talking, he ran off on silent naked 
 feet. 
 
 Zetitzka awaited his return with secret apprehension.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 203 
 
 "What other strange remedies would he propose ? Her feel- 
 ing of constraint had by no means passed away. In his 
 presence she felt painfully tongue-tied, self-conscious, shy. 
 Petros, too, had changed. His former light-heartedness 
 had gone. It was as if a stranger had taken his place 
 one older, graver, and, like herself, ill at ease. The 
 change depressed her, though she accepted it as inevitable. 
 She knew well it was impossible for things to have gone 
 on as before. Yet she could not help offering up a sigh 
 to the memory of the old, gay, frank comradeship that 
 could never be again. 
 
 In a few minutes he was again with her, bringing water 
 and clean rags. 
 
 " I could not come at it," he apologised, as he set them 
 down by her side; and thereupon explained that one of 
 the relics in the Catholicon a bone of St. Thomas was 
 famous for instilling faith into unbelievers, thereby heal- 
 ing them of all ills, both temporal and spiritual; but 
 and his face fell it was in a case, of which the Abbot 
 kept the key, and being the hour for meditation, the 
 venerable father must on no account be disturbed. 
 
 With a hand which he tried in vain to steady, he set 
 to work to cleanse the wound. The blood had encrusted 
 round it, so that many applications of the wet rag were 
 necessary. Zetitzka allowed him to help her with a troubled 
 gratitude. That he, as well as Dimitri, and in much the 
 same manner, should tend her wound, struck her as strange. 
 Yet she accepted the coincidence as she accepted much that 
 occurred to her during this distressful period of her life 
 with the acquiescence of an almost pathetic resignation, 
 as though indeed she were but a straw blown hither and 
 thither by the breath of adverse destiny. 
 
 They made a strange picture in the bare little cell, these 
 two, boy and girl, he bending over her, where she lay upon 
 the couch, with anxious solicitude, she raising her pale face 
 to his with pathetic trustfulness, her eyes closed, her lips 
 compressed. 
 
 Her nearness mastered him. A subtle sweetness, like a 
 perfume, emanated from her young and wholesome woman- 
 hood. It intoxicated him. The fear lest she should notice 
 his agitation forced him to continue. But the effort was 
 almost beyond his strength.
 
 204 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 And again, as he tremblingly applied the rags, his eyes 
 were drawn from the wound to the face, fair as a flower, 
 and upturned to his. And as he gazed, the reality, the in- 
 conceivable reality, bore down upon him with a disconcert- 
 ing newness of shock, for it cried to him more forcibly 
 than any human utterance : " This is a woman! "
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 LOVE fell like a bolt from the blue upon Petros. 
 
 All that had puzzled, tantalised, even irritated him, now 
 stood revealed in a new light, rose-tinted, full of wonder 
 and fascination. "With bated breath he reviewed the past. 
 He stood aghast at the memory of his former daring, was 
 filled with sudden remorse at the recollection of his former 
 brutality. He wondered at his past self with an immense, 
 an incredulous, and at times an awestruck amazement. 
 Sweet saints! how could he have acted like that? If it 
 could all happen again ! 
 
 Nor did he accept the metamorphosis without frequent 
 protests from incredulity. There were times when it 
 seemed impossible that Zetitzka could be anything but a 
 boy: even in her presence, and while speaking to her, he 
 was tempted to fall into the old familiar form of address ; 
 and then, the truth striking him, he would pause be- 
 wildered, under the influence of his old fear, his old super- 
 stitious misgivings. But as time went on these doubts 
 became less frequent, and finally ceased. 
 
 To apprehend in its entirety the revolution that love 
 wrought in the life of Petros, it must be remembered that 
 this seed of passion had fallen on virgin soil. All these 
 years his capacity for love had been steadily gathering 
 power. It had grown with his strength, ripened with his 
 manhood. Monastic life, instead of starving, had in reality 
 fostered it. The society of the aged and unattractive had 
 but made the reaction towards youth and comeliness the 
 more inevitable. It not only entered into, but revolution- 
 ised his life. His old boyish light-heartedness and love of 
 fun gave place to a serious outlook, exaggerated possibly 
 by his youth, but which could never again become the 
 thoughtless gaiety of the past. It was, at it were, a turn- 
 ing-point in his existence, for all unconsciously he had beea 
 waiting for love and it had come. 
 
 205
 
 206 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 It had come, but the crux of the situation was that he 
 did not recognise it. His ignorance of the world of emo- 
 tion, and in particular of all that concerned the sexes, 
 was so profound that the significance of what had befallen 
 him escaped him entirely. Love? He knew it by name, 
 for it was daily on his lips. Was it not an attribute of the 
 Deity a moral force that permeated the world, linking 
 soul to soul in a golden chain of prayer and self-sacrifice ? 
 Some vague ideas of married love, it is true, hovered 
 through his brain, born of his father's devotion to his 
 mother; but marriage for him was so obviously out of the 
 question, that the mental atmosphere that made it possible 
 did not exist. 
 
 Still, this strange and troubling malady that had so un- 
 accountably attacked him preyed upon his thoughts night 
 and day. It affected his appetite, his sleep, his life. It 
 could not be explained away. In an immense and bewilder- 
 ing chaos of perplexities one thing alone stood clear it 
 emanated from Zetitzka. 
 
 But for what reason it associated itself with her puzzled 
 him entirely. He spent long hours during the services 
 in the Catholicon, and alone in his cell, striving fruitlessly 
 to understand. Her memory clung to him, even in snatches 
 of dreaming sleep. When standing in his stall between 
 Brothers Nicodemus and Gerasimos, he could no longer give 
 his attention to the reader, nor even to the Abbot. His 
 eyes strayed continually to the dark recess beyond the 
 Bema where Zetitzka had been wont to wait. To his 
 imaginative mind it still retained the haunting, elusive 
 charm of her personality. When spoken to, he would not 
 infrequently forget even to reply. 
 
 Absent from her, and particularly during the first two 
 days of his passion, he made certain he was possessed by a 
 devil ; but when with her, he firmly believed that something 
 holy had happened to him that he was inspired, that this 
 wonderful inexplicable happiness was as divine in its origin 
 as the tongues of fire that had descended upon the Apostles. 
 This latter belief, gaining ground, obtained entire posses- 
 sion of his mind. It was doubtless due to this, as well as to 
 his ignorance, that while his physical being responded in- 
 stinctively to the summons of love, his passion remained 
 pure, ascetic, spiritual.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 207 
 
 And yet, in spite of the fever, the unrest, the longing, 
 in spite even of the despair that came with thoughts of her 
 inevitable departure, there were moments that compensated 
 for everything. In these moments the heart of Petros 
 swelled : he breathed ecstasy ; everything, even the meanest 
 objects, became transfigured by the knowledge of her ex- 
 istence ; and he went about his monastic duties in the un- 
 speakable radiance of some light of his own, invisible to 
 other eyes. 
 
 The brethren, though dulled by age, and engrossed in 
 their round of trivial occupations, remarked and wondered 
 at the change. Petros did not notice them, and if he heard 
 the scraping of sandals when the monks genuflected, or 
 smelt the heavy clinging odour of incense, or saw the warm 
 quivering stain of early sunlight falling athwart the gloom 
 of the sanctuary, it was but as a background to the one 
 woman. 
 
 After the first stings of remorse, conscience ceased to 
 trouble him, so effectually had Zetitzka cast a spell over 
 his soul. Overwhelmed in the wonder of the present, he 
 rarely questioned the future. And, moreover, so beautiful 
 was this experience in his eyes, so allied to things divine, 
 that although he knew concealment to be wrong, he stifled 
 his conscience by the assurance that did the Abbot but know, 
 he, too, would be filled with rapture. 
 
 The attitude of the Abbot at this period may be judged 
 from the following conversation : 
 
 " He is in there again," mumbled Brother Nicodemus, 
 jerking his thumb towards Zetitzka 's cell. 
 
 " Ay," commented the Abbot blandly, " he cultivates 
 holy obedience. 
 
 " Even so, my son," he continued, as Nicodemus raised 
 sceptical eyebrows. " It was at first sorely against his 
 will, poor lad. But now have I good hopes. Youth is ever 
 a tonic to youth. We be old men, and no companions for 
 
 him. I remember well " And the kindly old man, 
 
 helping himself largely to snuff, told a simple tale of his 
 own youth which went far to prove his case.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE visits of Petros to Zetitzka were more frequent than 
 even the monks imagined. The first step taken, others 
 came easily. The boy, drawn to her irresistibly, could not 
 keep away. She, too, came to expect him; his visits were 
 to her the only bright spots in the long and wearisome days. 
 They wooed her from thought, from the anxiety that 
 haunted her when alone ; they gradually engrossed her, and 
 became something all-sufficing. 
 
 Being excused attendance at the Catholicon, and, indeed, 
 all monastic duties, on account of her accident, she was 
 always in her cell to welcome him. Many a quiet unin- 
 terrupted hour they had together. At five o'clock on these 
 bright summer mornings, the midnight services over, 
 Zetitzka would hear the quick step of the young monk 
 hastening along the gallery to her cell. It never disap- 
 pointed her. At eight o'clock, after the Liturgy, he 
 would again return, for a moment it might be, to inquire 
 how she was, and to tell her that breakfast would soon 
 be ready; but, standing in the doorway, he would often 
 forget the moments till roused by the call of the semantron. 
 Then, in the warm noon, during hours set apart for medita- 
 tion, when the monastery was lapped in silence and slumber, 
 they would meet again Petros, with heavy eyelids, sleep- 
 oppressed, but forgetful of all save her, until, solicitous for 
 his welfare, she would beg him to seek rest in his cell. 
 
 At first Petros, keenly alive to the danger of discovery, 
 was full of fear for her sake; but soon, rendered callous 
 by the obvious blindness of the brethren, the peril of the 
 situation ceased to trouble him, and he gave himself up 
 with his whole heart to the intoxication of the moment. 
 
 The marvel of it was with him continually. She was 
 to all appearance the Angelos whom he had known, the 
 same face, the same voice, the same costume; and yet as 
 different, in the mental attributes which he now imputed 
 
 208
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 209 
 
 to her, as day is from night. To his simple, credulous mind 
 this was nothing short of a miracle. 
 
 He awoke to her beauty. It spoke to him in many 
 ways. He marked how it lighted the dingy cell, how it 
 had power to make him forget her surroundings dear 
 saints! not her surroundings only, but the monastery, his 
 whole life, his duty, everything! When she smiled, the 
 world leapt into light when she spoke he listened en- 
 tranced, as to sweetest music. Sometimes in gazing at her, 
 as she lay on her divan, all that he had been told about 
 women would flash to his mind, causing a sudden boyish 
 heat of indignation. By Saint Barlaam, what lies it all 
 had been ! What wicked slanders ! In a burst of young and 
 generous emotion he longed to rush out and impart the 
 glad tidings to the brethren, and more especially to the 
 Abbot. They, too, had been deceived; they, too, might be 
 capable of sharing in this incomprehensible happiness! 
 
 With reverential awe his eyes would wander round her 
 cell. Everything in it spoke of her, from the couch 
 whereon she lay, to the basin on the rough box that did duty 
 for a washstand. A feeling almost as though he were com- 
 mitting a sacrilege would come over him as he noted these 
 trivial details, a sensation similar to that which had af- 
 fected him long ago when for the first time, as a priest, 
 he had entered the Holy Doors and penetrated to the Bema, 
 or inner sanctuary. Fascinated, in the newness of his 
 adoration, he would hang upon her every word. When she 
 fell silent, he would hunger for her to speak again. Her 
 faltering articulation of Greek and a way she had of pro- 
 nouncing the vowels a soft and fascinating sibilation due 
 to her Albanian accent, a peculiarity he had scarcely noted 
 before now struck him as beautiful. He could listen to 
 her for ever. Even her lay brother's tunic, ugly though 
 it was, had become transfigured. Could he but have had 
 his way he would have clad her in a robe of bright blue, 
 similar to that worn by the Blessed Virgin. Still, even in 
 that unworthy masculine garb, she looked chaste and fair 
 without doubt because she was a woman. More and 
 more he held himself in contempt for his former blindness 
 and stupidity. 
 
 Their conversation differed from the tender and egotisti- 
 cal babble of lovers conversant with the trend of their emo- 
 14
 
 210 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 tions. Upon the part of Petros it was a groping in the 
 dark, a following of blind impulses acutely conscious of their 
 physical effect, but ignorant as to their purpose; the utter- 
 ing of disjointed and even incoherent things, things so 
 entirely unpremeditated that they seemed to his supersti- 
 tious mind to be the voice of some mysterious power speaking 
 with his lips things that, when he sought to recall them 
 afterwards, fled his memory, leaving behind only a pro- 
 found self-dissatisfaction, and a mass of impressions con- 
 fused, unsystematic, and contradictory as life itself. 
 
 Upon the part of Zetitzka, hovering all unconsciously 
 on the verge of a dawning and involuntary tenderness, it 
 consisted mainly of a frank and unfeigned interest in his 
 life. She would question him about his work, take pleasure 
 in being told trivial details connected with the services, 
 refuse to see in the low moved voice of the lad, in his sud- 
 den fits of silence, in the burning intensity of his gaze, 
 an adequate reason for personal apprehension. No sus- 
 picion of the goal towards which she was hourly drifting 
 crossed her mind. In the midst of much that was still 
 alien and full of fear, this boy comforted her. He alone, 
 of all the monastic inmates, knew her secret, and was pre- 
 pared to stand her friend. There were other and more 
 personal reasons for her predilection, but Zetitzka did not 
 realise them. More than once, however, the fear lest in 
 being too much with her he was neglecting his duties caused 
 her to remonstrate; but after listening to his eager denial 
 and discovering that his visits were in accordance with the 
 expressed wish of the Abbot, she said no more, her silence 
 masking a sensation of vague though exquisite relief for 
 which she was at a loss to account. 
 
 Not that Petros was Zetitzka 's only visitor during these 
 days of confinement. The Abbot, ever thoughtful of her 
 welfare, would look in daily, and, seated beside her upon 
 the low divan, would seek to get in touch with her inner 
 life, coaxing her with a gentle and kindly sympathy into 
 the giving of her confidence. Little did the aged priest 
 realise how near he was at times to the discovery of her 
 secret, for it went to Zetitzka 's heart to deny the good old 
 man anything, and it was only by a great effort that she 
 remained irresponsive. Disguising his feelings, the Abbot 
 would turn the conversation to things temporal. His
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 211 
 
 ignorance of up-to-date medicine equalled that of Petros, 
 but he was a firm believer in relics. His disappointment, 
 when her injuries were not miraculously healed after she 
 had been induced to kiss the bone of St. Thomas, was heart- 
 felt. Looking down, through his great horn-rimmed spec- 
 tacles, upon the obstinate little ankle so nervously exposed 
 at his request, he marvelled immensely. 
 
 Her greatest apprehension was lest Stephanos should 
 come to see her. That he had no valid reason for so doing 
 being neither of a charitable nor a sociable disposition 
 made no difference to her uneasiness. Many a time did 
 her imagination torture her by picturing his sombre figure 
 darkening her doorway or his deep voice denouncing her 
 to the brethren. But her fears were without foundation. 
 The monk was too absorbed by his own thoughts, too en- 
 grossed with his austere life, to think of one so insignificant 
 as a lay brother. Sometimes, when her door stood open, 
 she would see him in the blaze of sunshine crossing the 
 court but he never came near. It was almost as though 
 he inhabited a different world. And as day followed 
 day, lulled into fancied security, there were moments and 
 even hours when, to her surprise and relief, Zetitzka almost 
 forgot him. 
 
 Certain among the brethren, however, privileged to visit 
 the invalid, would drift in occasionally. To their simple 
 minds this accident was a welcome and thoughtful dispensa- 
 tion of Providence. At first the presence of these old 
 monks embarrassed Zetitzka, accustomed as she had been 
 to privacy within her cell; but she was made to feel 
 more by their manner than by actual exhortation that 
 this was a sinful attitude, and that she should rejoice 
 greatly in that her perishable body could afford interest 
 to her elder brothers. 
 
 These old men came in time to have almost a feeling of 
 affection for the sufferer, who lay there in seemly silence, 
 gazing up at them with embarrassed eyes. They did their 
 best to lighten her loneliness. Brother Philemon solemnly 
 presented her with one of his bulbs planted in a cracked 
 jug. True, the root in question had unaccountably defied 
 the laws of nature for two years ' ' come the holy festival of 
 Saint Panteleemon, " but and here his finger wagged im- 
 pressively over the moist earth and his bleared eyes
 
 212 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 lightened one never could tell what wonderful and sub- 
 terraneous miracle might not be taking place at that very 
 moment ! 
 
 " You think too much," he would say in friendly 
 remonstrance. " Whenever I come in I behold you think- 
 ing. Nay, 'tis presumptuous! God thinks for us all. 
 Behold this bulb? Does it think? Not so, yet Solomon in 
 all his glory is not to be compared unto it. Polycala! " 
 He scraped the object in question with the long black nail 
 of his forefinger, then in tones of an almost incredulous 
 admiration, " It's all in there! " 
 
 Brother Gerasimos, too, sought to contribute to her 
 amusement. He would read her tit-bits of a gruesome 
 nature from a worn copy of the Neon-Asty, gloating over 
 them in snuffy awestruck tones ; and as he read slowly and 
 with difficulty, the little old monk would often pause with 
 open mouth and eager eyes, anticipating horror and creep- 
 ing flesh. 
 
 Sometimes one brother would meet another on the 
 threshold of her cell, and plunge straightway into some 
 time-worn theological argument. Then would Zetitzka be 
 forgotten, and the war of words would fluctuate in a desul- 
 tory manner, ruffling the ancient peace ; while, through the 
 open door, beyond their gesticulating figures, Zetitzka could 
 see the inner court shimmering in its habitual atmosphere of 
 drowsy sunlight. 
 
 When at last they wandered away they left in Zetitzka 's 
 mind bewildering and contradictory impressions. Their 
 kindness and entire absence of suspicion were an undying 
 reproach, yet she could but feel relieved that they had 
 gone, grateful for the silence that had once seemed so 
 oppressive, for, wooed by it, she could again give herself 
 up to her thoughts, and listen undisturbed for the step of 
 Petros.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ONE day after Compline the heat was greater than usual, 
 the air hung heavy even on the heights ; far over the plain 
 of Thessaly a thunderstorm growled and worried. 
 
 Zetitzka had been roused from a restless and troubled 
 sleep by the entrance of Petros. The lad was pale; in- 
 deed, his pallor and lack of appetite had become notice- 
 able of late, rousing comments even among the brethren. 
 After a few commonplaces relating to monastic affairs, they 
 fell silent. The weather affected both, though neither gave 
 it a thought beyond remarking on the unusual heat. The 
 magnetic tension in the atmosphere had affected the boy's 
 blood; and the low and distant muttering, as the storm 
 rolled sullenly westwards, struck a sympathetic note with 
 the feverish beat of his heart. 
 
 The moment was full of breathless restraint troubled 
 happiness quivered in the air; things that suggested them- 
 selves for speech seemed to either too sacred, too momen- 
 tous, for words. Suddenly it flashed to the mind of Petros, 
 with all the illuminating force of an idea occurring for 
 the first time, how ignorant he was of all that concerned the 
 past of this being who had come to fill his life. 
 
 Stirred, it may be, by some instinct of unsatisfied curi- 
 osity and possibly of undefined envy for the years that had 
 known her and in which he had no share, he suddenly broke 
 through his reserve, and entreated her to tell him something 
 anything. 
 
 Zetitzka, listening and watching from the couch, passed 
 a hand across her eyes. She had been expecting such a 
 question but not like this, not put in this tone. His eyes, 
 his voice embarrassed her, stirred something that she had 
 never felt before, even during her first meetings with 
 Stephanos. Timidly she allowed her eyes to travel from 
 his sandalled feet up the stiff folds of his cassock, to his 
 
 213
 
 214 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 boyish face, strangely moved and stamped with a great 
 seriousness. His expression touched her profoundly. 
 
 Drawing a long breath, she looked upwards at the nig- 
 gard light from the window, then downwards at the rough 
 wooden boards that composed the flooring. The cell seemed 
 all at once too small to contain the feelings that were 
 stifling her. An imperative longing for freedom seized her, 
 for some great uninhabited space where she could run away. 
 Yet, even as her mind formulated this wish, she was con- 
 scious of its insincerity for there was fascination, as well 
 as danger, in this new Petros. 
 
 But this eager young questioner had to be answered 
 Recognising the precariousness of her position, something 
 fluttered in her girl 's heart, like a frightened bird in a cage. 
 Hastily averting her eyes, she said: 
 
 " I will tell you. But not now. Perhaps to-night." 
 
 Feigned indifference lent unintentional chill to the em- 
 barrassed words. Instinctively the boy drew back. Un- 
 versed in woman's ways, and with the exaggeration of 
 youth, he feared that he had offended feared, too, that 
 he had alienated her, perhaps for ever. He longed to 
 speak, but dared not. And Zetitzka all the time lay there 
 with downcast eyes, apparently unapproachable, and lifted, 
 as he poignantly felt, far above his level. 
 
 How she had twined herself about his heart, this moun- 
 tain girl ! filling every nook and cranny with the sweetness 
 of her personality, intensely realised ; till for him there was 
 nothing in the past, nothing in the future, save the lumi- 
 nous fact of her existence ! And now it was all over ! 
 
 What was that ? It was but a word, yet it had power to 
 stop the beating of his heart. Again ? Yes. She was ask- 
 ing why he was leaving her. Leaving her ! Holy Mother 
 of God! He could have laughed aloud in the glad re- 
 vulsion of his feelings. Then she was not indifferent? 
 She cared ? She wanted him ! The cell leaped into light. 
 Joy deluged him with hope. With one bound he reached 
 her side. 
 
 " Zetitzka! "he cried. 
 
 It was the first time he had dared to pronounce her 
 name her real name, confided to him in one of their recent 
 interviews. The word rang in the profound quiet of the 
 cell. In it was heard a new note of dominance the un-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 215 
 
 conscious strength of one who trembles, yet exults in the 
 dawn of power. Breathlessly Zetitzka listened. Fear, ap- 
 prehension, reluctance, passed swift as light across the 
 shadow of her mind, paralysed and rendered impotent by 
 a delicious weakness that drugged all other feelings. 
 Slowly, and as one constrained thereto, she raised her 
 head. 
 
 The eyes of the girl, great and timid as a stag's, neither 
 black nor blue, grey nor violet, but all these shades blended 
 in a soft and velvety darkness, drew his heart irresistibly 
 as a magnet. A thrill of overpowering emotion, of whose 
 significance he knew nothing, overwhelmed him, an un- 
 dreamed-of sensation that caught him up into the zone 
 of things vital as life and inexorable as death. He stood 
 before her, incapable of movement, his breast rising and 
 falling, unable to look away. Those eyes! Those eyes! 
 They claimed his brain and his heart together. Their look 
 seemed to him afterwards, when he was capable of coherent 
 thought, to be something loud and stirring, like the voice 
 of the semantron, yet silent, intense, penetrating like prayer. 
 Nay, more, to strike Ijim as with a physical blow. Had he 
 but known it, these were but the birth-throes of love, young, 
 overwhelming, incomprehensible; love that comes but once 
 to all, bringing with it delight and sorrow, the wrench of 
 death and the pang of life, the agony of disseverance from 
 the old self, the birth of the heart instinct with new hopes, 
 new fears, new desires. 
 
 Zetitzka, utterly taken aback, was unable to avert her 
 gaze. She, too, could do nothing but stare, her flushed 
 face upturned to his, the breath coming and going with 
 effort between her parted lips. Their souls met and knew 
 each other in that long, ardent, questioning look. The 
 light within Zetitzka 's eyes passed slowly from tremulous 
 incredulity, to a warmth of dawning responsiveness, softly 
 suffused and shining in the twilight of the cell. 
 
 Thus Destiny played artfully for this girl and boy. The 
 sorrows of the one, the innocence of the other went for 
 nothing. Out of the great world of many millions of 
 human beings had they been chosen, just these two, to 
 meet and love.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THERE are periods in the lives of each one of us that are 
 remembered only as the shrine of an emotion. Periods in 
 which it may be supposed that the body breathed, ate, 
 slept; that the sun shone or the earth was veiled in rain, 
 but, all unconscious of material things, the soul looks back 
 and beholds only the heart's awakening, the brightness and 
 the glamour. 
 
 For the few, these periods are the prelude to happiness, 
 the first link in a long chain of love, the dawn of a cloud- 
 less summer day, when the sun of the heart fills every hour 
 with pure, deep joy, sinking slowly at life's evening with 
 unabated fire to the dark inevitable horizon. For the 
 many they stand alone, blinding, brief, a dream of bliss 
 too beautiful to last, welcomed with ecstasy, savoured with 
 rapture, believed in with passionate faith, relinquished with 
 agony, remembered with tears. 
 
 Such a period came to Zetitzka. 
 
 Had she been a girl with no previous experience of life, 
 she would have abandoned herself to it unconsciously, in- 
 stinctively; erring perhaps through ignorance, drifting 
 away on the enchanted tide. 
 
 But Zetitzka was a woman. Her eyes had been opened. 
 Life had seared her too deeply to make forgetfulness pos- 
 sible. Shame and remorse her constant companions had 
 made it their cruel industry to keep open the wound in- 
 flicted in the days of her innocence. Vowed to a hopeless 
 and unachievable deed of vengeance, encompassed by dan- 
 gers, yearning for her child, harassed by fears and doubts, 
 oppressed by the vicinity of Stephanos, she of all women 
 appeared triple-armed against this weakness of the heart. 
 And yet her very preoccupation had paved the way to 
 that heart's undoing. 
 
 This that had happened had come to her unexpectedly. 
 
 216
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 217 
 
 To say she was taken aback gives but a faint impression 
 of the complete shock of her surprise. 
 
 That Petros, discovering her to be a girl, would fall in 
 love with her was a contingency that had never dawned 
 upon her; his youthfulness that lagged so far behind his 
 years; as well as his calling that forbade all thought of 
 marriage making the supposition in the highest degree 
 improbable. 
 
 Engrossed with her own anxieties, she had passed with 
 unseeing eyes the boundary-line where indifference merged 
 into liking, liking into affection, affection into love. To 
 his feelings for her she had rarely given a thought. And 
 indeed, as long as he had supposed her a boy, his treat- 
 ment of her had naturally given rise to no suspicion. 
 His behaviour, during the distressful days that followed 
 their visit to Lavra being, to her mind, fully accounted for 
 by the fact that his conscience was laden with the guilt of 
 concealment. But now the scales fell from her eyes. 
 
 Her reception of the truth surprised her no less than 
 the truth itself. It complicated still further her position 
 in the monastery God knows complicated enough already ! 
 It was so hopeless so ill-advised. And yet, when it flashed 
 upon her through the eyes of Petros, her heart tremblingly 
 welcomed it as one welcomes a dear and unexpected guest 
 to a desolate house. 
 
 And what wonder, poor girl ? Zetitzka would have been 
 more, or less, than woman had not a love so pure, so 
 delicate, so virginal, and so amazingly unconscious, touched 
 her inexpressibly. In trenchant contrast to the debasing 
 passion of Stephanos, it raised her to the serene heights 
 from whence it came. It surrounded her with a mute at- 
 mosphere of worship, and while thrilling her with grati- 
 tude, yet stung her with a pang of unworthiness. More 
 it restored her faith in humanity, and re-awakened all that 
 was best in her. 
 
