ey should go forth and enjoy the morning air. So, descending the
precipitous bank of the river, he led the way to a small glen, the
bed of a tributary rivulet, now nearly exhausted. Beautiful clumps of
birch-trees and tall thin poplars, rose on each side among the rocks
covered with bright mosses, and parasitical plants of gay and various
colours. One side of the glen was touched with the golden and grateful
beams of the rising sun, and the other was in deep shadow.

"Here you can enjoy nature and freedom in security;" said the Eremite,
"for your enemies, if they have not already given up their pursuit, will
scarcely search this sweet solitude."

"It is indeed sweet, holy father," said Iduna; "but the captive, who has
escaped from captivity, can alone feel all its sweetness."

"It is true," said the Eremite; "I also have been a captive."

"Indeed! holy father. To the Infidels?"

"To the Infidels, gentle pilgrim."

"Have you been at Adrianople?"

"My oppressors were not the Paynim," replied the Eremite, "but they
were enemies far more dire, my own evil passions. Time was when my eye
sparkled like thine, gentle pilgrim, and my heart was not as pure."

"God is merciful," said Iduna, "and without His aid, the strongest are
but shadows."

"Ever think so," replied the Eremite, "and you will deserve rather His
love than His mercy. Thirty long years have I spent in this solitude,
meditating upon the past, and it is a theme yet fertile in instruction.
My hours are never heavy, and memory is to me what action is to other
men."

"You have seen much, holy father?"

"And felt more. Yet you will perhaps think the result of all my
experience very slight, for I can only say unto thee, trust not in
thyself."

"It is a great truth," remarked Iduna, "and leads to a higher one."

"Even so," replied the Eremite. "We are full of wisdom in old age, as
in winter this river is full of water, but the fire of youth, like the
summer sun, dries up the stream."

Iduna did not reply. The Eremite attracted her attention to a patch of
cresses on the opposite bank of the stream. "Every morn I rise only
to discover fresh instances of omnipotent benevolence," he exclaimed.
"Yesterday ye tasted my honey and my fish. To-day I can offer ye a fresh
dainty. We will break our fast in this pleasant glen. Rest thou here,
gentle youth, and I will summon thy brother to our meal. I fear me much
he does not bear so contented a spirit as thyself."