aled new worlds. The
sweet-tongued bells which called dreamily to morning prayer awoke them
in their cells. The soft yet fresh mountain air that came in through
their open windows, the Psalms chanted in a strange tongue, the walks to
the caves of the hermits, and the sanctuaries of the saints scattered up
and down the mountain steeps, had gone far to convince John Mortimer
that there had been religion in the world before the coming of his
father's Primitive Methodism. Even hare-brained Rollo grew less
argumentative, and it was remarked that on several occasions he left his
long sword Killiecrankie behind him when he pilgrimed to the conventual
chapel.

As for Brother Hilario, he became so saintly that his man-servant,
Francois (who regretted bitterly the Palais Royal and its joys), haunted
him with offers to convey mission or missives to _la petite_ Concha of
Sarria with the utmost discretion, only to be repulsed with scorn.

To chant in the choir, to live laborious days, to count the linen of the
brotherhood, to ride a white mule, and to sleep in a whitewashed cell,
these were in future to be the simple daily pleasures of Brother
Hilario, late Count of Saint Pierre. Never more would he sing a lusty
serenade beneath a lady's window, never more throw his cloak about his
mouth and follow a promising adventure at a carnival masquerade.

These grey monastery walls were to contain his life for ever. Its simple
range of duties and frugal pleasures were to satisfy him till the day
when, the inhabitant of one of its rocky cells, he should be found dead
upon a stiff frosty morning, and the bones of this new Saint Hilario
(and eke the stone on which he had sat), would be added to the others in
the reliquary chamber of the Abbey.

There were, however, at least two objections to this. Firstly, Brother
Hilario was not yet twenty-five years of age and a Frenchman, with the
blood of youth running very hotly in his veins; and, secondly, unless
the unexpected happened, the monastery in two months more would cease to
exist upon the face of the earth.

The Abbot cultivated the society of all the three youths. But as the
Englishman spoke little French and no Spanish, as the manner of his
nation is, their intercourse was, of course, restricted. Nevertheless,
the affair of the Priorato wine went forward apace, and the bargain was
struck with the almoner of the convent at a rate which satisfied all
parties. John Mortimer paid L90 down in