 And yet there was another and a darker side, which 
 forced itself upon her when she was alone, in the silence 
 of her cell. It summoned to memory her child, and the 
 vengeance to which she was bound ; it reminded her sternly 
 that Petros was a monk, and pointed out the gulf that must 
 for ever yawn between them.
 
 218 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 But her heart again became voluble, silencing all hostile 
 voices. Metaphorically, it closed its ears to warnings, and 
 its eyes to consequences. It insisted upon its right to a 
 little happiness. The cup of life held out to her dry and 
 thirsty lips was too enchanting. She was so lonely. She 
 yearned with an inexpressible craving for just this love 
 and sympathy; not for the baser side of passion her soul 
 sickened at the humiliating recollection but for the ideal 
 and spiritual of which her nature had hitherto been 
 starved. 
 
 And here was that for which she had been pining; here, 
 at her feet; here, in excess, offered spontaneously, uncon- 
 sciously, a gift free and unconsidered as sunshine! And 
 even as a flower, tempest-tossed through the passage of 
 many darkened days, instinctively expands its petals to 
 sunlight, so did Zetitzka open her heart to love.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A FIRM step broke unexpectedly upon the silence. The 
 old and rickety woodwork of the corridor creaked com- 
 plainingly. So accustomed was it to being patted by soft 
 and shuffling footfalls that this free masterful stride made 
 every plank cry out. 
 
 Zetitzka, startled from some dream of thought, listened 
 while the sound was yet far off. Expectation imparted a 
 fugitive colour to her face and the light of hope to her eyes. 
 But as the footsteps neared, then paused, and the sound 
 of conversation terminating in a gay laugh reached her 
 ears, her disappointment voiced itself in a sigh. It was 
 only Dimitri. 
 
 She had been expecting the muleteer, for something 
 told her that he was a man of his word. But coming, as 
 he did, on just this wonderful day of days, she more than 
 half-wished him away. This, while he was yet unseen. 
 But when he stood before her the sight of his burly frame 
 and genial open countenance so recalled the memory of 
 his former kindness that she accused herself of ingrati- 
 tude. 
 
 Impulsively she stretched out both hands, then withdrew 
 them nervously. 
 
 Dimitri 's laugh was that of a man who seeks to conceal 
 an emotion. 
 
 " How then! Am I not worth a handshake? Ah, that 
 is better! Well, how goes it? " 
 
 It occurred to neither that his manner of shaking hands 
 might be more gallant than was to be looked for in a 
 muleteer accosting a lay-brother, Dimitri 's grasp was of 
 a piece with his personality. An unaccountable feeling of 
 safety passed from his fingers through those of Zetitzka. 
 
 " Well, how goes it? " he repeated in a big resonant 
 voice tuned only to hills and open air. As he spoke he 
 beamed upon her interrogatively. Then, as though already 
 
 219
 
 220 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 answered : ' ' But I need not ask. By Saint Barlaam ! 
 you look better already. They must be famous doctors, 
 these monks." 
 
 Zetitzka found nothing to say. But at his words, and 
 more perhaps at his tone, which had the warmth of an 
 ill-disguised admiration, into the clear olive of her cheeks 
 there stole a flush of colour. This delicate heightening of 
 her complexion was like the quick flutter of a danger signal 
 her sex sending messages of distress along the current of 
 her blood. 
 
 But it was at her eyes that Dimitri looked. " Where 
 the devil," thought he, " did they learn that look! " And 
 little wonder that he stood amazed, for they were lumi- 
 nous with a magical light both soft and dreamful; the 
 eyes of a woman whose heart is whispering secrets to her, 
 who gazes full at some incredible happiness invisible to 
 others. 
 
 The muleteer had thought much about her since they 
 had parted in the ravine. Her presence in Barlaam still 
 puzzled him immensely. A rollicking appreciation of the 
 humour of the situation still lurked in his mind without 
 which, indeed, he would not have been Dimitri visible 
 in a half-suppressed twinkle; but as he looked at her 
 lying on the rude couch, so strangely incongruous with her 
 surroundings, incongruous despite the lay-brother 's costume, 
 amusement was lost in amazement. 
 
 " By the saints! " he blurted suddenly. " If they knew 
 you were a woman " 
 
 He broke off, instantaneously aware of his indiscretion. 
 For a moment Zetitzka stared at him aghast. Then 
 Dimitri, watching her intently, saw the warm colour in- 
 undate even her neck. His distress was as poignant as 
 hers. 
 
 " Forgive me," he stammered, throwing out apologetic 
 palms. " I did not mean at least not so soon. What 
 the devil, I am a mule ! ' ' 
 
 Zetitzka 's confusion abated. Strange to say, in the 
 midst of her discomposure, she experienced an unaccount- 
 able feeling of alleviation, as if the initiation of this man 
 into her secret not only relieved her of the necessity for 
 continual imposture, but somehow, in a vague indeterminate 
 way, constituted him an ally.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 221 
 
 He seated himself diffidently at the far end of the 
 couch. 
 
 His big breezy presence, his air of exuberant vitality, and 
 the bright colours of his picturesque costume seemed 
 strangely out of place in this austere little cell which had 
 witnessed only thin-blooded lives passed in mortification 
 and prayer. Zetitzka, stealing a glance at him, was as much 
 impressed with his incongruity in the midst of these mo- 
 nastic surroundings as he had been with hers. 
 
 " You wonder, doubtless, how I found out," he went 
 on, his eyes directed to the ground. " Well, I had my 
 suspicions, yes, from the first. Look you, as a rule a lay- 
 brother so young is stupid. Faith ! have I not seen ! He 
 says yes, and no, then yawns, and thinks of his dinner 
 but you! . . ." His arms expressed his lively appre- 
 ciation of the difference. Then, sinking his voice confi- 
 dentially: " And the other day at Lavra, when you 
 fell " 
 
 Zetitzka caught at her breath. 
 
 " No, no! All was right. I told no one, not even my 
 little mother. Faith of a muleteer! You need not mind 
 no. It was nothing nothing! " 
 
 His tone implied that the discovery of disguised damsels 
 was for him an every-day occurrence. 
 
 ' ' And you thought I had deserted you ; run away, eh ? 
 Not so ! although I confess it had the air of it. ' ' He 
 chuckled. " Think only how droll, those old fellows ar- 
 riving just then. In two little minutes I would have had 
 you safe in our home. They had the best of it that time; 
 but you and I will beat them yet. Faith! I would have 
 carried you off under their noses, just just for the jest 
 of it, but there is something about the Abbot a look a 
 tone a something, that makes one do his will." 
 
 He wagged his red fez like a man who wonders, then, 
 producing a small wooden box, and taking therefrom 
 tobacco and paper, began to roll himself a cigarette. 
 
 Zetitzka listened to the facile current of his talk, partly 
 unheeding, partly grateful. 
 
 " I am glad you are better," he said genially; then, with 
 a return of the twinkle, ' ' So you live up here, eh ? " 
 
 She assented dubiously. 
 
 He struck a flint and steel that he carried at his
 
 222 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 belt. The thin blue smoke drifted through the cell. It 
 hovered in filmy clouds, slowly moving, then dispersed and 
 became invisible against the dirty grey of the walls. 
 
 Awhile he continued to talk, outwardly jovial, but in- 
 wardly racking his brains for subjects of conversation 
 likely to put her at her ease. 
 
 But to Zetitzka his gay monologue came as an echo 
 from an indifferent world. Her every thought was on its 
 knees before this wonderful thing that had befallen her. 
 In spite of his cordiality and her gratitude, she almost 
 bore this man a grudge for coming between her and the 
 delicious sea of dreams in which she would fain have lost 
 herself. Motionless on the divan beside him, she sat gaz- 
 ing at the door, a rapt look on her face, her head slightly 
 bent as though listening for the sound of a voice. Dimitri 
 pursed his lips, then elevated his eyebrows. 
 
 " And now," he rubbed his palms together, " can I be 
 of any service? Only," he added hastily, " only if you 
 wish it. If not, in God's name let us speak of some- 
 thing else. As for me, I like to talk of anything any- 
 thing. ' ' He stroked his chin ; then, with the air of a man 
 who, in justice to himself, considers an explanation neces- 
 sary, f< Look you, when one passes all day with a silent 
 person like Nikola, one talks for two or becomes a mule. ' ' 
 He shrugged his shoulders again, this time in whimsical 
 protest against such an unpleasant metamorphosis. Then, 
 with an unusually bashful glance at the silent girl beside 
 him, " I say you don't know how I how I by 
 thunder! " he smacked a muscular leg. " Even if per- 
 mitted, not a woman in Kalabaka would climb these lad- 
 ders, or try to live up here with these monks. They would 
 be terrified, I give you my word I, who have heard them 
 talk. But you it is easily seen you are of the moun- 
 tains. ' ' 
 
 Finding his eyes fixed on her, Zetitzka nodded slightly. 
 
 " Women are not welcomed up here as they merit. 
 "What will you? " His gesture apologised for defective 
 hospitality; then, waving his whip, " You did not come 
 for the pleasure of this? No, I believe you. Peste: 'tis 
 bare as a licked plate. I could have given you better at 
 my house much." 
 
 " Yes," he continued, " my mother was disappointed.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 223 
 
 I told her; but not all. You should have heard her scold. 
 She wanted to see you to nurse you. She is full of 
 curiosity about the monks. She pities them. If a woman 
 may not give her care, she gives her pity. She will give 
 something! . . . Few people come up here," he con- 
 tinued, after a pause. " Pilgrims, friars, hermits, and 
 such quaint folk. Travellers, too last season I brought 
 no less than five. They pay well, these animals twenty 
 pesetas a day. We do the round of all the monasteries 
 Kalabaka and back, but, you understand, nothing regular ; 
 were it not for the carrier business I would be badly off. 
 I come up here also to see by the way, what has hap- 
 pened to him? ". 
 
 " Who? " asked Zetitzka in surprise. 
 
 " Brother Petros." 
 
 She felt herself trembling. 
 
 " 'Tis passing strange," he grumbled, more to himself 
 than to her. " I thought I knew the lad like like my 
 
 pocket, and yet to-day, in the cloisters " He turned 
 
 abruptly to the girl, who was striving to master her agita- 
 tion. " Why would he not speak to me? Oh, he answered, 
 but only a word, he who as a rule cannot find time for 
 all his chatter. Can he be sickening for an illness, eh? 
 What think you? You have a woman's wits; you see him 
 often? " 
 
 "I I don't know." 
 
 " Is he is he off his food? " 
 
 " We do not eat together now." 
 
 " No o," he scratched his head. " No, I suppose not. 
 And yet he thinks you a boy he might have curse the 
 monasteries! It may be some pious fit but 'tis so un- 
 usual. Now I were he not a monk, I would say 
 
 She waited anxiously. 
 
 " I would say he was in love, but " he laughed in- 
 credulously" that is, of course, impossible." 
 
 She could hardly control herself. How much did he 
 know? How much did he only guess? He frightened 
 her, so apparently outspoken; yet perhaps some dark de- 
 sign lurked beneath his words. 
 
 "Well!" he beamed upon her. "It appears 'tis I 
 who talk." 
 
 Forced into speech, she could only murmur confusedly.
 
 224 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 His eyebrows arched with unfeigned astonishment, then, 
 eyeing her with a return of the old involuntary twinkle, 
 1 ' Nothing to say ? Lord ! what a wife you would make ! ' ' 
 
 A pain shot to Zetitzka 's heart. His words harrowed 
 her suggested possibilities. For a wistful moment she 
 allowed herself to picture existence as it might have been 
 had the man who loved her been free to marry. Dimitri, 
 his eyes averted, felt, rather than saw, her distress. It 
 made him indignant, combative, conscious of his impo- 
 tence to help. He understood also, and sympathised with 
 her natural reluctance to take a stranger into her confi- 
 dence. " If," thought he to himself, " if I can get her to 
 tell me without telling, the rest will become my affair. ' ' 
 
 Full of this plan, he began to speak in a pleasantly 
 discursive manner the manner of one who talks for the 
 pleasure of utterance, rather than for audition. He 
 touched on Albanian inns, the price of wines, inferior fod- 
 der, and other topics well within the range of his expe- 
 rience. Deceived by his apparent artlessness and relieved 
 by the change of subject, Zetitzka threw off by degrees 
 much of her reserve and even volunteered remarks about 
 the dear familiar land of her birth. The muleteer listened 
 with gravity, his curiosity well under control. But when 
 Zetitzka was lured into mentioning her journey, he made 
 a mistake. For the life of him he could not repress a 
 swift gleam of dawning comprehension. Zetitzka saw it, 
 and became dumb. 
 
 " You were about to say? " suggested Dimitri 
 pleasantly. 
 
 She shot a swift and troubled glance at him. 
 
 ' ' Nothing, ' ' she said ; then, ashamed of her ungracious- 
 ness, she continued in a low, hurried voice, " I know not 
 why I told you all this. I mean to you it can be noth- 
 ing." 
 
 Her words, and still more her expression, struck Dimitri 
 with self-reproach. They made him aware of his strength 
 and her weakness. Springing from the couch, he stood 
 before her. 
 
 11 Do not think that I wish to force you to tell me," 
 he cried. ' ' No God forbid ! I seek to find out only 
 because I wish to befriend you. Look you, to help, one 
 must know, not guess. You are in trouble : I can see that
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 225 
 
 much, though what it is, the devil take me if I know! 
 Perhaps I have spoken too soon. Well, I can wait. One 
 day you may require a man who has a strong arm. Now ' ' 
 his voice changed to sudden gruff ness " I wonder much 
 what that little she-devil of a Nikola is doing? " 
 
 Something rose in Zetitzka's throat. Her eyes again 
 sought his face, but he was studiously inspecting the lash 
 of his whip. 
 
 " The last time I came here," he went on, with an 
 appreciative grin, " she dragged a boulder a quarter of a 
 mile. I found her with her forelegs tied to her obstinate 
 little neck for all the world like a trussed fowl. And 
 then what think you? She had the impertinence to look 
 at me, as who should say, * You see this? 'Tis all your 
 fault. ' Just like a woman ! They are all alike, bless their 
 hearts ! Ah, well ! I must be going. Good-bye. ' ' 
 
 He stood before her, a broad-shouldered figure that 
 seemed to fill the cell, flicking carelessly with his 
 whip. 
 
 Zetitzka longed to speak. This, man had said little 
 and done less to materially assist her, yet during the 
 short time she had known him he had inspired her with 
 confidence. The bluff and manly directness of his prof- 
 fered friendship had touched her more, perhaps, than she 
 was aware. His very presence, and a certain breezy open- 
 air sanity about him, lulled her fears. And now he was 
 going away! With a sudden reaction she blamed herself 
 for her foolish reticence. Friends were none so common 
 in her friendless life that she should shrink from the con- 
 fession that would once and for all put his sincerity to the 
 test. For very little she would now have told him all 
 have besought his assistance but he did not again ques- 
 tion her. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, and smiled. 
 
 She forced herself to return his smile. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said again; then, answering the look 
 in her eyes : " It rests with you. ' ' 
 
 She hesitated. Her teeth impressed her under-lip. 
 Again the old involuntary shrinking, that was stronger 
 than her will, beset her. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured. Then, nervously changing the 
 subject: " I heard you laugh as you came in." 
 15
 
 226 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Whimsical amusement at her vacillation lurked for a 
 moment in his eyes; then, falling in with her humour: 
 " Yes, I laughed; but only at Nicodemus. I pretend to be 
 an infidel, just to see him spit. It always succeeds. To- 
 day he called me a green bay-tree, and hoped to be present 
 at the burning ! He has called me so many bad names, all 
 taken from Holy Writ, that he is somewhat at a loss now. 
 But green bay-tree was good. Old Gerasimos now, is 
 friendly. He told me the news." 
 
 " What news? " Zetitzka spoke with indifference. 
 
 " You may well ask, you who know their lives. If one 
 of them sneezes, 'tis an event. Let me see! Well, for 
 one thing, that surly one you know him, Brother Steph- 
 anos is going away. ' ' 
 
 Her expression arrested him. Unable to conceal her 
 feeling, she could only stare ; but her wide eyes and parted 
 lips spoke for her. 
 
 Dimitri returned her stare. For a moment there was 
 silence; then Zetitzka recovered herself. 
 
 " He goes away, you said? " She could not keep the 
 note of relief from her voice. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " For for always? " 
 
 " No : for perhaps a week. ' ' 
 
 A shadow darkened her face. Dimitri continued: 
 
 " They tell me 'tis a penance set him by the Abbot. 
 Gerasimos was full of the wonder of it. Up here they 
 think him a kind of saint, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know." Her upper lip curled, though there 
 was but little scorn in her nature. He paused a moment 
 in surprise, then continued: 
 
 " 'Tis said the Abbot sends him to collect rents from 
 the farms. By the saints! 'tis a jaunt, and no penance! 
 Lord! "he struck at his boot " they are droll fellows, 
 these monks! " 
 
 A silence ensued. Zetitzka sat with unseeing eyes fixed 
 on the opposite wall. Dimitri did not again look at her. 
 
 " When does he start? " she asked at length, in a voice 
 so low that the muleteer was forced to strain his ears. 
 ' To-day, I believe." 
 
 ' ' Did ' ' under cover of her tunic her hands trembled 
 " did Brother Gerasimos say what he had done? "
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 227 
 
 " But, no. 'Tis doubtless something foolish, some trifle 
 eaten too much, or slept too long. What a life ! I asked 
 him, but the wily old rat said it was a secret of the con- 
 fessional. That was because he did not know himself." 
 
 Before either could speak again, the sound of footsteps 
 came from the corridor. They both listened. 
 
 " Well," said Dimitri, " I must go. I have left two 
 bags of charcoal in the tower of the windlass. Good-bye. 
 Be brave ; but ' ' he looked at her ' ' no need to say that. ' ' 
 
 A little of the admiration that he strove to conceal be- 
 came visible in his bronzed face. More: as he paused, 
 reluctant to leave her, a wistful expression, almost timid, 
 and strangely foreign to him, came into being. But with 
 eyes fixed eagerly upon the door, Zetitzka sat motionless, 
 oblivious to all save the footsteps that momentarily drew 
 near.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 DUSK had fallen before Stephanos came to take leave 
 of the Abbot. The courtyard was full of twilight that was 
 clear and yet opaque, like deep water. The huddle of 
 monastic buildings loomed dark against the dying rose and 
 green of the after-glow. The sense of solemnity was 
 augmented by the waning light. It glimmered home to 
 the eyes in mysterious shapes, and spoke to the ears in 
 a silence that knew of no interruption. A sense of vague 
 expectancy brooded over the monastery. The solemnity 
 appeared to have affected it also. No stir of life came 
 from the deserted cloisters. All was quiet in the dark re- 
 fectory. Even the little rocky platform, seen through the 
 doorless arch that led to the outer court, was desolate, 
 perched on the brink of fearless declivities, alone with the 
 silence and the night. 
 
 Stephanos found the Abbot in his cell. The old man 
 did not hear his knock, nor when Stephanos, fancying him- 
 self invited to enter, lifted the latch and stood before him, 
 did he open his eyes. 
 
 For a while the monk, restrained by a feeling of respect, 
 remained motionless, watching his superior. The Abbot, 
 seated on his couch, appeared overcome by the heat. 
 White and frail, he leant against the wall, his head tilted 
 forward his customary attitude in sleep, for, like many 
 a holy father the tale of whose austerities had come down 
 to his descendants as a blessed example, the Abbot rarely, 
 if ever, lay prone upon his couch. When the heaviness 
 of thwarted slumber overpowered him, he would merely 
 close his eyes for a few minutes, scarcely losing con- 
 sciousness. This relaxation occurred sometimes at meals, 
 sometimes during meditation, but never at devotions. 
 
 " Holy vigils," he was in the habit of saying in exhorta- 
 tion, " purify and enlighten the soul. Blessed angels keep 
 company with those who watch and pray. ' '
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 229 
 
 In spite of the air of exhaustion noticeable in his atti- 
 tude, such infinite peace, such calm abstraction, such spirit 
 shining through matter was to be observed in the Abbot's 
 countenance that Stephanos felt a pang of envy. It 
 seemed to mock him with the unattainable, and thrust him 
 back remorselessly into darkened places, unvisited by 
 hope. 
 
 All at once the aged priest opened his eyes. 
 
 "Is all ready? " he questioned, raising his thin hand 
 in benediction. 
 
 Yes, venerable father." 
 
 You have the papers and the wallet? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 And somewhat to eat upon the road ? ' ' 
 
 I shall not need it." 
 
 The Abbot looked at the gaunt figure standing before 
 him looked with sadness and compassion, for this journey 
 had been arranged in order to isolate the monk until his 
 sentence should arrive. " Poor troubled soul! " thought 
 the old man; but aloud he only drew attention to the fact 
 that the monk had forgotten his sandals. Stephanos ex- 
 cused himself. He wished, he said, to be permitted to 
 travel barefoot. The Abbot gave his permission, remark- 
 ing at the same time upon a cut on one of the monk's feet, 
 and advising him to recommend it to Saint Barlaam. 
 
 The talk then turned upon the various farms which the 
 monk was about to visit, his superior telling him somewhat 
 of the tenants and the manner in which they were to be 
 approached. He further cautioned him as to his behaviour 
 when in the world, and of the necessity for being ever 
 watchful to keep up the monastic reputation. 
 
 Stephanos, his eyes downcast, made no comment. 
 
 " You have one great safeguard," continued the Abbot, 
 not without approval. " You speak little. The recluse 
 Theonas passed thirty blessed years without speaking at 
 all." 
 
 Stephanos muttered inaudibly into his beard. 
 
 " Journeys are serious things," continued the Abbot, 
 shaking a wise head " serious things, and not to be 
 lightly undertaken. The world is so large. But our 
 dear Lord Jesus Christ journeyed in it continually; 'tis a 
 boon to follow in His sweet footsteps."
 
 230 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Pleased with the ingenuity of the argument, he took 
 a prodigious pinch of snuff. 
 
 But Stephanos gnawed the ragged ends of his moustache. 
 His fear of this journey was very real. In the monastery 
 he was tortured, but safe; beyond its precincts he was 
 exposed to mortal sin. His prayers and supplications had 
 been of no avail: he had little faith in his powers of re- 
 sisting temptation. But the night before he had been 
 forced to scourge himself in order to overcome sinful 
 thoughts. Zetitzka had appeared to him in a dream, 
 tempting him, and it had needed the most violent effort 
 of his will to tear himself from slumber. She might be 
 somewhere in the world he was about to visit. The thought 
 nearly overcame him. He trembled with terror, unreason- 
 ing fanatical anger, and the fear of a passion fettered but 
 not killed. 
 
 " You have my permission to speak," said the old man, 
 noting his agitation. But Stephanos still kept silent. It 
 needed but little perception to divine the emotions that 
 were rending him, for there was something ominous in his 
 speechlessness. 
 
 " It is my will that you go," continued the Abbot with 
 firmness. " Remember that it is part of your penance. 
 It is my will, likewise, that upon your return to Barlaam 
 you keep silence, save at prayer and divine service, until 
 such time as I grant you permission to speak. I will in- 
 form the brethren, that they tempt you not to disobedience. 
 Now " he rose to his feet " come, my son. I will speed 
 you on your way." 
 
 Stephanos stood for a moment as though he had not 
 heard, for the blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. 
 His strength, sapped by cruel fasts and long vigils, proved 
 unequal to the tasks imposed upon him. Only inner fires 
 sustained him, while preying continually upon his peace 
 of mind. 
 
 Together the two men left the dormitories, taking the 
 key of the trap-door with them. Neither spoke. It was 
 as though both consciously kept silent, moved thereto by 
 the surrounding gloom, and by an inexplicable feeling of 
 finality that cast its shadow over this farewell. 
 
 At the moment of departure Stephanos kissed the hand 
 of his superior. The Abbot blessed him in a low moved
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 231 
 
 voice, commending him to God and the company of the 
 Blessed Saints. 
 
 Looking into the dark abyss, the monk was again at- 
 tacked by a feeling of dizziness. Mastering this weakness, 
 resolute, and with a scornful expression, he began the 
 descent. The Abbot, leaning over the ladders, watched 
 him as he descended from rung to rung, until the dark- 
 ness hid him from sight. Still the old man stood, strain- 
 ing his eyes into the gorge, his lips moving mechanically. 
 
 This parting saddened him. His great hopes concern- 
 ing the future of Stephanos had been cast down. In that 
 apparent strength of will, that fierce desire for abnega- 
 tion, that frenzied eloquence, he had seen the makings 
 of a great preacher a saint a torch new-lit by God 
 Himself. Now, alas! he saw nothing, and feared much. 
 His fears for the shadow of the anticipated instructions 
 from Trikala was with him continually grew in the 
 silence and the darkness until they touched his own life. 
 At such moments of dejection the rumour that the mon- 
 asteries of Meteora would one day be given over to con- 
 victs was in the habit of coming to him, a nightmare 
 arousing deep and unavailing regret. It came to him 
 now. 
 
 Acting under an imperative desire to see the beloved 
 buildings, so threatened, he groped his way to the door 
 of the hut. There they were. The starlight shed its 
 lustre upon them. In dim solemnity they stood out, the 
 arcades, the refectory, the cloisters, the dormitories, the 
 old walls that had stood for seven centuries, the dome of 
 the Catholicon watching over all. 
 
 The eyes of the Abbot grew dim. It was his beautiful 
 home and he loved it. Was it indeed true, as some said, 
 that " everything in the ancient monasteries was dying, 
 save Christ in the tabernacle ' ' ; that the monks no longer, 
 as in the first centuries, " co-operated with the vital 
 energies of nature, while they praised God in song "? 
 With a great desire to discover the truth, he searched his 
 memory, questioning conscience tremblingly, with a fer- 
 vent prayer for guidance. But, painfully aware of many 
 personal shortcomings, the Abbot could yet find no flaw in 
 the system. To him all seemed well and as it had been 
 throughout the ages. Dying ? Nay. The spirit of prayer
 
 232 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 was alive as it had been from the beginning, as it would 
 be to the end. The monastery, too, was alive, doubly alive, 
 as it seemed to him in that hour of silence and of stars. 
 Its ancient stones, that had watched so many holy lives 
 till they, too, partook in mystic religious communion of 
 the love and longing, the groans and prayers that had 
 risen night and day, now appealed to him with the pathos 
 of the inarticulate. " Help us! " they seemed to cry. 
 " Without thee are we lost! " 
 
 " merciful God," prayed the Abbot inwardly, " my 
 life for theirs, if it be Thy will." 
 
 His thoughts returned to Stephanos his poor tormented 
 son wandering in the darkness on the mountains. For 
 him also he prayed, in silent renunciation, humbly relin- 
 quishing his own desires. 
 
 As he raised his eyes to the profound vault of heaven, 
 a star fell from the zenith. The old man watched it with 
 (superstitious awe. What might it portend? To avert 
 possible evil, he made the sign of the Cross. 
 
 Still under the influence of what he had seen, he was 
 about to cross the courtyard when an unexpected sound 
 brought him to a standstill. 
 
 ' ' Who is there ? " he cried. 
 
 " It is I," replied the voice of Petros. 
 
 " Blessed saints! You startled me. Why are you not 
 in your cell ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' I could not sleep, venerable father. ' ' 
 
 A note of dreaming happiness in the young monk's voice 
 struck the Abbot as remarkable. Such accents surely ac- 
 corded rather with one visited by angels than with one 
 possessed by a devil. In much perplexity he peered into 
 the young face, but his eyes were feeble, and could see 
 nothing clearly in the obscurity. 
 
