alled him Edward
Maudelain, but this period he dared not often remember.

For though in macerations of the flesh, in fasting, and in hour-long
prayers he spent his days, this holy man was much troubled by devils.
He got little rest because of them. Sometimes would come into his hut
Belphegor in the likeness of a butler, and whisper, "Sire, had you
been King, as was your right, you had drunk to-day not water but the
wines of Spain and Hungary." Or Asmodeus saying, "Sire, had you been
King, as was your right, you had lain now not upon the bare earth but
on cushions of silk."

One day in early spring, they say, the spirit called Orvendile sent
the likeness of a fair woman with yellow hair and large blue eyes. She
wore a massive crown which seemed too heavy for her frailness to
sustain. Soft tranquil eyes had lifted from her book. "You are my
cousin now, messire," this phantom had appeared to say.

That was the worst, and Maudelain began to fear he was a little mad
because even this he had resisted with many aves.

There came also to his hut, through a sullen snowstorm, upon the
afternoon of All Soul's day, a horseman in a long cloak of black. He
tethered his black horse and he came noiselessly through the doorway
of the hut, and upon his breast and shoulders the snow was white as
the bleached bones of those women that died in Merlin's youth.

"Greetings in God's name, Messire Edward Maudelain," the stranger
said.

Since the new-comer spoke intrepidly of holy things a cheerier
Maudelain knew that this at least was no demon. "Greetings!" he
answered. "But I am Evrawc. You name a man long dead."

"But it is from a certain Bohemian woman I come. What matter, then, if
the dead receive me?" And thus speaking, the stranger dropped his
cloak.

He was clad, as you now saw, in flame-colored satin, which shimmered
with each movement like a high flame. He had the appearance of a tall,
lean youngster, with crisp, curling, very dark red hair. He now
regarded Maudelain. He displayed peculiarly wide-set brown eyes; and
their gaze was tender, and the tears somehow had come to Maudelain's
eyes because of his great love for this tall stranger. "Eh, from the
dead to the dead I travel, as ever," said the new-comer, "with a
message and a token. My message runs, _Time is, O fellow satrap!_ and
my token is this."

In this packet, wrapped with white parchment and tied with a golden
cord, was only a lock of hair. It lay like a little ye