ome forth, led by their Bishop, who bore the Pope's
blessing to the two solitaries, and who was mindful to celebrate the
Mass of the Assumption in the Hermit's cave in the cliffside. At the
blessed word the Hermit was well-nigh distraught with joy, for he felt
this to be a sign from heaven that his prayers were heard, and that he
had won the Wild Woman's grace as well as his own. And all night he
prayed that on the morrow she might confess her fault and receive the
Sacrament with him.

Before dawn he recited the psalms of the proper nocturn; then he girded
on his gown and sandals, and went forth to meet the Bishop in the
valley.

As he went downward daylight stood on the mountains, and he thought he
had never seen so fair a dawn. It filled the farthest heaven with
brightness, and penetrated even to the woody crevices of the glen, as
the grace of God had entered into the obscurest folds of his heart. The
morning airs were hushed, and he heard only the sound of his own
footfall, and the murmur of the stream which, though diminished, still
poured a swift current between the rocks; but as he reached the bottom
of the glen a sound of chanting came to him, and he knew that the
pilgrims were at hand. His heart leapt up and his feet hastened
forward; but at the streamside they were suddenly stayed, for in a pool
where the water was still deep he saw the shining of a woman's
body--and on a stone hard by lay the Wild Woman's gown and sandals.

Fear and rage possessed the Hermit's heart, and he stood as one smitten
speechless, covering his eyes from the shame. But the song of the
approaching pilgrims swelled ever louder and nearer, and finding voice
he cried to the Wild Woman to come forth and hide herself from the
people.

She made no answer, but in the dusk he saw her limbs sway with the
swaying of the water, and her eyes were turned to him as if in mockery.
At the sight blind fury filled him, and clambering over the rocks to
the pool's edge he bent down and caught her by the shoulder. At that
moment he could have strangled her with his hands, so abhorrent to him
was the touch of her flesh; but as he cried out on her, heaping her
with cruel names, he saw that her eyes returned his look without
wavering; and suddenly it came to him that she was dead. Then through
all his anger and fear a great pang smote him; for here was his work
undone, and one he had loved in Christ laid low in her sin, in spite of
all his labours.

One