 Side by side they slowly crossed the court. 
 
 " And how is Angelos to-night? " questioned the Abbot. 
 " It was in my mind to visit him this morning, but finding 
 Dimitri coming out of his cell, I feared to weary him. ' ' 
 ' He was much better this afternoon." 
 
 " That is well. Thanks are due to Saint Ann, for I 
 took our holy relic of that most devout and blessed among 
 women into the lad's cell last night. Poly cola I We will
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 233 
 
 burn two fine wax candles before her icon. See to it, my 
 son." 
 
 Petros did not answer. 
 
 " He is a good lad," continued the Abbot, his thoughts 
 still with the invalid. " Patient under tribulation, of a 
 silent yet submissive mind ; truly an example to us all. ' ' 
 
 Petros listened with attention. It gave him keen 
 though guilty pleasure to hear praises of Zetitzka. 
 
 " And you, my son, I notice that you are much with 
 him. I have said naught, but it hath pleased me mightily 
 yea, mightily. Holy obedience is ever grateful unto 
 God. Full well I wot that it hath been a hard matter to 
 accomplish. ' ' 
 
 " No, no! " protested Petros. 
 
 " Ay, but I fear it; yet is it not without goodly result. 
 Behold! I see a difference in you already. 'Tis true. 
 Now, tell me : have you found out aught about him ? ' ' 
 
 Petros came to a sudden standstill beneath the branches 
 of the fig-tree. His conscience leapt in fear to his face. 
 
 " I wish not to pry into confidences," went on the 
 kindly voice by his side, " yet fain would I know more 
 about the lad. He is young a mere boy, and strangely 
 reticent. His mother must needs be anxious. Does he 
 speak of her? " 
 
 No o." 
 
 "No? That is strange. Yet has he not forgotten her, 
 of that I feel sure. Last night I entered his cell while 
 he slept. His beauty amazed me. I hope he is happy. 
 There were tears on his eyelids and yet, he smiled. And 
 so he has told you naught? " 
 
 " He he has promised to tell me somewhat. I go to 
 him now." 
 
 "Go in Christ's name, my son. Full of joy am I to 
 find that you follow where the sweet Master leads." 
 
 " O venerable father! " 
 
 The protesting cry arrested the Abbot. 
 
 " What aileth you, my son? " 
 
 " Speak not thus kindly. Every word hurteth. I am 
 unworthy. Yet is it something beautiful. At times I 
 long to tell you and at times I fear that if you knew you 
 would never forgive."
 
 234 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " Christ knows, yet is He ever ready to forgive." 
 
 " Have patience, only have patience! " Petros' voice 
 shook. Then the imminent departure of Zetitzka flashing 
 across him with a terrible, immitigable sense of loss, he 
 continued passionately, recklessly : 
 
 " It will not be for long now. Only a few days. Then 
 all will be over. My God! My God! " He wrung his 
 hands in a burst of uncontrollable despair. * ' She is going 
 away! " 
 
 " She! Alack! this is indeed the frenzy of madness. 
 She! In the name of the dear Lord, whom do you mean ? " 
 
 " I know not. Nay, God forgive me. I do know, but 
 
 I may not tell. I I Oh, heed me not ! I know not 
 
 what I say. O my father, I am miserable! " 
 
 Broken down by the violence of his emotions, he clung 
 to the old man's arm. Anxiety filled the Abbot's heart. 
 He attached no importance to the wild words. His every 
 thought was taken up with the fact that Petros, his little 
 son, his best beloved, was still tormented by the devil. 
 
 For some time he spoke to the young monk. In all 
 he said there rang the note of hope, and of a faith that 
 was firm as the rock upon which Barlaam was built. 
 Whatever his personal troubles, his speech hinted not at 
 them; all were thrust out of mind by the eager desire to 
 comfort. But his words were unheeded. To Petros they 
 remained mere empty sounds, scarce reaching his ears, 
 much less penetrating his heart. 
 
 " All will assuredly come right," concluded the Abbot, 
 in a tone of gentle and happy optimism. " Have I not 
 prayed for it? Do not I know? Age has its privileges 
 likewise. It can see farther. Youth is still at the bot- 
 tom of the ladders, but it thinks it is at the top. When I 
 was young I was in great fear lest God would refuse my 
 one desire. I trembled, knowing full well my unworthi- 
 ness. But He overlooked it; and behold I am an Ab- 
 bot!" 
 
 Petros, who had straightened himself, made no move- 
 ment. The aged priest, still in the past, smiled con- 
 tentedly to himself in the little starlight that found its way 
 beneath the branches of the fig-tree. 
 
 ' Venerable father." The boy's voice came low and 
 agitated.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 235 
 
 " Yes, my little son." 
 
 " I beseech you, give me your blessing." 
 
 He knelt at the Abbot's feet. The great leaves of the 
 fig-tree embowered them as with a canopy. In the warm 
 darkness the hand of the superior sought and found the 
 bowed head. Comfort dwelt in the beautiful words, and 
 should have passed like a sweet odour into the troubled 
 soul; but despite his efforts to force himself within their 
 influence, Petros felt only a spiritual coldness that, while 
 vaguely terrifying, left him unmoved.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THROUGH the thin partition that separated the cell of 
 Zetitzka from that of Apostoli came the droning voice of the 
 latter reciting his breviary. In the hush of the night the 
 sound was distinctly audible. Petros and Zetitzka listened 
 uneasily. 
 
 " He will of a surety hear all we say," whispered the 
 boy. 
 
 The girl assented. 
 
 " Another time " she began. 
 
 " Nay, I have waited so long. Let us go to the outer 
 court. At this hour no one will be there." 
 
 She cast a glance at her bandaged ankle. 
 
 " If "Petros flushed" if I may carry you? " 
 
 Her faint protest was met by a breathless rush of reasons 
 he was strong he would be careful he could go there 
 blindfold there was no other way. In tremulous silence 
 she allowed him to lift her from the couch. 
 
 In spite of his boasted strength, Petros felt as if her 
 weight were too much for him, for in the emotion of the 
 moment his head swam and his heart drummed loudly in 
 his ears. The weakness passed. Eeverence, tenderness, 
 and an immense pride took its place. Neither spoke. 
 Slowly, carefully, moving like one caught away into a 
 heaven of dreams, he carried her out into the night. 
 
 The warm contact of his encircling arms communicated 
 itself to her in a thrill of exquisite happiness. So con- 
 scious was she of the reverence of his attitude that all fear, 
 all shyness even, vanished. Shutting her eyes, she gave 
 herself up to the intense realisation of the moment. 
 
 As they passed the end of the cloisters that faced the 
 refectory, the door of the latter opened suddenly. In the 
 lighted entrance stood a black figure. He had not seen 
 them, for the darkness of the night hid them like a curtain, 
 but instinctively Petros stepped behind a pillar. Zetitzka 
 
 236
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 237 
 
 felt his arms tighten round her. The sense of being 
 protected by the man she loved was so sweet, and so 
 wonderful, that it made her almost indifferent to what 
 might happen. 
 
 " Methought I heard a noise," Sotiri's voice remarked. 
 
 " Perchance it was a rat; they increase fast," answered 
 another of the lay brethren. Then from within came a 
 querulous voice, broken by coughing, that bade Sotiri close 
 the door. The light disappeared, and all was again still. 
 
 Having set her down upon the log of wood that, over- 
 looking the void, formed one of the favourite resting- 
 places of the monks, Petros seated himself beside her. 
 Like one drugged, he allowed himself to drift away on the 
 transport of the moment. It was good to be there, just 
 he and she, alone, in the kindly concealing light. The 
 few dozen yards that separated them from the sleeping 
 brethren might have been so many leagues, so cut off did 
 they feel from the unimportant life of the monastery. 
 The past and future ceased to exist. The present meant 
 only them; they became the one thing important in this 
 world of shadows. Their physical selves, their pulses, their 
 breathing filled the universe. 
 
 To Petros everything dimly seen in the night appeared 
 to be a part of this wonderful experience, to share his 
 feelings. "Were not the familiar hills his confidantes, the 
 unchangeable stars his friends ? For the world, down there, 
 with its many inhabitants if indeed he recalled it at all 
 he felt only pity. To sit there by her side, to watch the 
 profile of her half-averted face, filled him with feelings far 
 beyond comprehension. 
 
 Their material surroundings made more impression upon 
 Zetitzka than upon Petros. Everything to her was still 
 full of mystery and novelty. The sense of being uplifted 
 on that pinnacle still took away her breath, particularly 
 when, as now, she looked down from the sheer brink of 
 the precipice. The air seemed to circulate more freely here ; 
 it fanned the little curls on her forehead and brought 
 with it a pleasant sensation of coolness, grateful after the 
 long heat of the day. But in the night this seat did not 
 look so perilous, or it may be that her companion inspired 
 her with courage. 
 
 The great purple spaces, star-powdered and hushed, that
 
 238 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 extended from the immediate blackness below to the dim 
 line that was the Albanian frontier, enticed her. The 
 absence of detail was soothing; it allied itself to reverie. 
 And, strange to relate, as she sat there, without speaking, 
 her thoughts were as much with her child as with Petros, 
 for tenderness with unconscious art had enshrined them 
 together in the inmost sanctuary of her heart. 
 
 The great happiness that had come to her with the 
 knowledge of his love was with her continually. It ebbed 
 and flowed around her like the waters of a warm, sentient 
 sea, islanding her even from the memory of sorrow. She 
 feared to think of it as hers, lest it should suddenly take 
 wings. But she felt it intensely. 
 
 A sudden movement caused her to look at the boy beside 
 her. His rapt young face was gazing into hers with an 
 air of expectancy. His attitude reminded her that he had 
 brought her there that she might tell her story. With 
 the recollection came consternation and repugnance. 
 Everything conspired to fan these feelings the youth and 
 innocence of her companion, her abhorrence of the past, 
 and an instinctive and shrinking delicacy that recoiled from 
 putting such a tale as hers into words. And, more than 
 all, dwarfing even these into insignificance, came the sudden 
 apprehension that were she to tell all she might lose his 
 love. 
 
 " I cannot tell," she faltered. 
 
 He looked at her face, so near his own, so pale and 
 beautiful, yet so full of distress, and his heart leapt in 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Nay," he cried eagerly. " Nay, it matters not at 
 all." 
 
 While she drew a breath of relief, he continued hastily : 
 
 "If it could only be known unto you what I feel ! It 
 is without doubt a miracle. It is you ! ' ' 
 
 " Don't," she said brokenly. " I bring unhappiness 
 wherever I go! " 
 
 He contradicted hotly. As he spoke the innocence and 
 candour of his nature struck her again. In many ways 
 he, as well as the monastery, seemed above the world. She 
 could not have believed that a grown man could have re- 
 tained to so great an extent the appealing simplicity of 
 childhood. There was to Zetitzka something extremely
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 239 
 
 touching in his attitude. It was as if his trust in her 
 were akin to his trust in God. This worship pure, yet 
 burning as a flame upon an altar while flattering, caused 
 her pain. The fear lest she might fail to come up to his 
 ideal made her anxious. For nothing would she have dis- 
 appointed him. His confidence in her awoke an almost 
 protective tenderness. Hardness and suspicion fell from 
 her like ignoble armour for which she had no longer any 
 use. She became all woman all the best of woman, soft, 
 tender, pitiful, and unselfish. Knowing by bitter experi- 
 ence the danger of passion, she dimly realised that she 
 would have to exercise circumspection; not for her sake, 
 but for his. Engrossed with the present and blinded by 
 its radiance, she forgot the future with the demands upon 
 an all but superhuman courage and self-sacrifice. For 
 the moment her every thought was for him. Experience 
 had come to her with a crown of thorns. God helping 
 her, it should not wound him. Her duty, she felt with 
 solemnity, lay in defending this young monk against him- 
 self; in keeping him body and soul without stain, so 
 that, at the last, no shadow of remorse might darken his 
 life. 
 
 But would she have the strength? Was this resolution 
 compatible with the inherited tendencies of her nature? 
 with the hot and lawless blood that ran in her veins 
 with the fierce passions of an ancestry who laid shadowy 
 hands upon her, binding her to them, the living to the 
 dead, across the gulf of years? She, too, hungered for 
 love, and all that love brings. And moreover, she was 
 pitifully conscious of weakness, the weakness of a woman 
 who loves so utterly that her dearest happiness consists 
 in giving. 
 
 At present, self-denial seemed possible. But with her 
 it was still the dawn. Seen through rose-light, the features 
 of this enchanted land of love showed rapturously un- 
 familiar the promised land of her most sacred dreams. 
 Her past experience availed her nothing, for it was full 
 of discords, whereas this was all harmony. Love in its 
 most beautiful aspect was so new to her. She could not 
 yet tell how it would influence her actions, nor how far 
 she could depend upon herself. At present she only wel- 
 comed it with tremulous and inarticulate gratitude. She
 
 240 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 was like one who, ignorant of its effect, drains for the 
 first time a sweet but intoxicating draught. The sweet- 
 ness was with her still, the intoxication was to follow. 
 
 The breeze stole upwards from the sleeping plains in 
 long-drawn sighs and warm, panting breaths. It, too, 
 seemed to share their emotion. Under the magic of its 
 touch the blood of Petros tingled, and gladdened, and re- 
 membered, as though past lives were stirring within him, 
 and his every nerve vibrated in unconscious unison like 
 the singing chords of a harp. These sensations, so power- 
 ful, obliterated thought. It was as though his body had 
 suddenly and unexpectedly found a myriad tongues, 
 clamorous and incomprehensible, and yet so united that 
 they were but one voice crying passionately to him out of 
 the darkness, summoning him he knew not whither. 
 
 "Zetitzka! " he cried. 
 
 His arms were outstretched. His eyes burned into hers. 
 For a breathless moment she shared his emotion. All the 
 woman in her yearned for him, for his arms to enfold 
 her, for his lips to kiss her; yearned, and hungered, and 
 thirsted, with a longing that well-nigh overcame her; yet 
 all the time something deep down, that was her better self 
 in arms against her heart, fought, and fought, and would 
 not be conquered. 
 
 Instinctively, as one face to face with danger, she had 
 drawn back. In as far as a woman could, she under- 
 stood this boy. The knowledge called forth infinite pity. 
 With a sudden prompting of tenderness that overcame all 
 fear, she took his hand. All his blood, all his life, seemed 
 to Petros to rush violently into that hand, leaving the rest 
 of his body weak and helpless. Her touch was at once a 
 consecration and a torture. His strong fingers, interlaced 
 with hers, tightened convulsively. The pain struck some 
 chord of primitive emotion gave her a fierce pang of 
 pleasure. More it deadened the hungry ache in her 
 breast. Even so, had circumstances been otherwise, would 
 she have had him seize her and crush her until breath 
 almost left her body. 
 
 To know that his sensations were shared filled Petros 
 with ecstasy. A pure deep feeling rose from his heart, 
 It refined and elevated his every thought. Unconsciously, 
 it summoned to mind holy things, and solemn moments
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 241 
 
 in his life, when, as now, his soul had been awed by the 
 presence of something incomprehensible and divine. 
 
 A subdued solemnity, as it were a tender twilight of 
 the spirit, crept over him. He feared to wake from the 
 dream of paradise. The day had sounded a note of pro- 
 found happiness; in the morning the world had been 
 changed and renewed in the light of her eyes; and now 
 heaven opened to the touch of her fingers. 
 
 This final miracle seemed to Petros the solution of all 
 his troubles. To hold her hand. He could think of noth- 
 ing more wonderful: nothing more precious and intimate. 
 
 The moon rose behind the dark buttress-tower of 
 Meteoron. The atmosphere imparted to it a red golden 
 hue. It looked near and unnaturally large. The distance 
 crept into view, soft and ethereally bright, shrouded in 
 veil behind veil of silver haze. Enchantment held the 
 world sleepy-eyed. A night created for the sheltering of 
 tenderness when soul speaks to soul in silence that is 
 more lucid than speech. 
 
 The wan illumination shone straight upon his face. 
 Zetitzka marvelled at his pallor and at the look in his 
 eyes. His hat had been discarded, his long hair fell to his 
 shoulders. An old-world air lent asceticism to his appear- 
 ance. He might have been a mediaeval saint carved in 
 alabaster and painted in sombre colours against a back- 
 ground set with stars. 
 
 16
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE great constellations blazed in the clear-obscure of 
 the summer sky. Here and there a planet glowed with 
 fiery yet tempered splendour. These innumerable eyes of 
 heaven seemed to smile upon Zetitzka. They peopled the 
 night with sympathy. Often before had she watched them, 
 and was no stranger to the feelings they aroused. But 
 now, for the first time, their beauty and mystery called 
 aloud to the beauty and mystery within her heart. Com- 
 prehension thrilled her. They knew. Her soul mounted 
 to them on beating wings. 
 
 But the eyes of Petros did not leave her face. 
 
 " Zetitzka," he said, " ever since that day at Lavra, 
 
 I " He broke off, then continued quickly: " It was 
 
 terrible; but all at once it was only wonderful. I tried 
 to think it evil, but it was you. You are the answer to 
 everything. You are everything. When I am near you 
 it is heaven when you are away, even for a moment, 
 something cries out here " He touched the breast of 
 his cassock. " Zetitzka " his voice suddenly vibrated 
 with intense and profound conviction " this is love." 
 
 The pressure of her fingers answered him. For some 
 time he sat without speaking, and she felt he was wrapped 
 in the wonder and solemnity of his discovery. Then he 
 leant towards her and said : ' ' Tell me about love, Zetitzka, 
 I want to know. I must know." 
 
 But she could not trust herself to words. 
 
 In the moonlight, she saw a great seriousness come 
 into his face the rapt expression which she had noticed 
 before when he spoke of holy things. 
 
 ' ' The Blessed Virgin is a woman too. Before you came 
 I prayed daily to her icon. I even thought her beautiful 
 but now " 
 
 Zetitzka sat erect. 
 
 242
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 243 
 
 "No!" she protested, deeply moved. "No! no! no! 
 You must not love me like that." 
 
 For long she spoke earnestly, reasoning with him, seek- 
 ing with God alone knows how painful and pathetic a 
 conscientiousness to lead him back to the loveless path 
 of duty. 
 
 She had small skill in speech, this mountain girl, but 
 she had a great heart. In faltering inadequate words she 
 tried to keep the cruel facts before him, as if in convinc- 
 ing him she could convince herself also. She reminded 
 him that he was a monk, vowed to God and a life of re- 
 ligion; that his calling must come first, always first; that 
 he must not love her; that she must go away soon; that 
 all was doubtless for the best, but he must not love her; 
 no, he must not love her; he must not love her. And 
 always she returned to this protest, hastily, insistently, 
 feverishly, speaking only to silence the passionate longings 
 of her heart. 
 
 It was a strange scene in this little monastic court, in 
 the pale sad splendour of the moon this boy and girl 
 engulfed in the waters of passion he but half-conscious 
 of the tide that was sweeping him far from familiar land- 
 marks, ignorant alike of its significance and its goal she 
 struggling to retain her footing, seeking to drag him back 
 into the shallows; and all the time yearning for that 
 against which she fought. 
 
 As she leant towards him, seeking for words, her face 
 faintly visible in the surrounding gloom, but her eyes shin- 
 ing, she trembled and shook with a passion that equalled 
 his own. The fear of alienating his love caused her torture. 
 But she persevered. 
 
 And Petros listened, his chin sunk to his hand, his eyes 
 fixed on space. She could see by his attitude that he was 
 inwardly revolving all she had said. 
 
 " I must not love you? " he repeated at length, speak- 
 ing slowly and incredulously ; then, with swift scorn : * ' But 
 what use to tell me that ? For I do love you ! ' ' 
 
 He continued: " They told me that this" in the dusk 
 she saw him indicate the monastery " was the only per- 
 fect life. I believed them. They said that the world was 
 wicked, and that women were evil. Again I believed them.
 
 244 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 Why not ? They were wise, and I ignorant. To me it ap- 
 peared good and safe to abide here alway all my life. It 
 had been my home for long : I had nowhere else to go. Ay, 
 and not that only, but of a truth it seemed wondrous sweet 
 to give my whole life to God. You see then I was happy. 
 I did not know! I did not know! " 
 
 Unable to bear the keen note of pain in his voice, 
 Zetitzka averted her eyes. It seemed to her that even in 
 gazing at him, dimly seen though he was in the darkness, 
 she was spying upon his grief, upon the profound and dis- 
 tressful stupor of one awakening for the first time to a 
 hopeless reality. Again he burst forth: 
 
 " But why may I not love you? Why? why? As if it 
 were aught sinful ! Sweet saints ! it is as beautiful, as holy 
 as as prayer! Zetitzka, God is love! Why may I not 
 love you? " 
 
 And again Zetitzka could only listen in a pained silence, 
 stirred to the depths, acutely conscious of the gulf that 
 separated them and of the love that drew them together. 
 
 " Ah! " he cried. " You cannot answer. But I know! 
 It comes from God. It is part of His love. It is above 
 
 this " Again he indicated the monastery. " I cannot 
 
 explain, but I feel it. I marvel much that no one has 
 ever told me of it. But " he turned to her, his face 
 shining " we have found it you and I, Zetitzka and 
 we will keep it always." 
 
 The strain of self-control was telling upon Zetitzka. She 
 felt at the limit of her endurance. How to tell him? 
 How to convince? Her arguments had proved useless as 
 handfuls of water flung in the face of a great fire. But 
 one way remained. 
 
 " Listen ! ' ' she said, sharply. " No ; do not speak. Only 
 listen. I will tell you will tell you all. Then then you 
 will not love me any more." 
 
 He stared at her, incredulous, yet awed into silence. 
 
 In the clear moonlight, lifted high above the sleeping 
 world, surrounded by the solemn quietude of the monas- 
 tery, she told him part of her story. 
 
 It was but a fragmentary record of what had befallen 
 her; for she purposely omitted much concerning the man 
 who had wronged her, revealing only his desertion and
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 245 
 
 that lie was the father of her child. Neither did she reveal 
 the reason of her visit to the monastery. 
 
 Surely it was sufficient to tell him that she was not the 
 pure woman he had imagined her, and that he must banish 
 her for ever from his life. 
 
 In the pain of the recital, Zetitzka lost sight of the 
 unusual ignorance and innocence of her auditor, forgot 
 everything save the bitter past and that voluntarily she 
 was signing her own death-warrant. The pathetic tale, 
 finishing upon a note of hopeless despondency, came 
 abruptly to a close. 
 
 Bewilderment fell upon Petros. He did not understand. 
 He shrank from asking. His mind was in a whirl. Depths 
 hitherto undreamt of suddenly yawned before him. They 
 had been there all the time, but he had not even suspected 
 their existence. His ignorance, by awakening imagination, 
 attributed to them peculiar mystery and horror. 
 
 The sense of her actual words which, though suggesting 
 much, expressed for him so little passed over his head, 
 but he was doubly sensitive to the inflections of her voice, 
 sharing to the utmost limit of his powers every emotion it 
 betrayed. 
 
 Her moonlit face was an open book. In it were to be 
 read shame, grief, and remorse a dark record, yet lighted 
 and made beautiful from within by the brave effort to do 
 right. Petros heard, rather than saw, these conflicting emo- 
 tions, and the indefinable something that lent dignity to 
 her confession. The latter inspired him with reverence. 
 That she should suffer at all awoke his indignation. So 
 lofty was the pedestal upon which he had placed her, that 
 suffering connected with one so perfect seemed monstrous. 
 One thing, however, stood clear. Someone had wronged 
 her. 
 
 As this struck home, all the innate chivalry of his nature 
 was for the first time aroused. It cried aloud to all that 
 was strong in him. In response, his manhood started up 
 eager, nay, burning to make her wrongs his own, to com- 
 fort and protect her ay, with his life, if need be in the 
 face of the whole world. 
 
 Eagerly he spoke. Indignation against the man who had 
 deceived her mingled half savagely, half incoherently, with
 
 246 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 expressions of a worship that was oblivious of even the 
 shadow of a doubt. She was everything to him. He had 
 known nothing else. He wanted nothing else. Could she 
 understand one person being everything and the whole 
 world nothing? Could she? could she? 
 
 Leaning towards her, so close that his breath stirred 
 her hair, he poured forth a torrent of passionate yet 
 authoritative tenderness that swept aside all dreams of 
 opposition. Zetitzka's heart swelled. Glad and involun- 
 tary tears filled her eyes. All that was womanly in her, 
 all that was clinging and weak, all that longed to be loved 
 and worshipped and taken possession of, went out to him. 
 She exulted in this new tone of domination. Her joy 
 drowned every dissentient voice. To silence her conscience 
 she promised herself to keep him pure in heart. But, oh 1 
 to be happy, even for a little time ! To forget everything 
 save this joy that had come to her so unexpectedly ! To let 
 herself be borne away on the current of this love that 
 surely was more beautiful than any other love since the 
 world began ! 
 
 His hand, his eyes, demanded an answer. The hot 
 night seemed to demand it too, for a hush had fallen, 
 as though it also were listening and waiting. At last it 
 came the confession of a heart that would not be stilled. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered " yes, I understand."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 DAY after day passed in the little monastery above the 
 world passed as they were wont to pass, like other days 
 in the uncounted years. All went on as usual the long 
 services, the hours for meditation, the meals in the bare 
 refectory, the monastic tittle-tattle, the listless silence, the 
 sun-steeped repose. But for Petros and Zetitzka all was 
 changed. 
 
 For them everything sounded the same intensely per- 
 sonal note a soft, unobtrusive, and tenderly sympathetic 
 accompaniment to their feelings. Nature offered them 
 her gifts with both hands the golden gift of sun, the silver 
 gift of stars, the diamond gift of dawns sparkling in dew 
 and caressed by crystal airs. They accepted all with the 
 unconsciousness of children or of lovers, accepted it as 
 their right, their minds engrossed on higher matters. Dur- 
 ing these halcyon days they moved through monastic life 
 in a golden haze, through which the monastery, its inmates, 
 the wonderful view, everything, seemed far off, nebulous, 
 unimportant, almost unreal, for was not the only reality 
 this miraculous flower of love, that had blossomed to un- 
 expected beauty within their hearts? 
 
 They lived for the moment, thereby discovering for them- 
 selves the secret of happiness. There were times, however, 
 when stern facts refused to be forgotten, when it was 
 impressed upon Petros that he was living in sin, and upon 
 Zetitzka that she was mad to linger there in momentary 
 danger of discovery. But these occasions were few and 
 soon forgotten. 
 
 One morning they were together in the cloisters, when 
 the voice of Apostoli reached them. 
 
 " Tear it from out your heart, Brother Gerasimos! " 
 
 " Nay," responded a mild voice; " I think not that it is 
 evil." * 
 
 The two monks came into view, drifting round the sunny 
 
 247
 
 248 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 end of the Catholicon into the shadow below the arches, 
 Apostoli frowning and denunciatory, Gerasimos ex- 
 postulatory and with a comical air of a schoolboy taken to 
 task. 
 
 " How not evil? " said the former harshly. " When it 
 concerns a woman! " 
 
 Petros and Zetitzka listened. Gerasimos, looking up as 
 he approached, caught Zetitzka 's eye and bestowed upon 
 her a glance replete with confidential meaning. 
 
 " Thoughts about women," continued Apostoli, with 
 rancour, " should be banished from the mind of a worthy 
 monk. ' ' 
 
 The face of Petros flushed; his eyes lit up; but he re- 
 pressed his indignation. 
 
