would not run away,
But thought no shame to hide
Until the bloody storm passed o'er,
And he might safely bide.

And so he doffed his Bishop's robe,
And donned a Pilgrim's dress,
With hat and staff and sandal-shoon,
So none his name would guess.

Now as Saint Felix, bent and gray,
Was tottering down the street,
A band of soldiers, fierce and wild,
The old man chanced to meet.

"Ho! Pilgrim," cried the Captain stern,
Who stopped him with his sword,
"Answer me truly, or thy life
Shall pay the lying word.

"We sought for Felix at his home,
We find him not, alas!
Say, hast thou met him, for within
The hour he did pass?

"Say, hast thou met him? Tell us true,
Or thou shalt lose thy head."
Saint Felix looked him in the eyes,
"I _met_ him not," he said.

So then the soldiers let him pass,--
But he had spoken truth,--
And hurried forward on their search,
A fruitless quest, in sooth!

And good Saint Felix hastened too,
As quickly as he might,
For they would guess full soon, he knew,
How he had tricked their sight.

And truly, ere his oaken staff
Had helped his feeble feet
To win a mile, he heard their shouts
A-nearing down the street.

He heard the clashing of their swords,
Their voices' cruel roar,
Alack! the chase was almost done,
For he could speed no more.

All breathless, worn, and clean forspent
He looked about him there;
He spied a tiny ray of hope,
And made a little prayer.

There was a broken, ruined wall
That crumbled by the road,
And through a cleft Saint Felix crept,
And in a corner bode.

It was a sorry hiding-place,
That scarce could hope to 'scape
The keen sight of those bloody men,
For murder all agape.

But lo! in answer to his prayer
Made in the Holy Name,
To help Saint Felix in his need
A little spider came.

And there across the narrow hole
Through which Saint