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THE high hedge hid him from the house now; and so, under the
impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces and sped
toward a wood in the distance. He never looked back until he had
almost gained the shelter of the forest; then he turned and descried
two figures in the distance. That was sufficient; he did not wait to
scan them critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till
he was far within the twilight depths of the wood. Then he stopped;
being persuaded that he was now tolerably safe. 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 traveled 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 realized 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 little hut. He
heard a voice now, and felt a disposition to run and hide; but he
changed his mind at once, for his 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 fagot fire were smoldering;
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 fagots 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 splendors 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 daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt
wear a hair shirt next thy skin; thou shalt drink water only; and thou
shalt be at peace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek
thee shall go his way again baffled; he shall not find thee, he
shall not molest thee.'
The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud,
and began to mutter. The king seized this opportunity to state his
case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and
apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed.
And still muttering, he approached the king and said, impressively:
''Sh! I will tell you a secret!' He bent down to impart it, but
checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment or
two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out and
peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his
face close down to the king's and whispered:
'I am an archangel!'
The king started violently, and said to himself, 'Would God I were
with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a madman!'
His apprehensions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his
face. In a low, excited voice, the hermit continued:
'I see you feel my atmosphere! There's awe in your face! None
may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is the very
atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in the twinkling of
an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years
ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their
presence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And they
knelt to me, king! yes, they knelt to me! for I was greater than they.
I have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the
patriarchs. Touch my hand- be not afraid- touch it. There- now thou
hast touched a hand which has been clasped by Abraham, and Isaac,
and Jacob! For I have walked in the golden courts, I have seen the
Deity face to face!' He paused, to give this speech effect; then his
face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again, saying,
with angry energy, 'Yes, I am an archangel; a mere archangel!- I
that might have been pope! It is verily true. I was told it from
heaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope!- and I
should have been pope, for Heaven had said it- but the king
dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk, was
cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!' Here he
began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile rage, with
his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse, and now and then
a pathetic 'Wherefore I am naught but an archangel- I that should have
been pope!'
So he went on for an hour, while the poor little king sat and
suffered. Then all at once the old man's frenzy departed, and he
became all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out of his
clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanely, that he
soon won the king's heart completely. The old devotee moved the boy
nearer to the fire and made him comfortable; doctored his small
bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand; and then set
about preparing and cooking a supper- chatting pleasantly all the
time, and occasionally stroking the lad's cheek or patting his head,
in such a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and
repulsion inspired by the archangel were changed to reverence and
affection for the man.
This happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper;
then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to bed,
in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as
a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, left him and sat down
by the fire, and began to poke the brands about in an absent and
aimless way. Presently he paused; then tapped his forehead several
times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought which
had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was unsuccessful. Now he
started quickly up, and entered his guest's room, and said:
'Thou art king?'
'Yes,' was the response, drowsily uttered.
'What king?'
'Of England.'
'Of England. Then Henry is gone!'
'Alack, it is so. I am his son.'
A black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he clenched
his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few moments,
breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voice:
'Dost know it was he that turned us out into the world houseless
and homeless?'
There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned the boy's
reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. 'He sleeps-
sleeps soundly'; and the frown vanished away and gave place to an
expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flitted across the dreaming
boy's features. The hermit muttered, 'So- his heart is happy'; and
he turned away. He went stealthily about the place, seeking here and
there for something; now and then halting to listen, now and then
jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward the bed; and
always muttering, always mumbling to himself. At last he found what he
seemed to want- a rusty old butcher-knife and a whetstone. Then he
crept to his place by the fire, sat himself down, and began to whet
the knife softly on the stone, still muttering, mumbling, ejaculating.
The winds sighed around the lonely place, the mysterious voices of the
night floated by out of the distances. The shining eyes of venturesome
mice and rats peered out at the old man from cracks and coverts, but
he went on with his work, rapt, absorbed, and noted none of these
things.
At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife,
and nodded his head with satisfaction. 'It grows sharper,' he said;
'yes, it grows sharper.'
He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on,
entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke out occasionally
in articulate speech:
'His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us- and is gone down
into the eternal fires! Yes, down into the eternal fires! He escaped
us- but it was God's will, yes it was God's will, we must not
repine. But he hath not escaped the fires! no, he hath not escaped the
fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires- and they are
everlasting!'
And so he wrought; and still wrought; mumbling- chuckling a low
rasping chuckle at times- and at times breaking again into words:
'It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel- but for
him, I should be pope!'
The king stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly to the bedside,
and went down upon his knees, bending over the prostrate form with his
knife uplifted. The boy stirred again; his eyes came open for an
instant, but there was no speculation in them, they saw nothing; the
next moment his tranquil breathing showed that his sleep was sound
once more.
The hermit watched and listened for a time, keeping his position
and scarcely breathing; then he slowly lowered his arm, and
presently crept away, saying:
'It is long past midnight- it is not best that he should cry
out, lest by accident some one be passing.'
He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong there,
and another one yonder; then he returned, and by careful and gentle
handling he managed to tie the king's ankles together without waking
him. Next he essayed to tie the wrists; he made several attempts to
cross them, but the boy always drew one hand or the other away, just
as the cord was ready to be applied; but at last, when the archangel
was almost ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands himself, and
the next moment they were bound. Now a bandage was passed under the
sleeper's chin and brought up over his head and tied fast- and so
softly, so gradually, and so deftly were the knots drawn together
and compacted, that the boy slept peacefully through it all without
stirring.
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