 " Behold! " cried Apostoli, in godly triumph, " Brother 
 Petros is moved, and with reason. Ah ! ' ' his gesture in- 
 cluded Zetitzka " ye twain are young boys yet is one 
 never too young to fly from evil. Let this be a warning 
 unto you." 
 
 He continued his tirade against the forbidden sex. His 
 language was exaggerated, yet obscure, mystical, full of 
 veiled threats and suggestions of mysterious malevolence 
 that gave to his gaunt figure and forbidding countenance 
 the air of some grim prophet of evil. Ceasing abruptly, 
 he shuffled away, followed at a little distance by the un- 
 repentant Gerasimos. 
 
 Zetitzka and Petros were left alone. The boy was burst- 
 ing with feelings outraged beyond words. The peace of 
 the shadowy cloisters seemed to mock at his agitation. 
 Suddenly his eyes met hers. A magnetic and irresistible 
 current of attraction flashed to his brain. There came a 
 swift revulsion. He forgot his indignation: his eyes grew 
 soft, luminous, tender; his fists unclenched; his muscles 
 relaxed; everything but the girl before him passed into 
 utter indifference. 
 
 Zetitzka had resumed her duties in the Catholicon. She 
 performed them gladly, for they brought her into hourly 
 contact with Petros. A change had come over her. Her 
 health had benefited by the enforced rest, and more still 
 by happiness. In some respects her long period of suffer- 
 ing became as though it had not been, and as though she 
 herself had stepped back to the days of her girlhood, A
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 249 
 
 subtle something, that was charm, emanated from her 
 whole being. Love did for her what sunshine does for 
 flowers. Even the Abbot and the brethren wondered at 
 times to see her face shining with some incomprehensible 
 feeling that made it as a " sunshine in a shady place." 
 And more and more did her presence become an incon- 
 gruity in this old monastery, among all these white- 
 bearded monks. 
 
 Zetitzka's nature had always possessed a faculty for 
 growth and change. Life, inscrutable and apparently un- 
 scrupulous, had employed two men as its tools. They 
 were moulding her into what she would ultimately become 
 the one by the force of suffering, the other by the power 
 of love. Stephanos had paved the way for Petros. His 
 treatment of her had unconsciously prepared her to wel- 
 come the pure worship of the boy with a gratitude that 
 turned her love almost to adoration. The former had 
 covered her with shame, the latter restored her self-re- 
 spect. 
 
 The pathos of the situation lay in the fact that though 
 she had at last found the one man in the world constituted 
 to heal and fill her heart, whom she loved, and by whom 
 she was beloved yet he was denied her. Both were 
 young, nature had formed them for each other, life had 
 brought them together, instinct commanded them to love, 
 everything approved of the union, everything but man, 
 who, with his self-imposed laws, stepped in and forbade 
 it. In a sense Petros was as dead to her as though he were 
 already in his coffin. 
 
 Zetitzka 's conception, at this precise period, of the nature 
 of her passion, of its significance, its goal, and the moral re- 
 sponsibilities it entailed was nebulous and contradictory. 
 Nor could it well be otherwise, for the mountain race from 
 which she had sprung was as uncontrolled in its love as 
 it was lawless in its hate. She, poor girl, the daughter of 
 primitive forbears, had but one adviser her heart. She 
 lived in and by her feelings swayed this way and that 
 now fancying herself capable of renunciation, now dimly 
 and tremblingly aware of that within which would one day 
 demand fulfilment. 
 
 But as love gained upon her, gained day by day with 
 swift but insidious advances, silencing all voices save its
 
 250 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 own ; fusing itself into her living, breathing existence, into 
 her dreams and waking moments, into her capabilities for 
 hope and fear; stealing her very heart from her bosom 
 all lofty and self-sacrificing resolutions sank from sight 
 like castles of sand before the sweep of a resistless tide, 
 but to be rebuilt, however, as she fell again under the 
 influence of disinterested feelings. 
 
 More and more as time passed did Petros become in- 
 separable from her very life; more and ever more did 
 the sunshine of his love transform the darkened world of 
 her loneliness into a blessed land of joy and light. His 
 physical being that material self that to her enchanted 
 vision so radiantly portrayed the youth, the freshness, and 
 the beauty of his nature awoke in her feelings too tremu- 
 lous, too tender for expression. Carried away by them she 
 would touch the coarse stuff of his cassock, or at times even 
 allow her fingers to pass lightly and caressingly over his 
 hair. It was curious to note in these timid overtures the 
 birth of a fierce and jealous emotion the instinct of the 
 woman asserting its claim to the man of her choice an 
 instinct faint and tentative as yet, but destined to become 
 strong and imperious. 
 
 Zetitzka's feelings towards Stephanos had undergone a 
 change. She tried to banish him from her mind, but when 
 his memory forced itself upon her, as from time to time 
 it did, it no longer aroused the fierce emotions that had 
 been hers when first she came to the monastery. She still 
 feared him, with an instinctive dread as of something re- 
 pellent and hostile, and had she been informed of his 
 death, her first sensation would undoubtedly have been 
 one of unspeakable relief. But she herself no longer wished 
 to kill him. 
 
 Many influences had been at work. The spiritual atmos- 
 phere of the monastery, so remote from the t world, so 
 saturated in the profound peace that brooded for ever 
 around that isolated height, had insensibly wafted her away 
 from all violent associations. Many of the shadows that 
 had darkened her past and particularly the blood- 
 thirstiness of her race seemed already dim and distant. 
 
 Yet Barlaam had never ceased to overawe her. Little 
 by little, as previously narrated, Zetitzka had fallen under 
 this spell; had persuaded herself that some supernatural
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 251 
 
 power of which she was ignorant, but which she fearfully 
 surmised to emanate from the monastery, forbade her again 
 to attempt the life of Stephanos. This incomprehensible 
 something that endowed the low-browed buildings with a 
 soul and a purpose, appeared to the credulous mind of 
 the mountain girl an insuperable barrier erected between 
 her and her goal. At first it had filled her only with 
 impotent anger, but now, bending to fate, she had accepted 
 the veto. 
 
 The inmates, too, had contributed not a little to the 
 change. The Abbot, for example, had unwittingly influ- 
 enced her for good. 
 
 But the great factor, without which all others would 
 have been as nothing, was love. It softened and changed 
 her entire nature. Even hate lost its power to embitter 
 when confronted with her great happiness. It became but 
 the shadow of what it had been, prompting only a longing 
 to fly to some place where she and her child would never 
 see or hear of Stephanos again. 
 
 And although hate and love had changed places, yet 
 the latter carried on the plan of action laicl down by the 
 former. Hate had brought her to the monastery love kept 
 her there. Day after day prudence insisted " You must 
 go away. There is nothing to keep you now." But love 
 whispered: " Stay yet a little while. Petros loves you." 
 And so she stayed. 
 
 But she knew that in giving way to the prompting of 
 her heart she was living over a mine, and that every mo- 
 ment of stolen pleasure might prove the last. 
 
 Of Stephanos, however, no tidings came. He had disap- 
 peared as completely as though the world into which he 
 had vanished had been a bottomless pit. Only his un- 
 tenanted cell, his empty stall, and the vague suggestion 
 of danger which, like some fluid magnetism in the air, bid 
 her be continually on her guard, remained to testify to 
 his existence. 
 
 That he would soon come back she knew well. A week 
 at most was the time computed for the task which he had 
 set out to perform. What she would do upon his return, 
 or in what way he would influence her future actions, were 
 questions which she was unable to answer, although they ( 
 suggested themselves to her. She was no nearer the solu-
 
 252 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 tion of the problem than when first she had entered the 
 monastery. Stephanos still lived, her people still demanded 
 his death, and she, poor puppet, blown by the tragic breath 
 of fate, drifted hither and thither, and found no abiding 
 spot whereon to alight. 
 
 Neither did any news reach her from the little Albanian 
 village but two days' march from the frontier. It also 
 was lost in silence, a silence that she apprehensively felt 
 to be expectant, sinister. Had it not been for her child, 
 this absence of news would have been a relief rather than 
 an anxiety, for Zetitzka could picture only too well the re- 
 proaches which her procrastination must be calling forth. 
 And, meantime, like a lull in a storm, came these few 
 days of almost uninterrupted happiness. 
 
 Everything conspired to favour their love the indul- 
 gence of the Abbot, the ignorance of the brethren, the 
 services and leisure hours that threw them continually to- 
 gether, the restricted spaces, the glorious weather that gave 
 to them days of continual sunshine and nights of quiet 
 stars. 
 
 Only the monastery frowned upon them, with the sullen 
 resentment of one forgotten.
 
 CHAPTEB XXXIX 
 
 WITHIN the court of Barlaam Dimitri paused. The 
 sound of the reader's voice came from the Catholicon, rapid, 
 high-pitched, nasal. Brother Apdstoli was gabbling the 
 service. Distance softened the sound, mellowing all that 
 was disagreeable till it became almost natural and as though 
 born of the fine weather, as is the hum of bees. At uncer- 
 tain intervals a subdued murmur, hoarse and transitory as 
 a breaking wave, marked the responses. 
 
 The courts, the passages, the cloisters, the galleries, all 
 were deserted, given over to sunshine and shadow. Some- 
 thing in the murmurous sound of prayer, and in the vacant 
 spaces quiet with brooding sanctity, made Dimitri feel like 
 an intruder. A subdued solemnity pervaded this pinnacle- 
 top, so far removed from the world. It lent a distinctive 
 atmosphere to the old grey buildings. They were so still, 
 so mute; they appeared to listen, dumbly reverent under 
 their low-browed roofs. They might have been praising 
 God for His gift of seven hundred years. 
 
 Moving softly, Dimitri went to the outer court. It was 
 here that he had first met Zetitzka, He recalled the cir- 
 cumstance, with all its attendant detail, and looked long 
 at the particular part of the log upon which she had then 
 sat. A feeling of being face to face with something big 
 came to him. It inspired an unwonted seriousness. 
 
 As he stood there, lost in thought, his white fustinella 
 swaying softly in the breeze, his little embroidered jacket, 
 with its rows of bright metal buttons, setting off the 
 breadth of his capable shoulders, his red sash attracting the 
 light, his round cap perched jauntily upon his head, manly, 
 picturesque, his appearance contrasted forcibly with the 
 hushed and austere attitude of the monastery at his back, 
 with its grey monotony of tone as of a perennial twilight, 
 and with its immense age that seemed for ever brooding 
 upon an inconceivably remote past. His air of health and 
 
 253
 
 254 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 strength, of manhood at its prime, of frank and sensuous 
 joy of life, seemed almost an insult to this collection of 
 decrepit buildings. It smacked of the world, of irreverence, 
 stamping him a pagan thing almost as irresponsible and 
 soulless as the sunshine that rioted godlessly in the silent 
 courts. 
 
 Yet those who took him at the valuation of the monas- 
 tery would have been misled, for Dimitri was no mere 
 thoughtless embodiment of the world's frivolity. His good 
 looks pleased less for their own sake than for some inherent 
 quality of strength and self-reliance, revealed in the steady 
 blue eyes and in the firm lines of the mouth. To see him 
 one instinctively felt him to be a good fellow, a friend 
 worth having. 
 
 Suddenly, with his eyes still fixed on the log, he made 
 an impulsive movement of his shoulders, as if to throw 
 off some weight. As he did so he laughed. The laugh 
 was directed against himself. It was a mirthless protest. 
 Yet in it rang a note of genial irony, the outcome of a 
 resolve not to take himself too seriously, that was char- 
 acteristic of the man. 
 
 The long service was over. Dimitri watched the 
 brethren saunter along the cloisters. The Abbot crossed 
 the inner court and passed in the direction of his cell, a 
 venerable figure, slow moving, full of quiet dignity. The 
 monks separated in small groups. Nicodemus and 
 Gerasimos as usual together, and as usual arguing 
 stopped awhile under the fig-tree, then disappeared into 
 the cellars. Dimitri waited patiently, but no one else 
 came out of the Catholicon. Neither Petros nor Zetitzka 
 were to be seen. He would have inquired their where- 
 abouts, but unusual self-consciousness restrained him. 
 Little by little the courts resumed their former lifeless 
 appearance. A great peace fell. Only from the refectory 
 came the sound of voices rising faintly, then dying away, 
 a mere ripple on the sea of silence. 
 
 The muleteer entered the Catholicon. He moved almost 
 on his toes. Several candles were burning before the icons, 
 mingling their feeble artificial light with the wan and 
 niggard light of day that struggled inwards through 
 windows so small, lofty, and begrimed with dust and cob- 
 webs as to be almost useless for the purpose of illumination.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 255 
 
 In this mystic twilight the mediaeval adornments showed 
 faintly, a sheen of marble, a glimmer of gold, receding into 
 the formless gloom of the arches. 
 
 As Dimitri hesitated, the sound of a voice came to his 
 ears, a mere murmur, but clearly audible in the silence. It 
 came through the little cupboard door, to the left of the 
 Bema, that led to the library. Instinctively, he moved in 
 its direction. 
 
 The library of Barlaam was a secret chamber. To gain 
 access to it, two doors had to be passed, the former of which 
 was so carefully concealed within the Catholicon wall that 
 it would have escaped the notice of anyone not conversant 
 with the building. Lighted from above, the little vaulted 
 chamber gave shelter to a collection comprising a couple 
 of thousand volumes, all books of divinity, the writings of 
 the fathers, and Venetian editions of ecclesiastical works. 
 The majority were printed, but some were in Byzantine 
 manuscript, copies of the Gospels in small and large quartos, 
 beautifully written upon polished vellum and dating back 
 to the eleventh and twelfth centuries. To the brethren 
 they were useless, for none save Petros and the Abbot could 
 read either Hellenic or ancient Greek, but all within the 
 monastery reverenced them as sacred relics, and guarded 
 them jealously as much, it may be, on account of their 
 incomprehensibility as their antiquity. Brother Johannes 
 occupied the post of librarian a sinecure, for the gentle 
 dreaming old man did nothing to justify the appointment 
 save count the volumes periodically. Petros, at his own 
 request, was permitted to dust them, to the no little amuse- 
 ment of the brethren, who could not imagine why he took 
 the trouble. From his father the young monk had inherited 
 a love of books; to ponder over the crabbed characters, to 
 feel the smooth and polished vellum, and to feast his eyes 
 upon the ancient illuminations these were to him constant 
 and never-failing pleasures. 
 
 It was to this retreat that the voice led Dimitri. 
 
 Standing in the narrow and dark passage that connected 
 the two doors above mentioned, the muleteer could see 
 the whole interior of the library without being himself seen. 
 
 Petros and Zetitzka were together. That they had come 
 with no intention of looking at the books was evident, for 
 the volumes stood undisturbed upon the shelves. Seated
 
 256 FOEBIDDEN GKOUND 
 
 side by side upon a low divan that ran round three walls 
 of the apartment, the comrades were deep in conversation. 
 From his place of concealment Dimitri could see the face 
 of Petros. One glance served to enlighten him. 
 
 Fierce pain shot to the muleteer's heart. Something 
 throbbed in his temples, hammered in his ears. A feeling 
 comparable only with intense physical nausea attacked him. 
 As long as he lived, Dimitri never forgot that moment. 
 Later, when he heard that a young fellow in Trikala had 
 stabbed a successful rival, he merely nodded his head. 
 
 Zetitzka was speaking. Her words appeared to come 
 from an immense distance; from somewhere in the light 
 to where he waited in the darkness. No idea that he was 
 playing the part of eavesdropper crossed his mind. 
 
 If his suspicions had needed confirmation, they would 
 have found it in Zetitzka 's voice. It betrayed love as un- 
 mistakably as the blush of a cloud betrays the dawn. In- 
 credulity swept over the listener. Petros! The lad at 
 whose innocence and ignorance of the world he had so 
 often smiled! Who knew nothing of women! Who was 
 part and parcel of Barlaam ! 
 
 Not till that moment did Dimitri realise all that 
 Zetitzka meant to him all that he hoped for ; more, much 
 more; all that he had determined to gain. It had grown 
 within him unperceived, yet surely and swiftly, urged into 
 maturity by the Southern impetuosity of his blood. He 
 had been so sure. That had been his mistake. He saw 
 that now. Kelying on his own strength of purpose, he had 
 imagined no obstacle which could not be overcome. The 
 breezy optimism of his nature had blown the breath of hope 
 even into the labyrinths of love. Why not? He knew 
 himself. He had ardour sufficient for two, tenacity enough 
 for a dozen. He could wait. Her past was nothing to one 
 who was resolute to possess her future. 
 
 As he stood there in the darkness, not leaning against 
 the wall, but firm on his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes full 
 of sombre and jealous fire, a thousand broken thoughts 
 came and went like lurid colours in a kaleidoscope frag- 
 ments of the past, dreams of happiness scarce formulated, 
 schemes for the future. And shooting through them like 
 a tongue of flame through whirling smoke, this new sensa- 
 tion that was a gnawing ache and a keen pain in one. But
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 257 
 
 no fear, no ultimate doubt; for the indomitable quality of 
 this man's blood equalled the occasion. 
 
 As he nerved himself to speak, a faint sound from the 
 interior of the Catholicon arrested him. Having no wish 
 that others should discover what he now knew, he retreated 
 noiselessly. 
 
 A moment later Petros and Zetitzka were roused by the 
 sound of a strong cheery voice. 
 
 " What, Brother Johannes, you here! " it cried. " Go- 
 ing to count your dirty old books ? Nay, come with me into 
 the court, and I'll tell you a good story about Meteoron. 
 Tush, brother, I make no noise ! Yes, yes, of course I re- 
 spect the place. What say you? Never seen me pray? 
 Well, you've something to live for, after all." 
 
 17
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HALF-CONCEALED behind one of the squat grey pillars of 
 the cloisters, Dimitri waited for Petros and Zetitzka to 
 leave the Catholicon. When at length they appeared, they 
 paused awhile conversing on the top of the steps. The 
 young monk was talking; his words, however, did not 
 reach the muleteer. Zetitzka was looking into the boy's 
 animated face : that he engrossed her to the exclusion of 
 all else was evident. Her countenance had a new light of 
 happiness in it that caused it to shine, singularly sweet, 
 amid the stern monasticism of her surroundings. Dimitri 
 set his teeth hard. 
 
 He could not bring himself to interrupt their conversa- 
 tion, but waited, though the moments seemed interminable. 
 The sound of a distant voice, raised suddenly in the 
 silence, appeared to recall the lovers to forgotten duties, 
 for they parted Zetitzka to her cell, Petros towards the 
 refectory. Dimitri followed the latter. 
 
 Hearing hasty footsteps behind him, Petros looked round. 
 
 " Dimitri ! " he cried, then broke off, catching sight of the 
 muleteer's face. 
 
 Dimitri stood silent, then suddenly he laid a heavy hand 
 upon the boy's shoulder. 
 
 " I must speak to you," he said. 
 
 At the tone of his friend 's voice, Petros forgot the supper 
 awaiting him in the refectory, forgot even his customary 
 service to the Abbot. 
 
 11 Now? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes. Come to the tower of the windlass." 
 
 They did not speak again till they had reached the 
 structure. It was empty. Not a sound came either from 
 the monastery behind, or from the world below/ Seen 
 through the open end of the hut, the crags, and farther off, 
 the plains, swam in a golden mist. The sense of being sus- 
 pended over space was ever present. A touch, a gust of 
 
 258
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 259 
 
 wind, and it seemed as if the ramshackle hut must col- 
 lapse into the gorge. 
 
 Both men remained standing. Neither spoke Dimitri 
 striving to master his agitation, Petros merely wondering. 
 The muleteer's eyes were fixed on the distant hills, as 
 though seeking something he could not find. Suddenly 
 he wheeled upon his companion. 
 
 " I saw you in the library," he said. 
 
 The stern denunciation in his eyes caused the sunburnt 
 brown of the lad's complexion to deepen suddenly under 
 the down of his cheeks. Yet his gaze did not falter. On 
 the contrary, he returned Dimitri 's stare with a candid 
 innocence of regard, though there was that in his face that 
 told of a mute appeal for comprehension. 
 
 " How long has this been going on? " 
 
 For a moment Petros felt inclined to resent this cross- 
 examination, but an earnestness, strangely compelling, in 
 his companion's manner induced him to reply. 
 
 Dimitri looked at him searchingly. The boy seemed to 
 feel no shame. His face was unusually grave, but his eyes 
 held a strange inward light, while his voice told of a 
 subdued and solemn gladness. Sorely perplexed, Dimitri 
 continued to stare at him. Had he forgotten his vows? 
 How far was he guilty? There was something in his ex- 
 pression that disarmed suspicion. It baffled the muleteer; 
 more, it made him angry; but rather at something within 
 himself than at this young monk, who devil take him 
 eluded anger. 
 
 Suddenly the crux of the matter flashed across him. 
 
 " You love her? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 11 She loves you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The replies carried conviction. The tone of the last 
 affirmative amazed the muleteer, even through the pain it 
 inflicted. It seemed not so much an answer to his ques- 
 tion as to some inner voice in the lad's own bosom whose 
 mouthpiece, he, Dimitri, had unconsciously become. It was 
 the hushed, reverent, and almost incredulous recognition of 
 a truth too wonderful, too beautiful to be true. 
 
 ' ' You made her love you ? ' ' 
 
 The baseless charge conveyed nothing to Petros. But
 
 260 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 full of the idea, urged by a jealous pain, Dimitri continued, 
 passion overcoming reason. 
 
 " I see I see now. By'r Lady, yes. You have known 
 it all this time and I like a fool hoodwinked! " 
 
 He broke off with a gesture. Unworthy suspicions again 
 tainted his mind. The night spent in the deserted monas- 
 tery these two, alone the freedom of access to her cell 
 at all hours, by order of the superior the ignorance of the 
 brethren that raised no obstacle to their companionship the 
 simplicity of the Abbot, itself almost a connivance all were 
 known to him, for little passed in the monastery without 
 coming to his ears. 
 
 " If you have wronged her " he broke out thickly. 
 
 Startled by the menace in his companion's voice, Petros 
 stared at him in amazement. There was a troubled look in 
 the boy's eyes that told of one striving vainly to under- 
 stand ; but no guilt ; above all, no shrinking. Again Dimi- 
 tri felt abashed. Muttering something that sounded like 
 an apology, he held out his hand. 
 
 Petros took it frankly, then a look of grave concern 
 overspread his face. 
 
 "I am guilty, Dimitri," he confessed, almost in a 
 whisper. 
 
 The muleteer started, but Petros continued quickly. 
 " Ay, guilty of the sin of concealment. Nay, shrug not 
 your shoulders; 'tis a black sin, God forgive me. Since 
 Lavra I have known, yet have I hid the knowledge of it 
 from the Abbot." 
 
 It was noteworthy that for the moment he remembered 
 only his broken vows, as though the yoke of monastic life 
 the yoke that subjugated all upon whom it fell, to the 
 dead level of unquestioning obedience had at length re- 
 asserted its sway. But at the next moment the lover leaped 
 out. 
 
 " How could I help it? " 
 
 The cry rang with an indescribable intensity of fervour. 
 
 Dimitri drew a long breath. His heart was like lead. 
 Anger had left him ; only wonder and pity remained. 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the mountains. The 
 austerity of the great cliffs became soft, even tender. 
 Their crests shone with the dull lustre of beaten gold. 
 Here and there, where the sun struck fire from a flint, it
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 261 
 
 was as if a jewel flashed, or a star had fallen; the light 
 of its presence trembling on the verge of profound abysses. 
 The distance was a sea of splendour above which the more 
 remote of the crags towered like sentinels, or floated like 
 islands. 
 
 Something of the fugitive glory fell into the little eyrie 
 of a hut. It, too, became transfigured. The opening its 
 window and door in one looked down upon many of the 
 adjacent hills. It had become a square that allured, while 
 it dazzled. The level beams, slanting inwards, suffused 
 the faces of the occupants. This world-wide peace re- 
 proached the two men. It formed a trenchant contrast to 
 their agitation. 
 
 " Yes, I blame myself," cried the young monk passion- 
 ately. " Yet, I vow, as God seeth me, that it was for her. 
 Only at first, not later," he added hastily, as though eager 
 to correct a false impression. " Nay, later I would have 
 done it for myself. Brother Nicodemus would say that I 
 am damned. But I care not. No; I care not! " 
 
 He repeated the last words with defiant obstinacy, his 
 head in the air, a touch of his old boyish impetuosity. 
 It was evident that he was trying to convince, talk down, 
 not the muleteer, but some invisible personality, his other 
 self, the twin possessor of his soul. His sincerity was un- 
 questionable. He recoiled from even the possibility of de- 
 ception. 
 
 " We must think of her," said Dimitri gruffly. 
 
 The face of the boy lighted. 
 
 " She cannot stay here." 
 
 There was no comment. 
 
 ' ' She must go away at once. ' ' 
 
 Still no reply. 
 
 " Come," said the muleteer, disguising his feelings 
 under rough impatience. ' ' Saints above ! what do you ex- 
 pect? " 
 
 11 I?" 
 
 " Yes, you." 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Such hopeless misery became audible in the word that 
 Dimitri looked hastily at his companion. The lad's ap- 
 pearance shocked him. He recalled the Petros he had 
 known all these years, merry and boyishly serious by turns ;
 
 262 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 the young presence that appealed at sight to the sympa- 
 thies of everyone, even to soured old men like Nicodemus 
 and Apostoli above all, the youth and the gaiety! The 
 contrast was poignant. It made him indignant, as 
 though he had been decoyed by fate into playing the part 
 of executioner. His anger vented itself upon his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " You are a monk," he blurted with unreasoning ani- 
 mosity ; then, as his victim winced, he continued with more 
 and more heat. 
 
 ' ' My God, this is too much ! You fall in love you, a 
 monk! You make love to her; ay, you do; no need to 
 look at me like that, confound your innocence. What? 
 You pretend to teach me me! Dimitri! versed in the 
 affairs of the heart ! And now that you have done all this 
 harm, you wish to keep her here here, in Barlaam. Sacred 
 Name ! Imbecile ! And the danger ? To her ? Bethink 
 you, if they caught her Apostoli, for example. Ah, that 
 touches you near ? I should think so. You had forgotten. 
 That is what it is to be a monk. Ah ! to the devil with all 
 monks! " 
 
 He broke off with a violent gesture, his face aflame; 
 then muttered, ' ' There, there ! No need to take it like 
 that." 
 
 But Petros did not move. His eyes stared as though 
 fixed on some invisible catastrophe. Dimitri 's compunction 
 increased. 
 
 " You could not tell," he continued, gruffly as ever. 
 ' ' Were I your age, and a monk, and ignorant, I would have 
 done the same. As it is, I have often done worse, and now 
 I preach ! ' ' 
 
 His gesture signified profound self -contempt. A moment 
 of silence then, ' ' Brother Petros, ' ' he said softly. 
 
 Eliciting no reply, he continued: 
 
 " Bethink you. You are a monk. I have been against 
 it from the first, God knows ; but it was none of my busi- 
 ness. You cannot marry her. Look you, she is helpless 
 a woman. Moreover, she loves you, and women are weak 
 when they love. Believe me, I know ; I who speak to you. 
 Her life is not here 'tis there." He gesticulated towards 
 the sunlight. " Let her go. Look you, she has but us to 
 help her. I," he drew a deep breath, " I am nothing to
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 263 
 
 her. She does not even see me. But you she will listen 
 to you. Let her go. For her sake." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, awed into silence by the trouble 
 his words evoked. He felt awkward, ashamed, for he 
 recognised that he was face to face with some naked emo- 
 tion despair, it might be stripped of all shreds of the 
 reserve that constitutes decency. 
 
