o woman is safe in the reign of
Robert the Bad, and the feet of good women go not in his halls. Woe to
the wicked King!"

She knelt again.

Robert, where he crouched, muttered to himself, "I have sinned, I have
sinned, I have grievously sinned."

A young man rose and spoke.

"No youth with a clean spirit can live in peace in Sicily. Only the man
who will sell his wife, the brother who will betray his sister, the
lover who will surrender his sweetheart, may find favor with the tyrant.
Woe to the wicked King!"

He knelt again.

Robert, where he crouched, muttered to himself, "I have sinned, I have
sinned, I have grievously sinned."

Robert's face was very pale, his body shook with anguish, and he
crouched more and more upon the steps of the altar.

A soldier rose and spoke.

"I am not squeamish; I have seen cities sacked, but I will not serve
this man-beast. I will carry my sword over-seas. I will follow the flag
of some gallant captain, and die remembering Sicily. Woe to the wicked
King!"

He knelt again.

Robert, where he crouched, muttered to himself, "I have sinned, I have
sinned, I have grievously sinned."

He heard Hieronymus give his benediction--"Benedicto vos in nomine
Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." A thought came to Robert, he
crept to Hieronymus, plucking at his sleeve:

"Father," he whispered, "may I, who am so sore afflicted, speak to these
unhappy?"

Hieronymus rested his hand gently on Robert's shoulder as he again
addressed the kneeling figures.

"Brethren," he said, "lo, here is one of the tyrant's victims. Speak, my
son."

He moved aside a little to give Robert more space, resting his hand upon
the iron cross. Robert, his face hidden in his hood, addressed the
mourners.

"Brethren," he wailed, "I am the most unhappy soul in Sicily, for God
has cursed me with a fearful curse. At night I dream I am this wicked
King, and all day long the evil of his deeds grinds down my heart. But
in my misery I have heard words more sweet than honey, more fragrant
than myrrh, which if you will guard them in your hearts will be to you
as wells in the waste places, as orchards in the sand, as shade of palm
and strength of manna in the weary, hungry land. 'He hath put down the
mighty from their seats and exalted them of low degree.'"

He would have fallen if Hieronymus's strong arms had not sustained him.
With one voice all the wanderers echoed his words.

"'He hath put down the mighty from