the great red blaze of hell.
For days that red blaze hung on the edge of the boy's thoughts like the
light of a burning city across a plain. There seemed to be so many
pitfalls to avoid--so many things were wicked which one might have
supposed to be harmless. How could a child of his age tell? He dared
not for a moment think of anything else. And the scene of sack and
slaughter from which he had fled gave shape and distinctness to that
blood-red vision. Hell was like that, only a million million times
worse. Now he knew how flesh looked when devils' pincers tore it, how
the shrieks of the damned sounded, and how roasting bodies smelled. How
could a Christian spare one moment of his days and nights from the long
long struggle to keep safe from the wrath to come?

Gradually the horror faded, leaving only a tranquil pleasure in the
minute performance of his religious duties. His mind was not naturally
given to the contemplation of evil, and in the blessed solitude of his
new life his thoughts dwelt more and more on the beauty of holiness.
His desire was to be perfectly good, and to live in love and charity
with his fellow-men; and how could one do this without fleeing from
them?

At first his life was difficult, for in the winter season he was put to
great straits to feed himself; and there were nights when the sky was
like an iron vault, and a hoarse wind rattled the oakwood in the
valley, and a great fear came on him that was worse than any cold. But
in time it became known to his townsfolk and to the peasants in the
neighbouring valleys that he had withdrawn to the wilderness to lead a
godly life; and after that his worst hardships were over, for pious
persons brought him gifts of oil and dried fruit, one good woman gave
him seeds from her garden, another spun for him a hodden gown, and
others would have brought him all manner of food and clothing, had he
not refused to accept anything but for his bare needs. The good woman
who had given him the seeds showed him also how to build a little
garden on the southern ledge of his cliff, and all one summer the
Hermit carried up soil from the streamside, and the next he carried up
water to keep his garden green. After that the fear of solitude quite
passed from him, for he was so busy all day long that at night he had
much ado to fight off the demon of sleep, which Saint Arsenius the
Abbot has denounced as the chief foe of the solitary. His memory kept
good store of prayers