head low and broad, and the slightly
slanting eyes--when she raised the lashes that hung over them like long
shadows--were of the deep blue of sapphires. Her dark brown hair was
coifed in a jewelled net of thread of gold, and on her white neck a
chain of emeralds sparkled sombrely. Her close-fitting robe and her
mantle were of the hue of bronze, and the light shifted along the silken
fabric as she moved, so that it gleamed like metal. About her waist
there was a girdle of hammered gold, and pearls were sewn upon the back
of her brown velvet gloves.

One glance of her deep blue eyes she gave me as she approached; then she
lowered them instantly, and so weak--so full of worldly vanities was I
still that in that moment I took shame at the thought that she should
see me thus, in this rough hermit's habit, my face a tangle of unshorn
beard, my hair long and unkempt. And the shame of it dyed my gaunt
cheeks. And then I turned pale again, for it seemed to me that out of
nowhere a voice had asked me:

"Do you still marvel that the image will not bleed?"

So sharp and clear did those words arise from the lips of Conscience
that it seemed to me as if they had been uttered aloud, and I looked
almost in alarm to see if any other had overheard them.

The cavalier was standing before me, and his brows were knit, a
deep amazement in his eyes. Thus awhile in utter silence. Then quite
suddenly, his voice a ringing challenge:

"What is your name?" he said.

"My name?" quoth I, astonished by such a question, and remarking now
the intentness and surprise of his own glance. "It is Sebastian," I
answered, and truthfully, for that was the name of my adoption, the name
I had taken when I entered upon my hermitage.

"Sebastian of what and where?" quoth he.

He stood before me, his back to the peasant crowd, ignoring them as
completely as if they had no existence, supremely master of himself. And
meanwhile, the little lady on his arm stole furtive upward glances at
me.

"Sebastian of nowhere," I answered. "Sebastian the hermit, the guardian
of this shrine. If you are come to..."

"What was your name in the world?" he interrupted impatiently, and all
the time his eyes were devouring my gaunt face.

"The name of a sinner," answered I. "I have stripped it off and cast it
from me."

An expression of impatience rippled across the white face

"But the name of your father?" he insisted.

"I have none," answered I. "I have no kin or ti