He listened intently, but the stillness was profound and solemn–
awful, even, and depressing to the spirits. At wide intervals his
straining ear did detect sounds, but they were so remote, and
hollow, and mysterious, that they seemed not to be real sounds,
but only the moaning and complaining ghosts of departed ones. So
the sounds were yet more dreary than the silence which they
interrupted.
It was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he was the
rest of the day; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, and
he was at last obliged to resume movement in order to get warm.
He struck straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a road
presently, but he was disappointed in this. He travelled on and
on; but the farther he went, the denser the wood became,
apparently. The gloom began to thicken, by-and-by, and the King
realised that the night was coming on. It made him shudder to
think of spending it in such an uncanny place; so he tried to
hurry faster, but he only made the less speed, for he could not
now see well enough to choose his steps judiciously; consequently
he kept tripping over roots and tangling himself in vines and
briers.
And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a light!
He approached it warily, stopping often to look about him and
listen. It came from an unglazed window-opening in a shabby
little hut. He heard a voice, now, and felt a disposition to run
and hide; but he changed his mind at once, for this voice was
praying, evidently. He glided to the one window of the hut,
raised himself on tiptoe, and stole a glance within. The room was
small; its floor was the natural earth, beaten hard by use; in a
corner was a bed of rushes and a ragged blanket or two; near it
was a pail, a cup, a basin, and two or three pots and pans; there
was a short bench and a three-legged stool; on the hearth the
remains of a faggot fire were smouldering; before a shrine, which
was lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and on an old
wooden box at his side lay an open book and a human skull. The
man was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers were very long
and snowy white; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins which
reached from his neck to his heels.
“A holy hermit!” said the King to himself; “now am I indeed
fortunate.”
The hermit rose from his knees; the King knocked. A deep voice
responded–
“Enter!–but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt
stand is holy!”
The King entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of
gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said–
“Who art thou?”
“I am the King,” came the answer, with placid simplicity.
“Welcome, King!” cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. Then,
bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly saying,
“Welcome, welcome,” he arranged his bench, seated the King on it,
by the hearth, threw some faggots on the fire, and finally fell to
pacing the floor with a nervous stride.
“Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not
worthy, and were turned away. But a King who casts his crown
away, and despises the vain splendours of his office, and clothes
his body in rags, to devote his life to holiness and the
mortification of the flesh–he is worthy, he is welcome!–here
shall he abide all his days till death come.” The King hastened
to interrupt and explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him-
-did not even hear him, apparently, but went right on with his
talk, with a raised voice and a growing energy. “And thou shalt
be at peace here. None shall find out thy refuge to disquiet thee
with supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which
God hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray here; thou shalt
study the Book; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusions
of this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to come; thou
shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body with whips,