 The chin of the young monk had sunk to his chest. He 
 was incapable of pronouncing a word, but deep in his throat 
 he made an inarticulate noise like a man imperfectly 
 stunned by a blow on the head. It was pitiful. 
 
 All at once he wrenched himself away, as though the 
 scrutiny of a fellow-being had become insufferable to him 
 and strode to the opening of the hut. 
 
 The muleteer watched with apprehension. Petros now 
 stood stock-still, his hand clutching the rail, his slight figure 
 an intense black against the intense brightness of the sun- 
 set. He was fighting fighting. 
 
 The utter silence was broken only by the faint creaking 
 of the rotting woodwork, as the heat left it at the slow and 
 relentless approach of night. 
 
 It was his utter loneliness that moved Dimitri. He 
 looked lost, helpless; he had no one to whom he could 
 turn ; and yet, he was only twenty-one. His visible pluck 
 made this the more affecting. Dimitri thought of his own 
 mother, and all that she had been to him in moments of 
 boyish distress. Just a word, a hand passed caressingly 
 over his hair, a motherly shoulder against which he could 
 rest his head just these, but these at the time had been 
 everything. But Petros had no mother, could recall the 
 touch of no woman's hand save one, and now fate was 
 demanding of him never to touch it again. 
 
 He stood on the brink of a despair as profound and 
 inimical to life as the chasm that yawned at his feet. 
 There was courage in his attitude. His head was uplifted 
 as though he were looking someone his sorrow it might be 
 straight in the eyes. His long shadow fell black as a 
 pall across the decayed flooring of the hut, and loomed 
 immense and extravagant athwart the windlass. By a 
 fantastic trick of circumstance, strangely symbolical, this 
 shadow appeared to be hung upon two of the mighty arms 
 which, with the upright that supported them, took the 
 form of a cross.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 AT length Petros turned his back on the light. Dimitri, 
 hearing him approach, feigned interest in his whip. His 
 practised ears noted the extreme listlessness of the boy's 
 movements, audible in the dragging of his sandals over 
 the worn flooring. The muleteer shrank from speech. 
 There was a nakedness about the grief he had been forced 
 to witness that seemed to silence comment. 
 
 It came to him that he had wofully misjudged Petros. 
 He had thought of him only as a boy, almost a child, in- 
 capable of deep feeling. But this despair spoke for itself. 
 It filled the witness with suppressed resentment and a long- 
 ing to do something violent. It also woke respect for one 
 who could feel so passionately, yet take punishment with 
 head erect and no complaint upon his lips. 
 
 " I will tell her," said Petros. He spoke as if all emo- 
 tion had been drained out of him. Dimitri nodded, but 
 without looking up. 
 
 11 For when had it better be? " 
 
 " To-morrow," muttered the muleteer " to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 As he spoke he felt, rather than saw, his companion 
 wince. 
 
 " I can be here," he continued with constraint, " with 
 Nikola. We can take her as far as the frontier " he 
 paused, and stroked his chin " or farther, if necessary." 
 
 Petros assented. Again a casual observer would have 
 judged him indifferent, but his unnatural calm filled 
 Dimitri with vague alarm. 
 
 " She has told me something not all," said the boy in 
 a low voice. " I am loath to send her back to her parents. 
 They treat her cruelly. She said she had only her baby. ' ' 
 The muleteer looked towards him quickly. 
 
 " Her child! " explained Petros. 
 
 "Her own child! " 
 
 264
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 265 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But she is not married? " 
 "No." 
 
 Dimitri still stared at the shadow that now represented 
 his companion. That this information conveyed little or 
 nothing to. the boy did not surprise him; but to him it was 
 illuminating. It did not account for Zetitzka's presence 
 in the monastery though that the one had to do with the 
 other struck him as a possibility. It was characteristic of 
 him that the only lively emotion he felt was a grim ani- 
 mosity towards her betrayer. Being practical, however, the 
 present at once claimed him. 
 
 * ' Why did she come here ? " he questioned. 
 
 For some time there was no answer. The silence was 
 broken only by the far-off bleating of goats driven home- 
 ward at nightfall. Somewhat surprised, Dimitri repeated 
 the question. 
 
 " I know not," said Petros slowly. 
 
 "You don't know! " 
 
 " Nay; she never told me, and I never thought to 
 ask." 
 
 There was such indifference to all immaterial considera- 
 tions in the answer that Dimitri uttered an exclamation. 
 As he pondered, it struck him as strange that neither he 
 nor Petros knew much about the woman they loved. 
 
 ' ' I did think of it once, ' ' continued Petros, ' ' on that day 
 after Lavra. It seemed a sacrilege then. But later " 
 he drew a deep breath " I saw it was naught less than 
 naught. I forgot all about it." 
 
 Dimitri grunted. 
 
 " Do you know that too? " whispered Petros. 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " That nothing matters nothing! so long as she is 
 here? " 
 
 There was no reply. Petros looked up at the big figure 
 looming in the dusk. He seemed to see his companion in 
 a new light. It was as though a wave of sympathy had 
 brought them together. 
 
 " Do you love her too? " he asked reverently. 
 
 Dimitri laughed. There was pain in the sound. 
 
 Petros stared at him in wonder. 
 
 " I have no time to make love," said the muleteer. He
 
 266 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 paused, then added bitterly: " I leave that to monks! " 
 
 He could not resist - the thrust, yet felt ashamed the 
 moment it was uttered. But, like a previous sarcasm, it 
 passed harmlessly over the head of Petros. 
 
 " I thought all the world must love her," said the lad 
 simply. 
 
 Dimitri chafed. 
 
 " Time presses! " he cried. " And you and I talk of 
 ourselves. ' ' 
 
 His irritation aroused his companion. For awhile they 
 conversed in low tones, for the mysterious shadows that 
 had crept upwards from the ravine seemed to impart an 
 air of secrecy to their interview. There was melancholy 
 in the waning light. Nature seemed to grow grey and 
 wan in sympathy with hopes destined never to be realised. 
 It encompassed the young monk, isolating him from his 
 companion, making him one with the slowly blurring ghost 
 of the monastery. It ate into his heart like a corrosive 
 acid it and the silence, which was profound, impassive, 
 disdainful, symbolical of laws imperious and irrevocable. 
 For these preparations made him feel as though he were 
 deciding the hour and manner, not so much of his own 
 death, as the death of someone whose life was inexpressibly 
 more precious to him. 
 
 " We must get her away without anyone seeing," con- 
 cluded Dimitri. " And afterwards " he turned abruptly 
 to his companion " afterwards next day what will you 
 do?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Come! you must have some plan. Devil take me, if 
 I like to let you face it alone! They will miss her: they 
 will question you. Come, rouse yourself! This is im- 
 portant for you." 
 
 " Is it? " The boy's voice had sunk into some depth 
 of numbed sensation. Dimitri muttered an oath. 
 
 " "What will you say? " he asked impatiently. 
 
 " I will tell the venerable father." 
 
 "All? " 
 
 "All." 
 
 " Well, 'tis perhaps the best thing. It must come out 
 in confession, eh? But he will be angry." 
 
 Petros kept silent
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 267 
 
 "You don't care! " 
 
 The boy sighed wearily. " You don't understand," he 
 cried. ' ' Why talk of me ? Anger penance it is all one. 
 Can't you see? Can't you see? " His voice rose in sud- 
 den and querulous remonstrance: it was as though he re- 
 proached his companion for dragging him upwards to where 
 suffering was forced to become articulate. " Can't you 
 see? Nothing will matter then !" 
 
 Again a rush of impotent anger swept over Dimitri. He 
 could have cursed the monastery. 
 
 " Brother Petros," he began, " when two dogs fight, one 
 ought not to be muzzled." 
 
 " Fight? There can be no talk of fighting between us." 
 
 Dimitri 'g brows contracted. The loyalty and candour of 
 the boy's nature reproached him with double-dealing nay 
 more, with falsehood. Goaded by remorse, he muttered 
 inarticulately : 
 
 " What is it?" 
 
 The young voice came to Dimitri from the darkness. He 
 had not noticed before how dark it had become. The slow 
 irresistible progress of the night, blurring all details, steal- 
 ing inwards from the gloomy world without, burying all 
 things deeper and deeper as though it were a fall of im- 
 palpable black dust. 
 
 " I have deceived you," muttered the muleteer awk- 
 wardly. " I I How am I to tell ? " 
 
 There was silence. Not only the motionless figure at 
 his side seemed to be listening without movement, but 
 everything the hut, the shadows, the windlass seemed to 
 be listening too. 
 
 Dimitri continued : 
 
 " You asked me if I loved her. I said no. It it was a 
 lie." 
 
 A faint movement came from the darkness, whether of 
 surprise or anger the muleteer could not tell. He con- 
 tinued sternly : 
 
 ' ' I lied to you. Do you understand ? I love her. Good 
 God ! can't you speak? Don't you hear? I lied to you ! " 
 
 " Why? " 
 
 There came a short mirthless laugh; then: " Why does 
 one ever lie? I was a coward. Yes," he insisted angrily, 
 as though contradicted, " a coward. If another said
 
 268 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 that His gesture was ominous. " Yet it would be 
 
 true. But you I saw fighting it out the devil of a busi- 
 ness ! By the saints ! a lesson to a shirker like me ! " 
 
 " Then you love her too? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I am glad." 
 
 Dimitri 's jaw fell. He Had nerved himself to the con- 
 fession, prepared for anger, reproaches, above all, for 
 jealousy. But this ! 
 
 " Yes, I am glad," repeated the voice at his side, in 
 an imperturbable monotone, which, more than anything else, 
 more even than the sinister gloom of the surroundings, 
 troubled the mind with suggestions of profound and hope- 
 less desolation. " I am glad. She is alone unhappy. 
 There will be no one to take care of her. I " his voice 
 faltered " I must stay here. But you are free." 
 
 Dimitri stood awed. Not a doubt of the intensity of this 
 love came to him. Had it not been visible in the boy's 
 agony as he stood on the precipice brink? "Was it not 
 audible still in the dull note of pain? Yet to give her 
 up and to another ! 
 
 " If " he began, but paused, mentally recoiling from 
 
 what he was about to say. 
 
 " What? " questioned the boy. 
 
 " If you were free if there were no obstacle, no cursed 
 monastery, I mean " 
 
 Petros stared at him in dull astonishment. 
 
 " By Saint Barlaam! I have a mind to do it! Why 
 not? I hate the place for what it has done to you. See, 
 then, Brother Petros, if you will run away with her, devil 
 take me but I will aid you by every means in my power 
 ay, even to lying to the monks till I 'm black in the face ! 
 No need to thank me. I do it for her sake. ' ' 
 
 He had laid an appealing hand on the boy's arm. In 
 the darkness his deep voice vibrated with intense earnest- 
 ness. But Petros had no thought of thanking him. The 
 figure the muleteer touched stood motionless and silent, 
 as if turned to stone. 
 
 Dimitri continued : ' ' Child that you are, you don 't know 
 what you will miss. How should you? They have kept 
 you in ignorance. You have rights. Do you know that? 
 Every honest man has a right to a good woman's love.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 269 
 
 Here they seek to rob you of it. Don't talk to me of 
 vows! Did you know all you were promising when you 
 took them? No, I bet you didn't. Bah! they made you 
 sign an agreement with your eyes shut. It's like selling 
 a spavined mule to a blind man. Cheating, that's what 
 they call it down there in the world. Don't talk to me 
 of religion ! I know the good God. He is just : He would 
 scorn to act like that. He made men for women and 
 women for men. He will forgive if you stick to her, and 
 treat this cursed monastery like like that! " He snapped 
 his fingers. " Hey, now! What is it? " 
 
 Petros had disengaged himself brusquely. 
 
 " You know not what you say ! " 
 
 The muleteer uttered a contemptuous exclamation. 
 
 ' ' It is true, ' ' continued Petros vehemently. " It is true. 
 You speak heedlessly, in ignorance. You do not under- 
 stand. I have sinned yet, God forgive me! I would 
 joyously do it again. I must bear the punishment. I am 
 a monk. Naught under heaven or on earth can alter that. 
 My place is here." 
 
 Dimitri shrugged his shoulders. Yet even in the midst 
 of his very genuine sorrow, he was guiltily conscious of a 
 selfish joy. Indignant with himself, he said sullenly: 
 
 " Tis you who do not understand." 
 
 * ' I do understand. It means that you will love her, and 
 take care of her when I am dead dead to her. Yes, that 
 will be best." 
 
 For long neither spoke. There seemed nothing further 
 to say. For his part, Dimitri was bewildered with the 
 transformation of the boy he had known into this voice 
 beside him. But, through amazement and indignation, his 
 heart went out in sympathy to the lad who, he sur- 
 mised, was suffering as only those can who have staked 
 their all upon one throw of life's dice, and have 
 lost. 
 
 A faint cry reached them. Weird and remote, it wailed 
 disconsolately from the benighted passage. Dimitri lis- 
 tened, but the sound was not repeated. The monastic 
 silence closed in, resettling itself like the waters of a black 
 and stagnant pool momentarily disturbed by the plunge of 
 a stone. 
 
 " Someone calls," he said in a low voice.
 
 270 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 There was no comment. 
 
 " Who can it be," he whispered uneasily, " at this 
 hour? " 
 
 A muffled sound beside him indicated absolute indif- 
 ference.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 UPON the same evening, about the sunset hour, there 
 strode along a lonely path a solitary figure in monastic 
 garb. Stephanos, for it was he, was on his way to col- 
 lect the rent of an outlying farm, the last of his places of 
 call. 
 
 Around the monk a fine wild landscape extended, 
 especially towards the west, where the hills, rugged and 
 blue as uncut sapphires, shouldered the after-glow. Be- 
 tween these, but rapidly blurring in the waning light, lay 
 ridge upon ridge, heathery, craggy, full of formless 
 obscurity and already withdrawn into conscious isolation, 
 anticipating the night. All was bare, barren, with the 
 treeless nudity that saddens the traveller on Grecian up- 
 lands, due if the peasants be credited to the depreda- 
 tions of the marauding Turk. A fine, savage, natural 
 landscape none the less, with never a sign of man's hand 
 or a trace of his passage, save the path worn by countless 
 generations of feet, and flung in loops, like a coil of grey 
 rope, round buttress and hummock, rocky rise and chan- 
 nelled slope. 
 
 The monk walked rapidly, with bowed head. His 
 sombre figure, now climbing, now descending, but throw- 
 ing the miles behind it with long preoccupied strides, might 
 have been mistaken for a phantom, for his naked feet were 
 noiseless on the stones. 
 
 There was something feverish and insistent in the soli- 
 tary wayfarer, in the knotted hands clutching the rosary, 
 in the bowed head, and in the tense and nervous energy 
 of the movements, that formed a trenchant contrast with 
 the deep and all-pervading peace that, " falling, as day 
 fell too," brooded over mountain and valley. This con- 
 trast was further emphasised by his eccentricity; for his 
 stride, though long and unwearying, was not continuous. 
 At times he would halt abruptly, fall into profound con- 
 
 271
 
 272 FOKBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 templation, his eyes fixed vacantly on the stones or the 
 misty outline of the hills, then, rousing himself with an 
 effort, would hastily resume the road. 
 
 The darkness was rising steadily like an exhalation. 
 Objects at a little distance melted and blurred into each 
 other, baffling vision. Background and foreground were 
 merged into one beneath the tent of night. 
 
 All at once a dog barked. The sound, breaking rudely 
 upon the silence, was sufficient to arouse fear in an un- 
 armed man, for dogs in the mountainous district of Thes- 
 saly are savage as wolves. But the monk betrayed no 
 alarm. Swinging round a rocky spur, he became con- 
 scious of a dull red glow relieving the obscurity upon his 
 right. 
 
 The animal came bounding along the track. Its bestial 
 clamour never ceased. Stephanos, muttering a prayer, 
 continued to advance. Reaching the monk, the dog checked 
 abruptly, seized by the instinctive cowardice of animals 
 confronted by fearlessness in man. 
 
 Before Stephanos could gain the cottage, the door opened, 
 and a woman's voice was heard calling the animal by 
 name. It, however, seemed unable either to leave or attack 
 the wayfarer. Its deep growls changed to a pleading and 
 nasal whine, a sound of almost human intelligence. 
 
 Raising his voice, Stephanos informed the woman of the 
 object of his visit. 
 
 " My man is ill," she said apologetically. " But come 
 in." 
 
 Stephanos refused. He preferred to wait, he said, out- 
 side. The woman disappeared. Through the open door 
 her voice could be heard, raised slightly, as though her 
 auditor were deaf. A man's voice answered her, then all 
 was still. Without, in the darkness, the only sounds were 
 the clicking of the monk's beads. The ghostly mass of 
 farm buildings loomed out, a darkness against a darkness 
 that was broken only by the dull glow that, issuing from 
 the cottage door, formed a pathway of faintly-graduated 
 light. 
 
 All at once Stephanos drew back, for the woman ap- 
 peared in the doorway, holding a lighted candle. His 
 sudden movement took the dog by surprise, for it leapt 
 aside, the coarse hair upon its neck bristling.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 273 
 
 Looking at the visitor with frank curiosity, the woman 
 said: 
 
 " My husband says why not come in? He expected 
 you to stay the night." 
 
 The monk stood before her, silent, with averted eyes. 
 She continued: " Last year it was Brother Brother 
 Johannes, I think he was called; and the year before, 
 Brother Apostoli. They both stayed over-night. It is late ; 
 there is no inn near, nor other house for the matter of that. 
 Will you not change your mind and stay ? ' ' 
 
 " Nay, I must be gone." 
 
 " Well " she shrugged her plump shoulders " it is as 
 you like, of course. You look tired, and the night is dark. 
 I am sorry you must go. You will, at all events, eat some- 
 thing; we would be loath to turn a stranger supperless 
 from our door. I have been baking, and " 
 
 * ' Give me the money and let me go. ' ' 
 
 The woman stared at him in amazement. Her first im- 
 pulse was to take offence; but something, for which she 
 could not account, tied her tongue. In silence, that was 
 not without dignity, she paid him and watched while he 
 concealed the money beneath his cassock. Mumbling some- 
 thing that might have been a valediction, he turned ab- 
 ruptly and strode away. Still she watched, the receipt 
 he had given her held absent-mindedly in her hand, her 
 lighted face eloquent with the feelings she longed to ex- 
 press. 
 
 A few minutes later, Stephanos, rounding a corner with 
 his usual precipitation, came into collision with another 
 wayfarer. The latter, all but invisible in the darkness, 
 was on his hands and knees, for his head came in contact 
 with the pit of the monk's stomach. 
 
 "A hundred thousand devils!" vociferated an angry 
 voice. " Who are you, and what do you mean? Cannot 
 you take heed where you walk? May an honest pedlar 
 not look for an accursed key without being assaulted? " 
 
 Want of breath prevented Stephanos from replying. 
 The stranger gave vent to a short laugh. 
 
 " I seem to have knocked the wind out of you, at any 
 rate. That will balance our account. Well, are you dumb 
 as well as clumsy ? Eh ? Give me a match. ' ' 
 
 Stephanos handed him flint and steel. The unknown 
 18
 
 274 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 took it ungraciously. Stephanos, looking silently down 
 on the blackness that represented the stranger, made out 
 a blurred mass, without detail, faintly distinguishable from 
 the track. For some time the pedlar was heard groping 
 in a bundle, swearing to himself the while ; then a candle 
 flickered into light. It made a little circle of kindly 
 luminosity in the midst of this wide surrounding black- 
 ness. The two men showed plain, the one erect, the other 
 still on his knees. The key found, the unknown rose 
 to his feet and held the lighted candle close to the monk's 
 face. 
 
 " Stephanos! " he ejaculated in surprise. 
 
 " Brother Stephanos," corrected the monk. 
 
 " Ay, to be sure. You know me? " 
 
 " I know you, Nik Leka." 
 
 The pedlar laughed, then suddenly sobered. Blowing 
 out the light, he asked : 
 
 " Where are you going? What! To Barlaam? You 
 cannot reach it to-night. Better turn back with me. I 
 sleep at the farm you have just passed. No? Well, you 
 know your own business best, and perhaps 'tis better to part 
 before I tell you what I think of you." 
 
 Since recognising Stephanos, he had slid naturally into 
 the dialect of the mountains. 
 
 The monk made no reply. Irritated by his silence, the 
 pedlar broke forth again. 
 
 " 'Tis not complimentary. Oh, be sure of that! Why 
 didn't you marry the girl instead of running away you 
 coward? " 
 
 Still the sombre figure did not reply. 
 
 " She was too good for you," accused the gruff voice, 
 as though airing an ancient grievance. " I know her, an 
 angel, young, pretty. What did she see in you? Blessed 
 saints ! in you! But women are too good for men. They 
 will have it made up to them in heaven, poor dears." 
 Then, with a swift rush of anger: " By God, monk or 
 no monk, you deserve to be flogged ! ' ' 
 
 Stephanos trembled, not from fear, but from the violence 
 of his effort at self-control. His thin hands clenched upon 
 his rosary. The touch of the worn beads steadied him. 
 He drew a long breath. 
 
 " You do not understand," he muttered.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 275 
 
 "Understand? Faugh! I understand enough. If she 
 had asked me to kill you, I would have done it with 
 pleasure. God in heaven! she even touched the heart of 
 an old crab-apple like me me! Nik Leka! " 
 
 He threw out his arms, then, recalling his pack, began 
 to buckle it on to his shoulders. 
 
 " But she did not want you killed," he growled, tugging 
 at a strap. " Women are soft. They pardon too easily. 
 Ah, she has courage! A fine girl! Few women would 
 have made the journey alone and all for a man who had 
 deserted her." 
 
 He spat angrily, and turned to resume the road. 
 ' What journey? " inquired the monk. 
 
 " To Barlaam, of course." 
 
 l( She! she went to Barlaam! " 
 
 " Assuredly. What have you done with her? " 
 ' What do you mean? " 
 
 ' ' Bah ! why seek to deceive me ? You know well what 
 I mean. She went to Barlaam to see you ; two no, three 
 weeks ago. I saw her at the frontier Khan myself. She 
 has not returned ; that I know. She had a disguise. She 
 might have hoodwinked the monks but not you, for you 
 knew. What have you done with her? Out with it! 
 Where is she? " 
 
 Stephanos stood dumb. 
 
 Nik Leka came a step nearer. The two men were now 
 so close as to appear one. The pedlar's solitary eye 
 glared upwards to where the face of the monk made a 
 visible pallor under his tall hat. 
 
 " If," said he thickly, " if you have done that angel 
 any further harm, ay, even so much as injured her little 
 finger, by God, I will kill you as I would a mad dog." 
 
 The deadly earnestness in his voice struck a grim note. 
 This was deepened by the darkness and loneliness of the 
 scene. There ensued a pause in which the silence was 
 deep. Then the voice of Stephanos, so strangled as to 
 be scarce recognisable, gasped : 
 
 "Barlaam! She Zetitzka, in Barlaam! Holy Vir- 
 gin! 'tis not possible. No." Then, with ungovernable 
 violence, and seizing the pedlar by the shoulder: " Old 
 man, you are deceiving me! You say this to tempt me. 
 Are you the devil! She did not come to Barlaam. She
 
 276 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 dare not. She dare not! You made up this lie. Con- 
 fess. I adjure you by the love of the Crucified, for the 
 sake of your immortal soul. ' ' 
 
 All self-restraint had gone. Nik Leka could not see 
 his wild haunted eyes, nor the sweat beading his pale 
 face, but he heard the frenzied insistence in his voice, and 
 felt, and resented, the vice-like grip of his hand. 
 
 Roughly he shook himself free. 
 
 " I told you the truth," he said gruffly. " She did 
 go to Barlaam. 'Twas I who told her you were there. 
 She has not come back. I tell you she had a disguise ; her 
 mother spoke of it in my hearing. She carried it in a 
 bundle under her arm. I warned her of the danger, but 
 she would not take advice. Women are like that." He 
 scratched his head, then, with a despairing gesture 
 " Sacred Name! this is brain-splitting! Look you, she 
 must be somewhere, that brave girl. But where? If one 
 only knew that she was safe ! ' ' He turned to the black 
 figure beside him. " Come; think! It is your duty to 
 help her, yours of all men. Holy Saints! the very least 
 you can do. You must have seen her. Did no one arrive 
 at Barlaam lately, within the last ten days? She would 
 pass for a boy. You must know! Think! Think! " 
 
 An exclamation of enlightenment broke from the monk. 
 So fierce and full of horror was it that Nik Leka stared 
 apprehensively. On the quiet night there poured forth 
 a stream of curses, wild ejaculations, hysterical threats 
 incoherent, unrestrained, the ravings of insanity. 
 
 Nik Leka's first impulse was one of self-defence. In- 
 stinctively his hand sought the hilt of his yataghan. But 
 his alarm was causeless, for the monk had forgotten him. 
 
 Foreseeing vaguely the danger to the community if this 
 madman were allowed to go free, and forgetful of his own 
 age and the pack upon his back, he attempted to seize 
 him. But Stephanos tore himself from his grasp and in 
 silence, rendered the more impressive by his outburst, fled 
 into the night.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 ALONG the benighted road Stephanos rushed wildly, like 
 the madman he had become. But one thought possessed 
 him to reach Barlaam and denounce the sacrilege to the 
 brethren. Horror, fear, and indignation lent wings to his 
 feet and a spurious strength to his wasted body. Under 
 their influence his impaired vitality blazed into fresh life; 
 like a fire that leaps into flame before it expires. 
 
 On, on, through the darkness, his long cassock imped- 
 ing his movements, loose stones spinning from beneath his 
 feet. The starless night blinded him, but the fierce flame 
 within, fanned by the memory of the pedlar's words, 
 hounded him on. 
 
 At length the inevitable took place. Missing the track 
 at a point where the presence of a great rock cast it into 
 still deeper shadow, the monk plunged headlong among 
 a chaos of stones, recovered himself, staggered, and finally 
 fell heavily to the ground. 
 
 For long he lay without movement, partially stunned. 
 Blood welled from a cut in his head and fell drop by drop 
 upon the ground. His breath came in gasping sobs, and 
 his overdriven heart bumped and checked. 
 
 At length consciousness returned. With an effort he 
 sat up. The darkness was impenetrable. No -vestige of 
 the path was to be seen; and in his fall he had lost all 
 sense of direction. Giddiness and nausea seized him; but 
 passed, as he pressed his brow against the cool surface of 
 a rock. It behoved him to be careful to nurse his 
 strength. It was not his, but God's, lent to him for a 
 purpose. He must make haste. Barlaam was far away. 
 It would take all night to reach it. The pedlar's words, 
 the discovery he had made, and his first impressions, all 
 rushed on him. He sought to rise, but barely had he 
 regained his feet than his dizziness returned. Flinging 
 out his arms, he again staggered and fell. 
 
 277
 
 278 'FOBBIDDEN GKOUND 
 
 Fasts, vigils, and violent passions had sapped at his 
 strength; and now in the hour of need the ill-used body 
 rose in rebellion against the will that had hitherto held it 
 in subjection. His impotence filled him with terror. 
 Still he would not give in. Struggling to his knees, he 
 sought strength by prayer. But the mystic fire that had 
 burned in his heart, sustaining and strengthening him in 
 dark moments of depression, had cooled. The words were 
 naught without the spirit. A heavy sense of regret swept 
 over him. "With all his might he sought to re-kindle the 
 dying flame. The fear of failure added to his torture. 
 Colder and still colder grew his soul, and for all things 
 spiritual he felt only indifference, as of a sluggish heart 
 and a weakened will. 
 
