walls glistening in the morning light, a clump of feathery rowan trees
beside it; at its back a mighty rock, flung down in bygone centuries
from the mountain which towered behind it. From a deep cleft in this
rock sprang a young oak, dipping its fresh green to the roof of the
chapel; all around it, in every crack and cranny, parsley fern,
hare-bells on delicate, swaying stalks, foxgloves tall and straight,
and glorious bunches of purpling heather.

Nearby was the humble dwelling of the Hermit. The door stood ajar.

Softly approaching, Mora lifted her hand, and knocked.

No voice replied.

The sound of her knock did but make evident the presence of a vast
solitude.

Pushing open the door, she ventured to look within.

The Hermit's cell was empty. The remains of a frugal meal lay upon the
rough wooden table. Also an open breviary, much thumbed and worn. At
the further end of the table, a little pile of medicinal herbs heaped
as if shaken hastily from the wallet which lay beside them. Probably
the holy man, even while at an early hour he broke his fast, had been
called to some sick bedside.

Mora turned from the doorway and, shading her eyes, scanned the
landscape.

At first she could see only sheep, slowly moving from tuft to tuft as
they nibbled the short grass; or goats, jumping from rock to rock, and
suddenly disappearing in the high bracken.

But soon, on a distant ridge, she perceived two figures and presently
made out the brown robe and hood of the Hermit, and a little, barefoot
peasant boy, running to keep up with his rapid stride. They vanished
over the crest of the hill, and Mora--alone in this wild
solitude--realised that many hours might elapse ere the Hermit returned.

This check to the fulfilment of her purpose, instead of disappointing
her, flooded her heart with a sudden sense of relief.

The interior of the Hermit's cell had recalled, so vividly, the
austerities of the cloistered life.

The Hermit's point of view would probably have been so completely from
within.

It would have been impossible that he should comprehend the wonder--the
growing wonder--of these days, since she and Hugh rode away from
Warwick, culminating in that exquisite hour on the battlements when she
had told him of the vision, whispered her full surrender, and yet
he--faithful and patient even then--had touched her only with his
glowing eyes.

How could a holy Hermit, dwelling alone among great silent hills,
r