 Dejection seized him. Would God never return never 
 speak with him again ? Was this fatal insensibility a pre- 
 lude to fresh temptation a sign that he was to be de- 
 livered body and soul to the evil one? By a spasmodic 
 mental effort he succeeded in silencing the wild voices of 
 his imagination, in concentrating all his strength upon the 
 determination not to lose courage. But the exertion left 
 him trembling and unnerved. 
 
 Bodily weakness attacked him utter exhaustion and a 
 feeling as though his eyes were two profound cavities pen- 
 etrating to the centre of his skull. Added to this came 
 a mortal lassitude. Oh, to sleep for ever to forget all in 
 a blissful state of utter unconsciousness ! Closing his heavy 
 eyelids, he began to drift upon a sensuous sea. 
 
 All at once a thin note of an owl screeched overhead. 
 Stephanos started violently. With wild affrighted eyes 
 like a hunted thing, he peered around and above, trying 
 vainly to penetrate the darkness. A shudder passed over 
 him. This was the voice of the devil. He felt as certain 
 that the ghostly visitant was the Prince of Darkness as 
 though he quailed before his fiery eyes, or scorched under 
 his poisonous breath. In an agony of fear, he fell to 
 praying aloud, calling upon God to rescue him, to come 
 to his servant out of the waste places of the night. The 
 sharp stones cut into his knees, but he was unconscious 
 of pain. 
 
 ' ' God ! God ! God ! ' ' he cried aloud, with passionate in-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 279 
 
 sistence. But the cry lost itself in blackness, wailing 
 grievously among the desolate hills. 
 
 Then came despair. He was abandoned, doomed to ever- 
 lasting perdition ! With a groan he fell to the ground, his 
 arms outstretched. As he did so, the money-bag at his 
 girdle, striking against a stone, clinked dully. 
 
 How long he lay there he knew not. It might have 
 been minutes, or hours. Time ceased to have importance 
 for him. Drowsiness had gone. His brain was now ab- 
 normally active. His emancipated thoughts clung to 
 Zetitzka. At first he tried to banish her from his mind, 
 but she returned as persistently as though his brain 
 possessed but one cell, and his memory but one groove, 
 and she claimed both. It was a strange form of retribu- 
 tion. He could no more escape than a man bound with 
 chains can rise and walk. She was within him. No dark- 
 ness could hide him, no distance separate. 
 
 Again he shrank reluctantly from her appealing eyes, 
 again he quailed and thrilled alternately at the sound of 
 her voice, again he shuddered with mingled fear and 
 ecstasy at the touch of her hand. Step by step, hounded 
 forward by the lash of memory, he was forced to re-enact 
 every emotion, to re-visit every scene connected with her 
 presence. The first meeting, the night of the storm in his 
 house, the assignations in the mountains, the parting be- 
 fore he fled to the monastery all came back vivid as a 
 landscape suddenly illuminated by lightning. At every 
 separate memory he groaned aloud. 
 
 Then, with a swift and terrible shock, he remembered 
 that she was now in Barlaam. He longed to disbelieve it, 
 but the explanation of the pedlar, convincing him in spite 
 of himself, left no room for disbelief. It was, moreover, 
 corroborated by his own recollections : the new lay brother ; 
 the chance encounter in the subterranean passage; her 
 faltering speech, till now forgotten, but which returned 
 clearly, word by word, as though it were a photographic 
 negative slowly creeping into life under the action of a 
 developer. 
 
 And with hideous inconsistency, in the midst of his 
 horror and fear, he found himself dwelling with guilty and 
 sensuous pleasure upon her bodily attractions, the many
 
 280 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 charms that had power, even in absence, to stir his imagi- 
 nation and accelerate the beating of his heart. 
 
 Suddenly he felt something touch his head. Again and 
 again it came, infinitely soft and caressing, not on his 
 head only, but on his hands, and on his bare neck. With 
 a long sigh he shuddered upwards from the nightmare of 
 his dreams to the blackness of reality. He touched his 
 face with the back of his hand. It was wet. Rain had 
 come. Steadily, persistently it fell from the low drift- 
 ing clouds, saturating him, trickling over his burning skin, 
 forming tiny rivulets in every fold of his cassock. He lay 
 still and allowed himself to be soaked. As the water 
 penetrated to his body, he shivered slightly. It allayed 
 the fever that consumed him; it acted on his brain, sooth- 
 ing it, and winning it to a calmer mood. His trembling 
 ceased, and, little by little, sinful thoughts lost them- 
 selves in the unconscious depths of his soul. With his 
 wounded head pillowed on his arm and his eyes closed, 
 he gave himself up to this gentle presence that fell from 
 heaven like a benediction. He could hear its murmur like 
 a long sigh of relief as it fell and fell in the darkness, on 
 rock and stone, on parched plain and thirsty hill. 
 
 All at once he became conscious of a new sound, faint 
 at first, hardly to be distinguished from the soft monotony 
 .of the rain, but, as the moments passed, growing louder and 
 louder until it acquired significance. It came from be- 
 side him ; the small silvery voice of running water, strangely 
 persistent, reiterating something in the night. 
 
 Accustomed to associate all natural phenomena with his 
 disordered fancies, Stephanos was suddenly seized with 
 the conviction that this was the Voice of God. An im- 
 mense awe took possession of him ; on his knees, by the side 
 of the unseen rivulet, he abased himself, beseeching guid- 
 ance in this hour of darkness. 
 
 Unwearyingly the small voice spoke to him. With 
 every faculty alert, every nerve strung, Stephanos sought 
 to decipher the message. 
 
 Vaguely at first, but more and more clearly as the sound 
 gained in volume, a word suggested itself to his distracted 
 brain a word that repeated itself persistently, as though 
 the invisible were seeking to impress its wishes upon the 
 listener.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 281 
 
 Was it Zetitzka? Who else? God knew how she had 
 imperilled one soul by her fascinations. He knew also 
 that she was seeking to imperil others. What more just 
 than that His wrath should be kindled? 
 
 The memory of her winsome face flashed across him, 
 only to be driven sternly from his mind. Her youth and 
 beauty were the devil's wiles. They should avail her 
 naught. A new-born sense of importance came to him, 
 and in the darkness his haggard face shone with a wild 
 light. With the knowledge of Zetitzka 's presence in the 
 monastery, this man had passed from a tormented but 
 controlled fanatic to a creature of ungovernable instincts. 
 His every action, nay, his every thought, had become 
 exaggerated beyond all sane possibilities, crudely melo- 
 dramatic. With the strange hallucination of the insane, 
 he told himself that he, Stephanos, was God's right hand, 
 His scourge to drive this woman from Barlaam. An over- 
 weening pride swelled his heart, stifling all pity, over- 
 coming all fear. Suddenly, in the blackness and silence 
 of night, the hills heard an almost inhuman sound a 
 shrill, crazy voice uplifted in thanksgiving thanksgiving 
 horrible as a blasphemy.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 ZETITZKA was waiting for Petros in the cloisters. 
 
 The night was dark. A light wind moaned fitfully, 
 causing the semantron to clank at irregular intervals 
 against one of the pillars. Save for this dismal sound 
 and the sighing of the wind, the monastery was plunged 
 in its customary silence. 
 
 Before Zetitzka had been there many minutes, steps 
 resounded on the flagstones and Petros stood beside her. 
 
 A thrill of joy passed over the girl. The darkness, 
 desolate and full of fear, became beautiful, protective. 
 Instinctively, to assure herself of the tangibility of her hap- 
 piness, she stretched out her hands, touched the coarse 
 stuff of his cassock with light furtively-caressing fingers; 
 then, confused and trembling, allowed her arms to fall. 
 
 " I have somewhat to tell you, Zetitzka," he said. 
 
 His voice sounded forced and unnatural. Its tone 
 alarmed her. 
 
 " What is it? " stie asked quickly. 
 
 There was a silence, broken only by the harsh clanking 
 of the semantron. Then he proposed that they should go 
 into the Catholicon. 
 
 Within the building the gloom was combated by the 
 solitary lighted candle that burned continually before the 
 icon of the Virgin. This light, though dim, contrasted 
 forcibly with the groping darkness without. It enabled 
 her to see him. His appearance increased her apprehen- 
 sion. With anxiety, which she never thought of conceal- 
 ing, she waited for him to speak. 
 
 He stood at a little distance from her. It was as if 
 he feared to be near. For a moment he gazed at the 
 deep shadows massed behind the Holy Doors, then, draw- 
 ing a long breath : ' ' Zetitzka you must go away from 
 here." 
 
 282
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 283 
 
 She stared at him, far as yet from the truth, only be- 
 wildered, troubled. 
 
 He continued. " It is not safe for you to remain. At 
 any moment something fearsome might come to pass. 
 Verily, I should have thought of it before. You must go 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 Her eyes had contracted. She did not recognise in this 
 young monk who spoke to her with such self-control the 
 boy who, but a few nights ago, had stammered out his 
 love. His very expression had altered. With a sudden 
 sinking of the heart Zetitzka noticed the set mouth. This 
 sign, which only betrayed the effort of his will, seemed 
 to her the expression of an averted heart. The anguish 
 of the thought took away all power of thinking. 
 
 Instinctively she pressed her hands to her bosom. 
 
 " You want me to go? " she asked, trying to control her 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes./' 
 
 She did not see what the word cost him to utter. It 
 was enough for her to know that he was capable of pro- 
 nouncing an affirmative, of dealing her a mortal blow that 
 killed all dreams, all joy, all hope. 
 
 Her soul had been on tiptoe to greet him. Borne away 
 on the tide of love, Zetitzka had almost lost sight of the 
 dark and inevitable future. Her every thought had been 
 consecrated to Petros. How -to give him pleasure. For 
 his sake and his alone she had more than once exercised 
 a self-repression that had in it much of the torment and 
 the sweetness of martyrdom. Love was in her: as natural 
 to her as colour to flowers. Love tingled in every vein, 
 shone from her eyes, accelerated the beating of her heart. 
 With the impetuosity of a torrent, long dammed up but 
 now set free, her heart rushed towards Petros ; or, rather 
 it fluttered with tremulous wings ; for deep and passionate 
 though her feelings were, she would have died rather than 
 acknowledge them. Only under the influence of a passion, 
 impetuous and ardent as her own, would she have confessed 
 to their existence. 
 
 Even while waiting for him in the darkness of the 
 cloisters, she had been rehearsing her part, schooling her- 
 self to resist, trembling, yearning, fighting. And all the 
 while, deep down in her heart, she had been conscious of
 
 284 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 a delicious weakness that whispered to her that at last she 
 had found her master, that she was his to do with as he 
 liked. Ay, but his to keep and cherish, not his to send 
 away. 
 
 Suddenly she started, to find that Petros was speaking 
 again. 
 
 " All is already arranged," he said. " It were better 
 you left this under cover of night. Dimitri says " 
 
 He was interrupted by a quick gasp. 
 
 " Dimitril I see now! " 
 
 He gazed at her, speechless. She looked dim as a 
 ghost in the flickering golden light; but the indignation 
 in her eyes was a thing alive it pierced him like a knife. 
 
 " He arranged this? " she demanded fiercely. 
 
 At his answer she gave vent to a short angry laugh. 
 " I knew it. You are changed. And in one little hour. 
 You had no thought of this when we parted before sun- 
 set. Oh it is monstrous! Base! Do you call this love 
 that changes in an hour ? Dimitri ! To let him interfere ! 
 What right has he ? He is no monk. ' ' 
 
 Taken aback, Petros stammered he scarce knew what. 
 
 " Friend! " She repeated his last word angrily. " I 
 need no friend but you. I want no one but you. Do you 
 hear? I want you! '' 
 
 He winced at the cry. Her eyes, devouring his face, 
 saw pain. Hope, that had died so hard, struggled into 
 new life. 
 
 "Petros! You do care. I see it in your face. God 
 bless you for that, dear. But you have been misled. You 
 are young, unsuspecting; you know not how wicked men 
 are, and he must be a bad man to advise this. I blame 
 him, not you. He deceived me too with that friendly 
 air of his. I trusted him. But don't listen to him. It 
 would kill me kill me. I couldn't live without you." 
 
 He found no words to answer. Deceived by his silence, 
 Zetitzka continued eagerly : 
 
 " Let me stay with you. I will be very careful. Or, 
 if it is too dangerous here, come away with me. We love 
 each other; no one must separate us." 
 
 " Hearken, Zetitzka," he cried huskily. " Verily, you 
 do Dimitri wrong. He does not want to part us. He is 
 a noble heart. He offered to help us if if so be that
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 285 
 
 we went away together. Ah, stop ! " He raised his hand, 
 for the gladness that sprang to her face cut him like a 
 lash. " It can never be. I am a monk. Holy saints, 
 if only I had to suffer! But you I have brought misery 
 upon you I, who would die, and joyfully, to save you 
 even a little pain. I can never forgive myself. My God ! 
 Zetitzka, do not look at me like that! " 
 
 The hard incredulity in her eyes caused his voice to 
 rise suddenly in a swift uncontrollable note of pain. But 
 her expression did not change. 
 
 In a flash all her noble resolutions, all her dreams of 
 self-sacrifice and abnegation vanished, whirled away like 
 withered leaves before a winter storm. 
 
 Aboriginal instincts had her in their grip. Her Albanian 
 blood, swift to love and swift to kill, surged to her poor 
 aching heart. The fierce, primitive, and racial passions 
 inherited from lawless ancestors smouldered in her eyes. 
 
 The boy was goaded past all endurance. " You do 
 nay, you must believe me ! " he cried. 
 
 She shook her head. The negation was prompted rather 
 by a desire to make him suffer, even as she was suffering, 
 than by unbelief. " No," she said sullenly, " I do not 
 believe you. If you cared for me you would never drive 
 me away. Oh, you are cruel! You, too, think of your 
 soul. Men do not care what a woman suffers. I might 
 have known. I have suffered enough. But I was mad! 
 Blind ! I thought I thought I thought I was so happy ! 
 
 No, stand back " for as her voice broke piteously he 
 
 had stretched out his hands. " I do not want your pity. 
 I want your love. I have given you mine all. I would 
 let you trample me under foot. I would follow you 
 through the world. I would work for you till my fingers 
 were bone. And be proud to do it. But you Holy 
 Virgin! you cast me off at a word from another! Ay, 
 'tis true ; you and that man Dimitri, you arrange my future 
 between you. I am not asked. It does not matter what 
 I feel. I am only a woman. But I will not go! I am 
 no child, to be told to stay or go. Ah, it is all this hateful 
 monastery ! It is cruel. I hate it hate it hate it ! " 
 
 All the Southern violence that love had taught her to 
 repress exploded in her voice, blazed in her eyes. She 
 went and came in the narrow space between the stalls
 
 286 FOKBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 and the Holy Doors, breathless, gesticulating, furious, 
 desperate. 
 
 " Is this religion? " she cried with fierce scorn. " Is 
 this what it is to be a monk to break hearts, to ruin 
 lives? Then give me a yataghan. It is more merciful: 
 it kills at once! " 
 
 Petros watched her coming and going watched her, 
 sick with pain. 
 
 Suddenly her mood altered. She stopped abruptly. 
 Her hands, now unclenched, were again pressed con- 
 vulsively to her bosom, as though by the might of her 
 ten straining fingers she could force down the anguish 
 that was choking her. In the dim light Petros noted 
 with renewed misery that her eyes were full of tears. She 
 leant towards him as he stood riveted to the spot. 
 
 11 Petros," she faltered, " what have I said? In my 
 head everything is confused. I I forgot myself. You 
 must forgive me. I know you love me. You would not 
 break my heart would you, dear ? You are my own true 
 lover, the sweetest lover ever woman had. You will come 
 with me ? promise it. For the sake of our love, Petros ! ' ' 
 
 Where was the Fury of a minute ago ? Gone ! And in 
 her place was this poor woman, this piteous child, her 
 lips trembling, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. 
 
 The boy instinctively crossed himself. All vestige of 
 colour fled from his face. All his soul, all his body went 
 out to her in an immense wave of compassion and 
 sympathy and suffering mutely shared. 
 
 In the solemn hush of the sanctuary her voice continued, 
 earnest and eager, passionate and imploring by turns. In 
 broken words that were as a cry from her breaking heart, 
 she reasoned with him, struggling to master her distress, 
 to fight down her tears, to tell him of all that he would 
 lose, to paint to him all that he might gain. 
 
 And he listened to her as one in a trance, unable to 
 move, seduced by the sweetness and the pathos of that 
 beloved voice that revealed to him a happiness beyond all 
 imagining. To live with her always, always to make a 
 home for her to guard and console her to love her 
 without restraint to be the father of her children. A 
 terrible longing rushed over him. It communicated itself
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 287 
 
 to every inch of his body. Each separate throb of his 
 heart was like a cry from the night of his loneliness, re- 
 iterating her name. 
 
 Under these overpowering influences, his past, his life's 
 training, his vows, all swung back, became faint and for- 
 gotten as dreams at daybreak: nothing in the whole uni- 
 verse was real but Zetitzka, but this dear familiar voice 
 that was as sweetest music to his ears, leading him from 
 darkness into light. 
 
 But as he listened and thrilled, moved to profound 
 depths, his heart melted with love and longing, another 
 voice called to him. Like a sleep-walker who awakens 
 aghast upon a precipice brink, Petros awoke suddenly. 
 In a flash he saw reality, and recoiled. He was a monk. 
 For him there could be no such love as he had pictured. 
 He would love her always that was beyond recall but 
 his place was here here till death. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was violent. He felt like one 
 in whose face the gates of all earthly joy are closed for 
 ever. A subdued and profound spiritual responsibility 
 mingled with the anguish that never for one moment 
 ceased to prey upon his mind. Swiftly before his mental 
 vision there passed memories of the solemn rite of initia- 
 tion: the Abbot's voice raised in exhortation, the chanting 
 of the brethren, the immense insurgence of spiritual awe 
 and ardour that as he had stood before them clad for the 
 first time in the " Lesser habit " of a monk had swelled 
 his heart and imparted to every detail of the solemn service 
 a holy and mysterious significance. 
 
 His material surroundings, which had receded to an 
 immeasurable distance, drew near, claiming him. The 
 shadowy corona with its pendant ostrich eggs ; the sombre 
 stalls vanishing into impenetrable gloom; the inner 
 sanctuary behind the Holy Doors, now shrouded in dark- 
 ness all loomed black and imminent, frowning upon him 
 in mute but eloquent reproach. Only the face of the 
 Virgin, turned towards him, shone with a promise of inter- 
 cession that was humanly tender, yet divine. 
 
 Zetitzka, watching, saw his face change. Its expression 
 filled her with dread. She recognised that she had ceased 
 to be all in all to him that some influence stronger than
 
 288 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 hers was at work. A dull and burning jealousy seized her 
 yet, conscious that all effort was now unavailing, she 
 kept silence. 
 
 Then, in the dim light, surrounded by the mysterious 
 symbols of the creed that separated them, he spoke to 
 her spoke with averted eyes that he might not add to 
 her pain. 
 
 But Zetitzka paid heed neither to his anguish nor to 
 his disjointed speech. His tone was enough for her. In 
 it there was a note of finality that was as a hand of ice 
 laid upon her heart. 
 
 The inner light that lent him strength to do his duty 
 was invisible to her. Later it was to dawn upon her that 
 for him there was something higher than human love, and 
 the knowledge was to bring consolation and even thank- 
 fulness. But for the moment all was dark. 
 
 Her poor distracted heart, racked with suffering, the 
 sport of primitive passions, took note of but one thing 
 she had lost him for ever. 
 
 The blackness of the monastery settled down upon her 
 like a pall. The silence, when Petros had ceased to speak, 
 ate into her bones. Her attitude was one of utter and 
 hopeless abandonment the helpless acquiescence of one 
 who is crushed. Slowly her head drooped until her fore- 
 head came in contact with the hard carven surface of 
 the stalls against which she leaned. Then motionless as 
 one of the sculptured saints overhead, with hands limp 
 and open, with eyelids closed and streaming, she gave her- 
 self up to despair.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 IN the windy dawn Petros, crossing the court, came 
 unexpectedly upon Dimitri. The muleteer was sheltering 
 under the branches of the fig-tree. 
 
 " I could not keep away," he muttered awkwardly, sup- 
 pressing further explanations as he saw that Petros ex- 
 pected none. 
 
 Dimitri looked round the court and at the monastic 
 buildings slowly detaching themselves from the obscurity. 
 Above him, the heavy foliage bent to the blasts. Bar- 
 laam, seen in this chill and blustering dawn, had an in- 
 describable air of gloom. 
 
 " Where is she? " he asked 
 
 "In her cell." 
 
 " You have told her? All is arranged? '" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The muleteer looked furtively at his companion. It was 
 plain that he longed, yet feared, to question. Curiosity, 
 however, got the better of him. 
 
 " How did she take it? " he asked awkwardly. 
 
 Save with a vague gesture of his hands, Petros did not 
 reply. His surroundings were less real to him than the 
 recollection of Zetitzka, deadly pale, standing out among 
 wavering shadows. Unconsciously he resented Dimitri 's 
 presence. He wanted to be alone. 
 
 " We must make it easy for her," said the muleteer, 
 gruffly. " We are men, you and I." 
 
 The look that Petros turned on him puzzled and even 
 struck him with amazement, for there was a solemnity 
 and an insighi, in the grave eyes of the boy that made 
 him feel that he had spoken unnecessarily. 
 
 " I can do little," he blundered on; " but you, you can 
 do much. See that all is ready before dusk, her belong- 
 ings and the key to the ladders. No one must see 
 But there, you know all about that. As for me, I must 
 19 289
 
 290 FORBIDDEN GEOUND 
 
 pass this day somehow. My faith ! I am glad I have my 
 business. I go to Meteoron and Kastrati. But at night- 
 fall, you understand? Bah! I talk too much. Holy 
 saints ! what a dog 's day ! ' ' 
 
 As he spoke, the high harsh wind swept over the monas- 
 tery. On its wings came clouds of fine dust whirled up- 
 wards from the ravines. It tore at the kilt of the man, 
 the cassock of the boy, buffeting them with irresponsible 
 violence, causing them to clutch at their headgear; then 
 screamed out and away across the ranges to where lay 
 the sunless world. 
 
 ' ' This wind, look you, ' ' grumbled the muleteer, ' ' 'tis the 
 very devil, the black wind, the worst we have had for 
 years. I met the village priest on the path near Hagios 
 Triada. He prayed aloud as he walked. He said that 
 
 with this wind comes calamity. One never knows " 
 
 He crossed himself. " As a precaution, eh? " 
 
 But Petros was not listening. His eyes were fixed on 
 the shadowy dormitories. Dimitri noticed and shook his 
 head. With a curt farewell, he swung off towards the 
 outer court. As he went, he muttered : ' ' Could you not 
 leave them to themselves for one day, and that the last? 
 Beast! " 
 
 Even upon the swaying ladders he continued to abuse 
 himself, taking pleasure in doing battle with the gale. 
 
 An hour later, several of the brethren were at break- 
 fast. 
 
 " I have no appetite," wailed Gerasimos, then cried out 
 lamentably against the wind that made his head go round. 
 His companions likewise complained of bodies glowing 
 with dry heat and skins gritty with dust. Nervous ten- 
 sion and depression weighed upon the spirits; even the 
 gentle Philemon, with flushed face and eyes unnaturally 
 bright, waxed quarrelsome. Superstitious fears added to 
 their physical distress. Muttering low, as though the wind 
 that howled without were capable of taking sudden 
 vengeance, Nicodemus gave it as his opinion that the 
 souls of the damned were abroad, and that it behoved 
 all good monks to watch and pray. The others listened 
 to him with open mouths, wagging their white beards and 
 from time to time casting apprehensive glances towards the 
 door.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 291 
 
 The nervous tension deepened as the day dragged to- 
 wards its close. The change after weeks of clarity and 
 sunlight, was remarkable. A crape veil seemed to be 
 drawn over the face of nature, through which the lurid 
 light penetrated feebly. The outer world, stretching itself 
 away in dim perspective, showed leaden and featureless; 
 while, near at hand, the giant buttresses of Meteora 
 towered grimly. The wind came from the north. It 
 turned the gullies into vent-holes, and stormed about the 
 pinnacle of Barlaam with a hollow and endless plaint that 
 sunk the spirits of its inmates to their lowest ebb. Around 
 the monastery it swept, less in gusts than in a steady 
 besieging uproar; but higher, where the hills piled them- 
 selves upon the northern sky-line, its strength was more 
 variable, for there came down at times a far-off canorous 
 wailing, infinitely grievous to hear, and the eye would 
 mark where a sudden column of dust whirled up- 
 wards and dispersed instantly like the smoke of an explo- 
 sion. 
 
 Nightfall within the ravines was but the continuation of 
 a darker and more hopeless day. 
 
 A little after the sunset hour for no appearance of 
 sunset had been visible Stephanos strode rapidly along 
 the path that led to the base of Barlaam. A stranger, 
 meeting him, would have noticed nothing remarkable, save 
 that he talked to himself, for the enveloping gloom hid 
 the monk's features and concealed all signs of discom- 
 posure. 
 
 But the material darkness found its counterpart within 
 his heart. His unbalanced brain, so long on the verge, 
 had at length leaped into madness a form of madness 
 rendered doubly dangerous by some show of reason and 
 controlled by a cunning that in itself was an additional 
 cause for alarm. 
 
 The wind made walking difficult. It sprang on this 
 lonely wayfarer and contested every foot of the path. 
 As he struggled onwards with bent head and clutching 
 his cassock, he stumbled frequently, and once he fell; but, 
 recovering himself, he again matched his strength against 
 the gale. 
 
 His mind was entirely occupied with Zetitzka. When 
 the wind permitted, he rehearsed aloud what he would
 
 292 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 say when he met her face to face. The effect of this 
 voice haranguing the darkness was uncanny in the ex- 
 treme. In its tones were to be heard all the evil passions 
 that hounded him on. That which was most noticeable 
 about him was his lack of humanity; for as far as all 
 pitiful and kindly instincts were concerned, he had ceased 
 to be a man. He had become merely an embodiment of 
 evil; obsessed with one idea; a purpose and a peril. His 
 strength had redoubled. He burned with fever. But so 
 intense was the concentration of his thoughts that he 
 was as oblivious of weakness, hunger, and want of sleep 
 as he was of the wind or the stones among which he 
 stumbled. 
 
 Arrived at the foot of the ladders, he began the ascent. 
 The clumsy lengths that oscillated to his movements had 
 now no fears for him. He was unconscious of their sway- 
 ing motion as step by upward step he climbed the face 
 of the cliff; and if the blackness and the danger pene- 
 trated to his mind, it was only to thrill it with a sense of 
 exultation. 
 
 Having groped his way through the trap-door, he 
 paused irresolute. The darkness that hemmed him in was 
 broken faintly by the square at his feet a space that told 
 where the topmost ladder hung and the precipice fell 
 sheer. Through this opening the wind forced itself. A 
 fierce spirit seemed to animate it, for unable to prevent the 
 monk's entry it followed him, venting its rage upon the 
 cra2y hut, every beam of which groaned aloud. 
 
 Stephanos was thinking swiftly. Facts detached them- 
 selves from the chaos in his mind; so clearly did they 
 stand out that he was able to marshal them into a semblance 
 of order. Yet madness tinged even this show of reason. 
 A pride great as that of Lucifer swelled his breast. 
 The monastery, the pinnacle, all his surroundings, be- 
 came insignificant, and he himself a giant. This lack 
 of proportion, so common among the insane, persuaded 
 him that he had only to raise a hand and miracles would 
 take place. Was he not the agent of an avenging Deity? 
 In the darkness his eyes dilated and his heart grew big 
 with a sense of illimitable power. 
 
 Yet lurking beneath this inflated insanity, there were 
 a doubt and a fear. Swamped by pride and the rush of
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 293 
 
 wild hallucinations, they were existent, nevertheless. The 
 doubt was of himself the fear of Zetitzka. 
 
 All at once it struck him as unusual that the topmost 
 ladder should still be in its place. While recognising this 
 as fortunate, he did not cease to wonder. Was it not the 
 duty of Brother Petros to draw it up at nightfall? The 
 lad had then forgotten. Why? 
 
 As he pondered, memory came to his assistance a com- 
 ment of one of the brethren uttered in his hearing, till 
 now forgotten. The names of Petros and Angelos had 
 been linked together. Angelos? That meant Zetitzka! 
 Great God! He clasped his hands to his head, for the 
 blood had rushed to his brain. Almost swooning, he leant 
 against the timber wall. 
 
 For long he remained without movement. Then, lock- 
 ing the trap-door and concealing the key beneath his cas- 
 sock, he groped his way towards the courtyard.
 
 CHAPTER XLYI 
 
 As he crossed the inner court, Stephanos came unex- 
 pectedly upon the Abbot. The old man staggered as the 
 monk stumbled against him. 
 
 " Who is it? " he cried, for deafened by the wind and 
 bewildered by the darkness he had heard no approaching 
 footsteps. ' ' Is that you, Brother Philemon ? ' ' 
 
 " It is I, Stephanos." 
 
 " Holy Saints! " The Abbot peered through his spec- 
 tacles at the tall shadow barely distinguishable in the 
 gloom. " You amaze me, my son. I knew not you had 
 returned. But right glad am I to behold you; 'tis no 
 night for aught human to be abroad. Now, get you to 
 your cell. I will send victuals unto you. God be with 
 you, my son." 
 
 " Venerable father " But, ere he could continue, 
 
 a hand was laid on his shoulder. ' ' You forget, ' ' cried the 
 Abbot's voice from the darkness. " You are under a 
 penalty of silence." 
 
 Stephanos stood dumfounded. The fact had entirely 
 slipped his memory. Experience told him that the penalty 
 would be rigorously enforced. The Abbot's word was law. 
 This knowledge, more than the warning hand, held him 
 speechless. 
 
 The wind buffeted him in the face and fled screaming. 
 To his mind it was a fiend mocking him. 
 
 " Hear me! " he cried in desperation, clutching as he 
 spoke at the old man 's cassock. ' ' You must hear me ! 
 God sends me. There is deadly sin in the monastery." 
 
 " Silence!" 
 
 Recovering from his amazement, the Abbot threw into 
 the word a weight of outraged authority. His tone 
 dominated Stephanos as the human eye is said to dominate 
 a wild animal. The Abbot continued : 
 
 " What wild words are these? The black wind has dis- 
 
 294
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 295 
 
 tempered yon. You are not yourself to-night. Add not 
 disobedience to disobedience. Do as I command. Go." 
 
 Half an hour later Elias and Gerasimos were dallying 
 over their evening meal. The cheerless interior of the 
 refectory, dimly lighted by the Moorish lamp, was full of 
 wavering lights and shadows. Elias was worn out, for 
 owing to the weather, the long services had been peculiarly 
 exhausting. His grey head leant heavily upon his hand: 
 his elbow propped itself upon a table still covered with 
 the remnants of supper. Opposite him sat Gerasimos 
 listening uneasily to the wind, while endeavouring to ex- 
 tract consolation from a glass of mastica. 
 
 All at once, the snap of broken glass caused Elias to 
 open drowsy eyes. His companion the stem of the shat- 
 tered wineglass still between his fingers was staring at 
 the window, his whole person eloquent of superstitious ter- 
 ror. 
 
 . " Kyrie Eleison! " cried Elias; but in answer to his 
 questions Gerasimos could do naught but point and gape, 
 while the spilt mastica trickled to the floor. 
 
 * ' A face, ' ' he whispered, finding breath ; " I saw it there 
 plainly as I see you ! ' ' 
 
 His terror was infectious. Elias also found himself 
 gaping at the stone slit that did duty for a window. 
 
 " What like was it? " he asked, under his breath. 
 
 " Naught human. Its eyes reminded me of of 
 He raised his hands, palms outwards, as though to ward 
 off evil; then, in a whisper and bending forward across 
 the table till his lips all but touched his friend's ears 
 " You have seen the damned on the wall in the Pronaos." 
 
 Elias crossed himself hastily. For awhile the two old 
 men remained without movement. Outside the wind 
 howled lugubriously. It forced itself under the door, 
 brandished the lights of the smoky lamp, passed shudder- 
 ingly between the two monks as they sat at table. 
 
 "*I shall stay here all night," muttered Gerasimos, 
 edging closer. 
 
 Elias echoed the resolve; adding with faint hope 
 ' ' Peradventure the semantron will frighten it away. ' ' 
 
 11 Tis not that I am frightened," said Gerasimos, his 
 teeth chattering. " But my God! what is that! " 
 
 The click of the latch and the grating of the door open-
 
 296 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 ing slowly were with Gerasimos to his dying day. His 
 boasted courage fled. Elias shared his emotions. But be- 
 fore they could tell who the intruder might be, a gust 
 extinguished the lamp. The refectory was at once plunged 
 in darkness. Nothing was to be heard save the wailing 
 of the wind; a sound dismal at all times, but when ac- 
 companied by superstitious fears, sufficient to terrify the 
 boldest. The impression of something standing silent and 
 watchful in the strong draught caused by the open door 
 was unmistakable. 
 
 At length a familiar voice was heard, calling upon the 
 brethren by name. 
 
 " 'Tis Brother Stephanos! " cried Elias with in- 
 describable relief. 
 
 " Let us re-light the lamp," proposed Gerasimos, mop- 
 ping his brow. 
 
 " Nay." The voice of Stephanos rang loud. The two 
 monks heard its peremptory tone with astonishment. It 
 continued : ' ' I have somewhat to tell you, now, at once. ' ' 
 
 " But," objected Gerasimos, peering uneasily into the 
 darkness whence the voice proceeded. " But we may not 
 hold converse with you. The venerable father has forbid- 
 den it. God forgive us, we have already sinned. But you 
 took us unawares." 
 
 " Ay, did he," corroborated Elias warmly. 
 
 " You will not listen ? " 
 
 " We may not." The good-natured little monk ges- 
 ticulated appealingly, as though he could be seen; then 
 with a sudden pang of conscience and addressing himself 
 exclusively to Elias, " May we, brother? " 
 
 " By no manner of means. A penance is a penance, 
 and must be obeyed. Come, Brother Gerasimos, it grows 
 late. Let us seek our cells." 
 
 " Fools! " The epithet was hurled at them. It caused 
 them to blink with amazement. " O fools, ye that have 
 eyes and see not, ye that close your ears lest ye may 
 hear! But you shall hear! There is a woman in the 
 monastery." 
 
 But upon neither of the old men did the information 
 take immediate effect. Their senses, dulled by age and 
 grievously harassed by the weather, were simply be- 
 wildered. As they gaped into the darkness, the voice of
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 297 
 
 Stephanos continued to speak. But its warnings were now 
 mingled with wild denunciations, blasphemous pretensions, 
 savage personal rancour, the whole so tinged with the 
 very breath of insanity that the brethren's horror was con- 
 centrated upon the monk himself. 
 
 Stephanos broke off abruptly. For a moment he lin- 
 gered; then the protracted silence conveying to his mind 
 only hopeless and inconceivable stupidity, he hurled an 
 imprecation at them and strode away. 
 
 Gerasimos sought for and found the arm of Elias. 
 
 " Mad! " he quavered. " God forgive us all! " 
 
 " Amen," muttered Elias.
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 WITHIN one of the underground passages Petros and 
 Zetitzka kept their last tryst. 
 
 A glimmer of light came from the outer world and, 
 dawning through the rude opening cut in the living rock, 
 dimly revealed a section of the passage a portion of the 
 inner wall pierced by the doorway of a cell a cave of 
 unmitigated blackness on either hand where the gallery 
 lost itself in gloom and, finally, the figures of Petros and 
 Zetitzka seated on a log that overlooked the abyss. 
 
 Though shorn of its strength by the mass of rock, the 
 wind could be heard raving in the darkness, sweeping 
 over vast, benighted, and desolate spaces; at times with 
 a note of anger; at others, sobbing and wailing piteously. 
 
 It wandered, too, into the passage not with violence, 
 but in fitful draughts, mournful as a sigh. 
 
 All around, the monastery brooded. It had the air of 
 one who waits for something inevitable ; of one who, intent 
 upon some climax unimagined by others, heeds neither 
 wind nor night. 
 
 Never before had this air of sinister expectation been 
 so marked not even in the dusk of Zetitzka 's first ascent. 
 The little old buildings seemed to know all. Since first 
 one stone had been laid upon another no such forbidden 
 companionship had taken place. The deep-rooted and 
 ancient hostility to women that steeped the minds of the 
 monks appeared to have passed to the grey walls that 
 gave them shelter. There was something ominous in their 
 impassivity, in their muteness ; something vaguely disquiet- 
 ing in their grim alliance with the night. They darkly 
 threatened, raising themselves with the distortion of things 
 obscure, into the ragged and flying chaos of the sky. 
 
 The very wind, a creature of moods, seemed to partake 
 of this emotion. It, too, appeared strangely animate, full 
 of querulous and senile animosity. * l A woman ! " it 
 
 298
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 299 
 
 seemed to wail. * ' A woman ! ' ' Upon its wings the souls 
 of monks long dead shuddered past struck with impotent 
 spite of the girlish figure, snatched in angry draughts at 
 her costume; then fleeing back to the monastery, moaned 
 her secret to the cloisters in whispers of inarticulate horror. 
 
 For Petros, sitting motionless by Zetitzka's side, neither 
 the night nor the storm existed, except in as far as they 
 had to do with her, with her presence, her departure. A 
 blacker gloom than that which confronted his physical eyes 
 stretched before his mental vision. In one hour, perhaps 
 less, it would have engulfed his life for ever. He was too 
 steeped in the blackness of the present to see, or even 
 to think of any possible light in the future. No inkling 
 of what this experience might ultimately mean to him 
 brought consolation to his mind. He was stunned. ' ' She 
 is going away she is going away! " He repeated this 
 over and over to himself, repeated it stupidly, mechanically ; 
 but it conveyed nothing definite to his mind. It was all so 
 impossible that he could not believe that it was to him 
 Petros that this calamity had come. That the morrow 
 would dawn when he would seek her and find her not that 
 endless morrows would follow, all empty, all hopeless, was 
 a contingency so appalling as to be unthinkable. 
 
 His thoughts slid almost unconsciously into the old 
 familiar groove of prayer, worn deep by training and life- 
 long habit. That God would grant him strength such was 
 now his passionate, yet inaudible cry strength to conceal 
 his misery strength to spare her unnecessary pain. 
 ' * Great and Merciful God, for her sake ! ' ' 
 
 And he was answered. Little by little, as during that 
 hour of temptation in the Catholicon, something came to 
 him. With fear, with solemn and unspeakable awe, he 
 was conscious of it taking possession of his soul. Under 
 its influence he grew strong. His fever and restlessness 
 abated. A composure foreign to his nature descended 
 upon him, more spiritual, more saint-like than he had ever 
 before attained. His spirit looked down as from some im- 
 mense height upon his suffering heart. 
 
 And yet never before had all that was human in him 
 desired her more passionately; never before had his man's 
 heart worshipped her with more complete absorption. 
 That she was going away made her, if possible, more un-
 
 300 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 alterably dear, more inseparable from his very existence. 
 
 It was no light-won victory over self that this boy was 
 gaining. Temptation was not dead. It still beset him in 
 a hungering impotent yearning to recall the past. 
 
 One memory in particular obsessed him, causing his 
 heart to ache with a wild and barren fervour of regret 
 one memory, the recollection of one sunset. The pale 
 gleams of the western cliffs had thrown a shadow of light 
 behind her, as though the sun were lingering. From out 
 of this radiance she had come to him. Ah, the grace of 
 her coming! the gladness that always came with her! 
 Never again would he see that light from the closing of 
 the west without thinking of her. Alas! if it came to 
 that, what hereafter was he to see in earth or heaven with- 
 out thinking of her? 
 
 When the wind moaned along the passage it stirred the 
 white embroideries of her costume. These fluttering 
 draperies, so indissolubly associated with his first recol- 
 lection of her, reminded him that the moments were fleet- 
 ing. As never before did he realise the value and terrible 
 evanescence of time; how each little second can be more 
 precious than the heart's blood, yet pass swiftly and lightly, 
 as of no account. 
 
 Already something in his soul was deepening, broaden- 
 ing, ripening swiftly to maturity, although he knew it not. 
 Life was dealing with him. Suddenly aroused to the con- 
 sciousness of her neglect, she was taking him in hand at 
 last. Once, in his ignorance, he had asked for sorrow, and 
 she had given him happiness; now when he longed for 
 happiness, she gave him sorrow. Like a piece of metal 
 full of alloy, yet full also of beautiful possibilities, his 
 soul was tossed into the crucible of suffering. Life waited 
 the result. 
 
 The moon struggled through the clouds. Zetitzka's face 
 shone clear. Her eyes hung upon his. Within them 
 Petros read depth beyond depth of passion and sadness, 
 blackness of despair and thoughts too deep for tears. 
 
 Since Petros had told her that she must leave the 
 monastery, Zetitzka had been as one crushed; a strange 
 apathy had taken possession of her, a numbness of feel- 
 ing that enabled her to perform her duties as though 
 another, and not she, were obliged to dust and to sweep.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 301 
 
 She had come to this last meeting obeying Petros 
 mechanically, as she would have obeyed him in all things. 
 Her proud free spirit, which even disgrace and Stephanos 
 had been unable to conquer, was at last subdued. She had 
 become gentle and acquiescent, pathetically touching in her 
 resignation; speaking only when forced to do so, conceal- 
 ing her misery beneath a calm exterior. Something in her 
 soul, faintly responsive and unknown to her, already dimly 
 apprehended the spirit that raised and controlled the man 
 she loved. 
 
 For long they sat side by side in silence, gazing out- 
 wards and downwards, less conscious of the dark world 
 below than of their own sad and profoundly troubled 
 thoughts. 
 
 The wind had lulled. Around the monastery it fell 
 strangely silent, as though worn out by its own violence; 
 but it could still be heard sweeping dismally over the be- 
 nighted plains. 
 
 All at once Petros looked round. For a moment he 
 stared into the blackness of the passage, then turning 
 to his companion, asked her if she had heard anything. 
 
 " Only the wind," she answered. 
 
 " It seemed unto me " He cast another apprehen- 
 sive glance over his shoulder. " But, no ! none would come 
 here at this hour. And yet perchance it is Dimitri. He 
 promised to be with us at the tenth hour. Listen " 
 
 They both listened, holding their breath. A distant 
 moaning came from the monastery. It rose and fell fit- 
 fully, and again the chill subterranean draughts breathed 
 upon them. 
 
 He continued gravely: "The hour is at hand. The 
 brethren are in their cells. The venerable father was 
 aweary to-night ; past doubt he, too, sleeps. I marvel much 
 what keeps Dimitri. I must go and see." 
 
 She made no attempt to keep him. Something in her 
 attitude pierced his heart. 
 
 " I will not be long gone," he faltered. " You do not 
 fear to stay alone ? ' ' 
 
 Her face was averted, but he saw her shake her head. 
 He said no more. The sound of his retreating footsteps 
 reverberated from the blackness grew fainter died away. 
 
 Suddenly there fell upon Zetitzka an overwhelming
 
 302 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 sense of desolation. It made itself felt even through the 
 dull apathy of despair, striking her with a quivering sense 
 of misery. No longer buoyed up by the presence of Petros, 
 she broke down utterly. Hot tears coursed down her 
 cheeks. Her impotence to do aught but submit roused 
 again her fierce mountain blood. If she could only fight 
 only tear down this great inhuman monastery with her 
 hands! But, no; Barlaam, stern and impassive opposed 
 her with its old imperturbable silence. Passionately she 
 stretched out her arms to the stars. But they shone down 
 upon her with cold indifference. There was nothing in 
 earth or heaven to lend an ear to her despair. 
 
 Little by little she became calmer; her tears ceased to 
 flow. Now and again a laboured sob broke from her. But 
 even that was in time suppressed. Then, with head bowed 
 to her hands, motionless, she sat for long unconscious 
 of her surroundings. 
 
 What was that? Zetitzka raised her head. All was 
 still, for the wind had dropped ; but the sound behind her 
 had set every nerve ajar. 
 
 All at once she felt frightened. She tried to fight down 
 this fear, but failed. Some instinct, stronger than her will, 
 impelled her to turn till she could gaze into the inner 
 darkness. 
 
 A black mass half blocked the passage towards which 
 she now looked. She knew it to be firewood, stored against 
 the winter. She told herself so, to shame her fear. But 
 in the very act of reassuring herself, her heart leapt to 
 her mouth. Something moved! Something beyond the 
 margin of moonlight that glimmered a ghostly blue into 
 the gallery. She saw it. There was no mistake. Some- 
 thing was lurking there in the blackness. 
 
 Full of a strange frozen terror, she watched. A moment 
 of suspense, then the darkness appeared to solidify, to come 
 nearer, and in this moving obscurity Zetitzka saw a grey 
 face with eyes fixed on hers the face of Stephanos.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 REACHING the courtyard, Petros paused for a moment 
 where an angle of the Catholicon gave shelter from the 
 wind. Now that he was forced to concentrate his atten- 
 tion upon it, Dimitri's absence distressed him not a little. 
 All had been carefully arranged. He remembered perfectly 
 not only his own suggestion, that they should meet in 
 the underground passage, but also Dimitri 's consent thereto. 
 Knowing the muleteer and his feelings toward Zetitzka, 
 Petros recognised that something serious had taken place. 
 
 At the extreme end of the cloisters he called aloud, 
 but guardedly, on account of the proximity of the monks. 
 No such precaution, however, was necessary, for the wind, 
 pouncing upon the cry, whirled it exultantly into the 
 night. 
 
 The familiar court was a desolate, blustering semi- 
 obscurity hedged about with an impenetrable gloom. Well 
 was it for the boy that he could have traversed it blind- 
 fold, for loose and displaced flagstones formed traps for 
 inexperienced feet. As he struggled onwards, buffeted 
 by the gale, a growing anxiety took possession of him. 
 His eyes, smarting from the fine driving dust, sought on 
 all sides for the muleteer's familiar form. In vain. All 
 was deserted. 
 
 Entering the dark refectory, he consulted the clock by 
 the aid of a lighted match. It wanted but a quarter of 
 eleven. In three-quarters of an hour the semantron would 
 summon the brethren to the duties of another day. At 
 that a wild hope, scarce formulated, fluttered in his breast 
 the hope that something might yet happen to prevent 
 Zetitzka 's departure. But he drove this weakness sternly 
 from his mind. 
 
 With no definite expectation, he bent his steps towards 
 the ladders. In the passage, and in the hut that over- 
 hung the ravine, the darkness was opaque. As he groped 
 
 303
 
 304 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 his way onward, around him on all sides the ancient wood- 
 work groaned and creaked, the plaintive sounds mingling 
 ceaselessly with the fierce onslaught of the wind. 
 
 Reaching the trap-door, the absence of upward draught 
 struck Petros with sudden consternation. Swiftly he felt 
 for the void, but his hands encountered only the massive 
 lid. The ponderous padlock was in its place. Barely had 
 he time to recognise all that this meant, when he was 
 startled by a muffled cry. It rose from the boards at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Dimitri! " he shouted. 
 
 Above the elemental clamour came a reply. Only 
 mutilated fragments reached Petros as he listened, his 
 ear to the flooring. From them he understood that the 
 muleteer, having climbed the ladders and finding the en- 
 trance barred, was waiting his arrival. A metallic screech 
 punctuated by dull reiterated thuds, became audible the 
 oscillation of the ladder and its violent contact with the 
 face of the cliff. More than aught else, this spoke of the 
 danger braved by the man who for the better part of an 
 hour, had clung to the swaying rungs, shaken to and fro 
 in the blackness, while below him yawned the invisible ter- 
 rors of the abyss. 
 
 "Waiting for a lull, Petros shouted instructions. The 
 key was unaccountably lost. To seek it now would only 
 be to court discovery. They must do without it. He, 
 Petros, would bring Zetitzka to the tower of the wind- 
 lass, and lower her in the net. Dimitri must wait 
 below. 
 
 In his voice there rang a note of unconscious leadership 
 that caused the muleteer to wonder. Recognising that 
 these instructions were the only practical solution of the 
 dilemma, he contented himself with shouting acquiescence; 
 then cautiously and with difficulty began the descent. 
 
 Petros was already retracing his steps to the court. Im- 
 patience burned hot within him, a jealous grudge of each 
 second that separated him from Zetitzka. This fever of long- 
 ing was aggravated by a fear lest even now some untoward 
 accident might prevent him reaching her. These turbulent 
 emotions were strangely at variance with the spiritual ex- 
 altation that still was as a lamp to his soul.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 305 
 
 As he penetrated the blackness of the underground pas- 
 sage, groping for the wall with extended hands, the sound 
 of a scream, faint yet full of unnameable terror, rang along 
 the gallery. 
 
 20
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 ZETITZKA had started to her feet and now stood facing 
 Stephanos, her back towards the precipice. The monk 
 advanced slowly and under compulsion, as it seemed, com- 
 ing to a standstill within a couple of yards of where she 
 stood. Rigid in the extremity of her consternation, she 
 could do nothing but stare. If Barlaam had rocked with 
 earthquake, she could not have withdrawn her eyes. 
 
 The expression of his face had for her a horrible fascina- 
 tion. It almost mesmerised her. Writ unmistakably upon 
 it were attraction and repulsion. Zetitzka could not dif- 
 ferentiate between these : she saw only the repellent effect, 
 and panic seized her. 
 
 She was alone, entombed with this man in the heart 
 of the rock. Until Petros returned, no help could reach 
 her. So full of brewing danger did he look, as he stood 
 there, not speaking, only holding her with menacing eyes, 
 that Zetitzka 's brain suggested flight. But what use? 
 He would overtake her at once. She might have screamed 
 for assistance, but to do so was foreign to her nature: 
 and moreover the danger of discovery by others than Petros 
 was too great to permit of her running the risk. 
 
 He recognised her. She felt it. There was that in his 
 expression that reminded her of their last meeting in the 
 mountains. It appeared to her now as if this scene were 
 a continuation of the other, as if all that had taken place 
 in the interval were a dream. 
 
 And yet there was now a more ominous glitter in his 
 eyes, more fanatical, more unhinged, more hideous in its 
 warring suggestions of sensuality and abhorrence. 
 
 How long they stood thus Zetitzka could not have told. 
 It was probably to be counted by seconds, though to her 
 it seemed hours. If only he would move! If only he 
 would speak! But no he seemed incapable of doing 
 anything, save of devouring her with his gaze. 
 
 306
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 307 
 
 " What do you want? " she cried in desperation. 
 
 The inflection of her voice once so familiar raced to 
 his brain like wine. It seemed to him to be Zetitzka her- 
 self made audible her very body, with all its appeal to 
 his starved senses, offering itself to him through the medium 
 of sounds. So equally balanced were the contradictory 
 forces that swayed him that it needed but this to give the 
 victory. A tremulous eagerness leapt to his face. 
 
 " Speak again! " he entreated. 
 
 But Zetitzka stood dumb. His manner filled her with 
 fear, and with loathing stronger than fear. He recalled 
 what she would give her very soul to forget. Then she had 
 been an ignorant girl wax in his hands taking the base 
 coin of lust for the pure gold of love. She knew better 
 now. All within her that was noble and womanly, all that 
 had gladdened and thrilled at the innocent worship of 
 Petros, rose in arms. Could this man have seen her eyes, 
 he would have quailed. But her face was hid from him 
 by shadow. 
 
 He was gazing hungrily at the dim whiteness of her 
 Albanian costume. Evil thoughts crept from memory like 
 unclean beasts from their lairs. So powerful were they 
 that they even obscured his vision. 
 
 Down the passage came the draught, fluttering his cas- 
 sock; afar off, with a sigh of grievous unrest, raved the 
 wind. 
 
 " Zetitzka! " he cried. 
 
 The cry sounded a note of unconditional surrender to the 
 flesh. It rendered impotent all stripes, all vigils, all fasts, 
 all penance, all prayer. 
 
 He stood before her, speechless, his arms outstretched, 
 his face aflame. So fierce was the repulsion he caused her 
 that she clenched her fists. 
 
 As they stood thus, a cloud concealed the moon. Dark- 
 ness swept across the mouth of the passage. From this 
 obscurity came his voice, low, all but strangled, passionate, 
 incoherent. She was forced to hear him. 
 
 He told of his agony of mind, of his nights of torture; 
 of hallucinations, when he had thought to leap into her 
 arms but had dashed himself upon the floor of his cell; 
 of fits of despair, when, thinking himself irredeemably lost, 
 he had torn his flesh with his teeth and rent the air with
 
 308 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 cries. And through these confessions there rang ever a 
 personal note his desire for her, for her only, for her face, 
 her hands, her body for everything that had damned his 
 soul in the past, but which had gnawed at memory ever 
 since. 
 
 He returned to this again and again, insisting, implor- 
 ing, with a spasmodic yet terrible earnestness; gesticulat- 
 ing, now with frenzy, now with fawning, now with a 
 vehement and exalted imperiousness. 
 
 At times the madman and at times the devil spoke with 
 his lips. He would turn from incoherent ravings to 
 fiendish triumph. He exulted in her downfall, because he, 
 Stephanos, had been the first to teach her passion. He 
 forgot nothing, repented of nothing, feared nothing. His 
 voice rang loud in crazy elation, while behind him in the 
 blackness, the echoes muttered fearfully. 
 
 " What is hell? " he questioned with sombre passion. 
 " Here they would say it was you to love you. So be 
 
 it " He opened wide his arms as though embracing 
 
 some dark and fearful prospect. " Welcome, hell! We 
 will be there, in flames, but together you and I, Zetitzka. ' ' 
 
 She dared not recede. Her position was terrible. She 
 was trapped on that narrow ledge of rock. On either hand 
 rose sheer cliff; behind her, the precipice a black and 
 windy void descending to appalling depths ; before her, this 
 madman, blocking the only exit. 
 
 " You do not speak." His voice sank again to low 
 tones of pleading ; his face, now but a yard from her own, 
 showed white with glittering eyes. " You do not speak, 
 Zetitzka; but I know what you would say. You love me 
 still. You followed me here. I was a fool to leave you. 
 We were made for each other, as fire is for fuel. Come, 
 Zetitzka, give me peace, in your arms. There only can I 
 find rest and forgetfulness. It has all been a mistake 
 a woful mistake; but we will begin again." 
 
 Then with an eager entreaty which she could not but 
 recognise as sane, he continued : ' ' See ! I have the key 
 to the ladders. They will not know till we are gone. Let 
 us fly together, now. ' ' 
 
 She shot a desperate glance past him into the passage. 
 Would Petros never return ! 
 
 " Come! " he whispered again.
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 309 
 
 \ 
 
 It seemed to her that he was about to advance. Des- 
 peration again came to her aid. Her courage rose. 
 
 * ' Let me pass ! ' ' she commanded. 
 
 Thwarted desire blazed in his eyes. It reawoke his 
 fanaticism. Remorse, in that he had so nearly succumbed, 
 swept down upon him, causing him to lean against the 
 wall. 
 
 His movement left one side of the passage unguarded. 
 Swiftly Zetitzka darted for the opening. But as she 
 thought to speed past him, bending her head to avoid his 
 elbow, his right hand shot out and gripped her by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 She struggled violently. The thick stuff of her Albanian 
 tunic was partly dragged from her back, but did not tear. 
 Suddenly she felt his other arm flung around her waist. 
 Doubly a prisoner and resisting desperately, she was drawn 
 towards him, crushed against his chest. 
 
 In the draughty semi-blackness of the passage the un- 
 equal combat continued. No sound escaped them save their 
 panting breath and the scraping of their feet seeking for 
 purchase. 
 
 Naturally strong her hardy open-air life having trained 
 her to endurance Zetitzka felt with dismay that her 
 strength was as nothing to his. And that which filled her 
 less with terror than with choking repulsion was that this 
 was to him a moment of ecstasy. 
 
 His grip shifted. With a woman 'g intuition Zetitzka 
 felt that he was straining to join his lips to hers. Her blood 
 boiled. With Petros enshrined in her heart, this was not 
 only an insult, but a sacrilege. Her yataghan was once 
 more in her belt. She struggled to reach it, but in vain. 
 He parried every movement, tightening his arms till she 
 could scarcely breathe. 
 
 " No," he muttered, his mouth against her hair. " You 
 shall not escape me. God wills it. We die together." 
 
 Gradually she felt herself forced backward, her head 
 held in a vice against his chest. While her body fought, 
 her mind was able to think. Was this her end? Her 
 child flashed to her memory. She would never see him 
 again. The pang of this eternal separation was tempered 
 by dull indifference. Better to get it over now, at once. 
 But even as she welcomed this imminent death, something
 
 310 
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 within her recoiled. She was glad to die; but not thus, 
 not with Stephanos. And again she became conscious of 
 the struggle, and set herself with mute desperation to stay 
 this backward movement that was forcing her towards the 
 verge. 
 
 Her woman's strength was failing fast. His, on the con- 
 trary, seemed to redouble. She felt his broad chest heave 
 with effort, but the grip of his arms never relaxed. Nearer 
 and nearer they drew to the unprotected edge. Suddenly, 
 as they tottered on the dizzy brink, some release valve 
 opened in Zetitzka's brain. She screamed aloud. The 
 cry rang through the hollow passages, and startled the 
 eagles in the dark and inaccessible crannies of the cliff. 
 
 Her impressions of all that followed were so swift in 
 bewildering transition that Zetitzka looked back upon 
 them afterwards with the shuddering aversion with which 
 one recalls a nightmare. She was conscious of a rush of 
 feet of being clutched of a short and violent struggle 
 in which she took no part of a sudden release of a cry 
 speedily silenced and, finally, of a blackness that surged 
 over her, and into whose lethal depths she sank with the 
 impassivity of a stone.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 PANTING from the struggle, his blood aflame, every com- 
 bative sense roused to its uttermost, Petros stood on the 
 verge. 
 
 But silence followed absolute silence, bringing home 
 more forcibly than any spoken word the reality of the 
 catastrophe. Aghast and overawed, his first thought was 
 Zetitzka ; but the girl lay unconscious upon the rocky 
 floor. Filled with a new terror, which in intensity 
 swamped all lesser fears, he fell on his knees beside her. 
 But her hand dropped limply from his fingers. For this 
 there was to his ignorant mind but one solution. Zetitzka 
 was dead. 
 
 He still knelt before her in the gloom of the passage, 
 all feeling paralysed, staring stupidly at the beloved figure 
 lying there so motionless, so quiet staring with the mute 
 and as yet unrealised despair of a mourner beside a coffin. 
 
 And when with returning consciousness, Zetitzka moved, 
 and it was borne in upon him that she really lived, his 
 brain, worn out and still half stunned by violent emotions, 
 accepted the glad tidings calmly ; the only audible evidence 
 of feeling being the muttered thanksgiving that broke 
 from his lips. 
 
 Zetitzka 's memory responded slowly to the efforts of her 
 will. Little by little her surroundings recalled the terrible 
 ordeal through which she had passed the rough walls 
 glimmering in moonlight, the black passage, the precipice. 
 The flash of time between the struggle for life and the find- 
 ing herself lying unharmed in this quiet passage was so 
 momentary as to appear non-existent. But neither mind 
 nor body could at once accept the reality. The former was 
 bewildered, stunned; the latter still suffered from the ef- 
 fect of muscles violently strained. 
 
 Her first coherent thought was " Stephanos? " Petros 
 pointed to the abyss. 
 
 311
 
 312 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 The gale had at last worn itself out. The contrast be- 
 tween the hubbub and the succeeding silence was trenchant. 
 The night had donned its mantle of beauty, and the peace, 
 the ethereal light, the dreamy distance, all gave the lie to 
 the tragedy. All seemed so unconscious. Yet through 
 that little door, now glimmering in faint moonlight, but 
 a moment ago a soul had been sent to its account. 
 
 Both spectators were overwhelmed by the suddenness 
 of the catastrophe. It served as a sombre background to 
 the tragedy of their own hearts. To Zetitzka, accustomed 
 to brood upon a past so poignantly associated with the 
 dead man, this appalling release gave birth to thoughts as 
 yet unconscious of their own emancipation. She could not 
 realise it. Gradually, as the power to think returned, the 
 knowledge came that vengeance had been taken from her 
 that the deed she had been unable to perform had been 
 accomplished by an inexorable decree of Providence that 
 God in His inscrutable wisdom had put an end for ever 
 to the life that had darkened her own. 
 
 And to this feeling was joined another, so sad, so hope- 
 less as to be less a thought than a bitter and inaudible cry- 
 that although this man's death had set her free, both 
 morally and physically free to return to her home, free 
 to link her life with whom she pleased it yet had brought 
 her no nearer to the only boon she coveted; that the one 
 man she loved was still as hopelessly beyond her reach as 
 though he, and not Stephanos, were lying dead among the 
 rocks. 
 
 It was during these solemn moments that Petros learned 
 for the first time the relationship between Stephanos and 
 Zetitzka. The broken and all but incoherent confession 
 stirred no violent feelings in his mind. He listened in 
 awestruck silence. Horror was beaten down; personal in- 
 dignation became a presumption; for uprearing itself like 
 some dark barrier between the monk and all human censure 
 there now loomed the final and completed sentence of 
 death. 
 
 The old monastery had fallen strangely silent. The un- 
 easy meanings, as of anger with difficulty restrained, had 
 died away, replaced by a grim voicelessness, an attitude 
 of sinister satisfaction. Barlaam had cast forth this err-
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 313 
 
 ing son, this unworthy monk who had sought to conceal 
 ineradicable vices beneath the holy cloak of monasticism. 
 It had flung him ruthlessly to the abyss, as in olden times 
 men flung traitors. It was as though the stern and me- 
 diaeval spirit, untamed by centuries and impatient of the 
 light penalty imposed by his fellow-men, had taken pun- 
 ishment into its own hands. Long ago in the dark ages, 
 it had without doubt witnessed bloodshed; and now, 
 outraged, defiled, vindictive and terrible in its wrath as 
 some old heathen deity, it again exacted sacrifice. 
 
 But it had not yet found peace. There was still the 
 woman to be expelled. 
 
 By day, by night, the monastery had watched her; at 
 dawn, at noon, at dusk; never more awake than when it 
 seemed asleep; with the slow, patient, brooding enmity of 
 one deeply wronged, content to bide his time. That time 
 had now come. 
 
 Before they left the passage, Petros approached the 
 verge. Below lay the vast soft-breathing darkness, illim- 
 itable space and illimitable profundity shrouded in night. 
 Vague forms loomed through this obscurity, full of the 
 mysterious awe inspired by the faintly-seen, dim outlines, 
 gloomy and chaotic masses, far-off and ghostly uncertain- 
 ties. Over this weird phantasmagoria brooded an un- 
 natural calm. 
 
 Gazing fearfully downwards, Petros noted, thirty feet 
 below, a projecting ridge of rock, jagged and sharply in- 
 clined. In all probability this knife-like edge had been 
 the first to strike at the life of Stephanos terrible as the 
 blow of a guillotine before his body started upon its last 
 and appalling descent to the rocks below. No thought that 
 life might still exist passed for an instant across the mind of 
 the boy. At this point the precipice fell a thousand feet. 
 
 With hearts too big for words, Petros and Zetitzka 
 groped their way back to the court and to the tower of 
 the windlass. The inexorable drew them together, and yet 
 onward to separation; drew them irresistibly and relent- 
 lessly, as a river sweeps its waters to the sea. In this cur- 
 rent they moved mechanically, crushed beneath the weight 
 of the irrevocable. Each was desperately conscious of 
 something within protesting against fate, clinging to every
 
 314 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 fleeting moment, rebelling against every onward step, 
 striving piteously but hopelessly to arrest some second of 
 treasured companionship, more vividly, more tenderly 
 realised from the minutes that were hurrying them to their 
 doom.
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 WITHIN the old wooden structure all was dark and voice- 
 less as a tomb. Seen faintly against the glimmer of the 
 aerial exit, the great barbaric windlass extended its four 
 gaunt, black arms. At this hour the place was full of 
 loneliness and mystery. The gloom of the ravines seemed 
 to have crept upwards, to have enveloped it, for it had 
 something of the ghostliness of that dolorous underworld. 
 Its projection over space lent it an air of intentional pre- 
 cariousness, as though it nursed designs hostile to human 
 life. In its reserve one felt the influence of the monastery, 
 of which, indeed, it was the ante-chamber. All was mute, 
 save the creaking of the worm-eaten boards disturbed by 
 the pressure of unexpected feet. 
 
 Petros and Zetitzka stood beside the windlass. 
 
 Up to this moment, danger and fear of discovery had 
 swept them along on a stream of excitement but now 
 one fact alone rose up, not to be denied or postponed 
 they must say farewell. 
 
 They stood together in the gloom, and neither said a 
 word. But what each felt was as visible to the other's 
 heart as though branded upon the darkness in letters of 
 flame. For the moment they had ceased to stand in rela- 
 tion to each other merely as man and woman they were 
 but two poor human souls united in a frank community of 
 pain. It was like death worse than death, for the future 
 was not hidden from them in mercy. 
 
 All at once something burst in the heart of Zetitzka. 
 The apathy that had enabled her to endure was suddenly 
 dissipated. With uncontrollable sobs she clung with both 
 hands to the breast of the young monk's cassock. He felt 
 her shaking, yet found no consoling word. Her face was 
 raised to his close. He saw the mouth and the agony in 
 the eyes. 
 
 315
 
 316 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 " I can't! " she cried, and he sickened at the pain in 
 her voice. " Petros, I can't I can't! " 
 
 Her hands strained him to her. The darkness seemed 
 to bend above them, to hide them from the indifferent 
 world. The old building creaked no longer, but listened 
 to things undreamt of in all its hundreds of years. 
 
 " I love you! " she whispered passionately. " I love 
 you! " 
 
 Then, as never before, Petros tasted the ultimate bitter- 
 ness of life. She again broke the silence, speaking through 
 sobs stifled constantly. 
 
 " Just now with Stephanos I was afraid. But with 
 you I'm not afraid to die. To fall in your arms. Try 
 me. Now, my love! Oh, my love! " 
 
 With a sudden cry Petros caught her to himself, 
 crushed her against his breast, as if by that passionate 
 embrace he could knit the fibres of her very existence with 
 his own, so inextricably that neither things temporal nor 
 things eternal could ever tear them apart. 
 
 In the sheltering darkness they made one, one body, one 
 soul, one life. The world slid away; the monastery was 
 forgotten. They alone existed. Their natures met and 
 mingled in that fusion of spirit pure and holy wherewith 
 love can bend even sorrow to its uses. 
 
 To feel his arms about her, strong as hoops of steel, 
 masterful, translating into fierce pressure all the impera- 
 tive yearnings of his desolate life, proclaiming his man- 
 hood's right to love and possess, filled her with pain that 
 was rapture, and with oblivion that was half a swoon. 
 She closed her eyes, holding back the tears. Life seemed 
 suspended suffering almost ceased. 
 
 It lasted but a few seconds, and yet in intensity it was 
 not of moments, nor of hours, nor of years, but of a life- 
 time. 
 
 The silence around them was so profound that it seemed 
 as if all nature was in a state of suspense, wondering what 
 this boy and girl would do. The abyss beckoned the 
 blackness of the ravine held out soft and dusky arms 
 the moon lit her pale lamp upon the opposing cliff as 
 though to light their souls to eternity. Only the monas- 
 tery held aloof, watching and waiting in the darkness with 
 the composure of unshaken confidence.
 
 FOEBIDDEN GROUND 317 
 
 For Barlaam knew Petros. He belonged to it. Had 
 it not trained him from early youth? Had it not bound 
 his young life to its own with links new-riveted every day ? 
 bound it as indissolubly as though the boy's blood were 
 but a drop of its own, lent to him that it might become 
 renovated by his youth, circulating through his veins only 
 to return to and prolong the existence of its weary monas- 
 tic heart. 
 
 It did not fear this woman, nor what she could do. It 
 treated her as men treat poisonous reptiles it crushed, 
 then cast her out. It feared to be deprived of Petros by 
 voluntary death, no more than by cowardly flight. It 
 knew his sanity, his loyalty, his allegiance. On these it 
 relied. And as some potent physician might watch by a 
 sick-bed, noting with grave and skilful eyes the crisis of 
 some grievous malady, not without solicitude, yet strong 
 in the assured hope of victory, so Barlaam in this dark 
 hour of trial watched this, its youngest son. 
 
 To Petros it was as if his soul were struggling in vast 
 waters. The anguish of severance blinded mental vision. 
 He was but a tool in God's hands, shaping their lives to 
 noble ends. 
 
 Later, all his debt to Zetitzka was made plain. She 
 was to reveal to him the hidden meaning, the deep signifi- 
 cance of love and sorrow, this girl who had come to him 
 so unexpectedly, like a precious message from the great 
 unknown world. In her and through her he had sounded 
 the depths, soared to the heights ; and her last and greatest 
 gift was to be the gift of true inward vision, that came to 
 him afterwards, unawares, the guerdon of mutual self- 
 sacrifice, of solemn and voluntary renunciation. 
 
 In the midst of his pain it was brought home to him 
 that he, Petros, held Zetitzka 's life and Zetitzka 's fate in 
 his hands as absolutely as he held her body within his arms. 
 This discovery seemed to him a tremendous, a wonderful, 
 an awful thing. It imparted a sense of power, of responsi- 
 bility. It gave him courage, for he saw that all depended 
 on him that he must think and act at once, and for both. 
 
 What it cost him to find words that would reconcile her 
 to this cruel parting, Zetitzka was never to know. It was 
 like cutting out his heart. Pondering upon it afterwards 
 as he was destined to do, how many times! pondering
 
 318 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 upon it with an incredulous wonder, with awe, and with 
 thanksgiving, Petros could recall nothing of what he had 
 said. It seemed that another had spoken, and not he. 
 
 And Zetitzka, still in his arms, almost swooning, and all 
 broken with grief, remained dumb. He wondered if she 
 had even heard. 
 
 When at last he ceased to speak, she seemed to rouse her- 
 self from some state of profound stupor, then drew one long, 
 sobbing, inward breath. 
 
 " Kiss me," she said. 
 
 Her voice told him that she had understood; that this 
 meant the end, the supreme farewell. 
 
 Their lips met. 
 
 They did not speak again. Like a man walking in his 
 sleep, he placed her in the net, looped the meshes above 
 her head, stringing them one by one upon the iron hook 
 attached to the clumsy rope ; then, with a half -turn of the 
 great creaking arms, he sent her swaying outwards into 
 mid-air. A moment she oscillated over the abyss; then as 
 he reversed the movement, she slowly disappeared from 
 sight. 
 
 Still he laboured, mercifully forced to exert his strength 
 to its utmost, walking round and round, gripping and re- 
 straining the clumsy mechanism that groaned and cried in 
 the darkness like a soul in torment. 
 
 At length the relaxation of the strain told him that she 
 had reached earth. Mechanically wiping the sweat from 
 his face, he groped his way to the opening through which 
 he had seen the last of Zetitzka. Beneath him, as he peered 
 downwards, all was indistinguishable. As he stood listen- 
 ing with bated breath, a faint metallic noise tinkled up 
 from the depths the click of hoofs striking the stones. 
 His hands closed convulsively upon the wooden barrier. 
 
 Far within the ravine the moonlight drew a trenchant 
 line across a blackness that was the impenetrable shadow 
 of Barlaam. In this faintly lighted area the rocks and 
 a section of the path were visible. Petros was conscious 
 of something within his brain telling him that Zetitzka 
 must cross this on her downward way to Kalabaka. Stand- 
 ing motionless, with the strange, unnatural composure that 
 results from entire suspension of thought, he waited. 
 
 An interval then something far below crept into sight
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 319 
 
 something dimly distinguishable as a man leading a 
 mule, upon whose back was seated a figure. Slowly yet 
 relentlessly this little group crossed the moonlit space, 
 vanished for a moment behind a rock, reappeared, then 
 gradually neared the final shadow beyond which lay dark- 
 ness. In another second it would be gone. 
 
 Petros, rigid, his hands still gripping the wooden bar, 
 watched it, controlled by some inner force, unconscious 
 even of his pain, his whole soul concentrating itself with 
 a hungry, jealous intensity within his straining eyes. 
 Every movement of those little figures, far below and 
 dwarfed into insignificance, became more momentous, 
 more vitally important than life or death. 
 
 Then, as one aroused from a trance to some horror of 
 reality, he suddenly awoke to a comprehension of what was 
 taking place. This mere speck upon the moonlit path was 
 all the happiness and hope going out of his life! Great 
 dumb tears, gathering slowly, obscured his sight. Fever- 
 ishly dashing them aside, he sought again to see. At first 
 all was blurred, then gradually through a mist he made 
 out the path, silvering in faint moonlight empty.
 
 CHAPTEE LII 
 
 " THIS is the Catholicon, " said the monk. 
 
 The visitor nodded. In spite of his doffed fez it was 
 apparent that he had but little acquaintance with 
 Catholicons. The two men formed a striking contrast 
 the monk, grave, sedate, slow in movement; the visitor 
 bent with age but still vigorous, his white hair straggling 
 to his shoulders, his bushy and grizzled eyebrows working 
 spasmodically, the one over a sightless cavity, the other 
 above a small, intelligent, and cynically-humorous eye. 
 
 The sense of novelty wearing off, the stranger took a keen 
 and apparently professional interest in the vestments. 
 
 " You are a pedlar? " questioned the monk, with mild 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I am Nik Leka," said the old man with some astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 But the information conveyed nothing to his black-robed 
 companion. 
 
 " How long have you been here? " asked the visitor 
 abruptly, fixing his keen little eye upon his guide. 
 
 " Five nearly six years." 
 
 " You did not know " He checked himself, adding: 
 
 " You came after the old Abbot's death? " 
 
 The monk replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " And your new Abbot you like him, you others? " 
 
 " We love him," said the monk simply. 
 
 As though by mutual consent the two men resumed their 
 relation of visitor and guide. Nik Leka, called upon to 
 admire the carving of the pulpit, touched it with the point 
 of an unconsciously appraising forefinger. 
 
 " There have been other changes," he blurted, stopping 
 suddenly. His companion looked down into the wrinkled 
 and plebeian face with its raised thatch of eyebrows. 
 
 " Deaths? " suggested Nik Leka lightly. 
 
 320
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 321 
 
 " Death is never far away," returned the monk, crossing 
 himself. 
 
 The pedlar nodded with the air of one who salutes an 
 old acquaintance. 
 
 " And departures," he hazarded, biting his nails. 
 
 " Departures? " 
 
 " Not lately, perhaps; but before you came." 
 
 " I have heard only of one who quitted the monastery 
 of his own will. As you say, it was before I came. But 
 it was no great matter. He had not taken the vows." 
 
 " But there was another Brother Stephanos he was 
 called." 
 
 The monk crossed himself. 
 
 " Killed? " suggested Nik Leka indifferently. 
 
 " Yes an accident. Kyrie Eleison! 'tis strange that 
 you should have heard of that also! The opening is 
 blocked up now. 'Twas a grievous loss to the monastery, 
 so they tell me. He was a saint." 
 
 The pedlar made a curious noise in his throat. 
 
 " You knew him? " questioned the monk, struck by the 
 old man 's expression. 
 
 " Yes, I knew him." 
 
 " Praise be to God and Saint Barlaam! It is doubtless 
 his holy memory that brings you here? " 
 
 " Ay," assented Nik Leka, slowly. " His and an- 
 other's." 
 
 As he spoke, the doorway was darkened. 
 
 " The Abbot," whispered the monk. 
 
 Nik Leka waited with a curious feeling of expectation. 
 
 The Abbot neared them. In his movements the vigour 
 of manhood was restrained by the calm but unconscious 
 dignity of office. Not till he was come within a few yards 
 of where they were standing did the transverse light from 
 a window enable them to see his face. It awoke in Nik 
 Leka an altogether novel and even disconcerting sense of 
 respect. Something in his cynical old heart tried to scoff 
 at this unexpected emotion, but failed. He continued to 
 stare at the new-comer with a fixity that would have been 
 guilty of rudeness had it not been so unconscious as to ap- 
 pear unavoidable. 
 
 The whole aspect of the young priest betrayed the 
 ascetic, living in a world within ; yet it told also of a broad- 
 21
 
 322 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 minded humanity, of a ready sympathy with all who re- 
 joiced, of a sense of oneness with all who suffered. For 
 his eyes gave the clue to his character and held a mirror 
 to his heart. Looking into them, one felt assured that 
 their possessor could only have earned the right to that ex- 
 pression by some great victory over self. 
 
 " Venerable father," said the monk. He paused as 
 though requesting permission to continue; and Nik Leka, 
 quick to note the incongruity of the title with the youth- 
 fulness of the recipient, wondered afresh. The Abbot 
 made a slight gesture with his hand. The monk con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " This is he for whom I asked permission to visit the 
 monastery. He knew Brother Stephanos." 
 
 A sudden gravity came into the Abbot's face. For a 
 moment he gazed at the pedlar with something more than 
 interest, then turned to his subordinate. 
 
 " Leave us," he said quietly. 
 
 With a low obeisance the monk left the Catholicon.. 
 The faint shuffle of sandals died away. All was still. 
 
 The Abbot was the first to speak. 
 
 " You knew Brother Stephanos well, my son? " 
 
 11 Too well," returned Nik Leka grimly. 
 
 The young Abbot gazed straight into the old man's eye. 
 11 I know not your name," he said frankly. 
 
 The pedlar's answer seemed to strike a familiar chord, 
 for he repeated it twice; then a sudden light of recogni- 
 tion came into his face. 
 
 " I have heard of you," he said in a low voice. " You 
 you befriended " 
 
 " I did nothing," grunted Nik Leka ungraciously. 
 
 The two men fell silent. The sunshine, striving to 
 enter, threw the porch into high relief. To and fro in the 
 incense-laden air buzzed a blue-bottle fly. Its little noise 
 made a stir of life and movement that emphasised more 
 than it detracted from the deep and pervading peace. 
 
 " You hear of her sometimes? " The questioner was 
 gazing towards the sunlight. 
 
 ' ' I saw her last month. ' ' 
 
 For a moment the Abbot seemed lost in thought; then, 
 looking at the pedlar with the air of one who has nothing 
 to conceal, said:
 
 FORBIDDEN GROUND 323 
 
 "It is long since I heard. News comes seldom over the 
 mountains. But she is happy." 
 
 The last words were not a question, but a statement 
 something known intuitively, beyond doubt, beyond refu- 
 tation. 
 
 " What is happiness? " asked Nik Leka sceptically, 
 spreading out his coarse palms. 
 
 The Abbot looked at him. 
 
 His eyes made the pedlar vaguely ashamed ; a disconcert- 
 ing sensation, as though his cynical mask were an un- 
 worthy, and, in this case, an inefficient disguise ; yet feeling 
 himself pledged to an explanation, he continued : 
 
 ' ' She seems content ; all the world loves her ; her husband 
 works, and is no drunkard ah, these muleteers; they have 
 the devil's own luck! She has children. One would say 
 that meant happiness! And yet " he snapped his thick 
 fingers " women, look you they are capable of anything, 
 of anything! They even dare to have dreams! " 
 
 The young Abbot smiled. This unexpected lighting of 
 his features imparted to them a singularly winning ex- 
 pression. Here was something deeper than, though a re- 
 minder of, boyhood's light-heartedness the optimism of 
 one who, knowing the darkness and seeing the goal, re- 
 joiced also in the sunshine by the way. All at once he 
 laid his hand on the pedlar's shoulder. Nik Leka, con- 
 sciously honoured, waited with respect. 
 
 " We all have dreams," said the young priest in a 
 moved voice ; ' ' but only those who love are truly happy. ' ' 
 
 The pedlar, deeply impressed, kept silent. 
 
 " You will see her again," continued the Abbot. " Tell 
 her tell her of this " with a slight comprehensive move- 
 ment he indicated the dreaming Catholicon " tell her of 
 the peace, of the silence yes, of the blessed silence." He 
 paused. Nik Leka, watching him with a feeling akin to 
 awe, saw a light come into his face. " Tell her that I re- 
 joice in her happiness that I see now I see the mean- 
 ing of the old pain. We are all children crying for the 
 little thing, not seeing the greater. Tell her that I bless 
 and thank her every day of my life ; and that that I too 
 am happy." 
 
 Silent, out of respect for the hand still on his shoulder. 
 Nik Leka was thinking with unusual seriousness. But it
 
 324 FORBIDDEN GROUND 
 
 was not till his visit at an end he found himself on the 
 path, that he came to any definite conclusion with regard 
 to the message. Looking backward and upward at Bar- 
 laam, now peaceful, dreaming, crowned with sunlight, he 
 suddenly shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I am a fool! " he cried. " But what matter! I can 
 at least tell her that the Abbot is happy." 
 
 [/THE END.J
 
 An American Love-Story 
 
 MARGARITA'S SOUL 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON 
 
 [INQRAHAM LOVELL] 
 
 Profusely Illustrated. Sixteen full-page half-tone Illustrations. 
 
 Numerous line cuts, reproduced from drawings by J. Scott 
 
 Williams. Also Whistler Butterfly Decorations. 
 
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 humor." Boston Transcript. 
 
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 writer gave us so beautiful, so naive, so strangely brought up 
 and introduced, a heroine. It is to be hoped that the author 
 is already at work on another novel." Toronto Globe. 
 
 "May cause the reader to miss an important engagement 
 or neglect his business. A love story of sweetness and purity 
 touched with the mythical light of Romance and aglow with 
 poetry and tenderness. One of the most enchanting creatures 
 in modern fiction." San Francisco Bulletin. 
 
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 there are most delightful chapters of description and romantic 
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 "Captures the imagination at the outset by the boldness 
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 THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM J. LOCKE 
 
 "LIFE IS A GLORIOUS THING." If. J. Locke 
 
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 and be certain of meeting some new and delightful friends. His 
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 At the Gate of Samaria The Beloved Vagabond 
 
 A Study in Shadows The White Dove 
 
 Simon the Jester The Usurper 
 
 Where Love Is Septimus 
 
 Derelicts Idols 
 
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 and surprise. " American Magazine. 
 
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 WILLIAM J. LOCKE 
 The Usurper 
 
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