oked
so obdurate he never thought to knock there. Then the sound of low,
monotonous chanting, by women's voices, poor and few, told him that he
stood without their chapel; and he understood that the low door giving
upon the place of graves had not been fashioned for the living. Truly he
was alien and incongruous, although that day he had surely been many
degrees nearer death than any dweller there.

He made for the boundary wall, overleaped it, and then by legitimate
pathways came before the entrance door. There he stood long, not finally
determined what he had come to say. It was repugnant to him to ask of any
mortal cover for his doings, the more when they were somewhat amiss.

While he stood, casting about for decision, he was a-stare heedlessly on
a rocky spur near by that bore the moulding of three figures. High upon
its face they stood, where a natural suggestion had been abetted by man,
a rough pediment shaped above, a rough base below, and the names hewn
large: St. Mary, St. Margaret, St. Faith. Of life size they were, and
looked towards the sea.

Ashamed of his own indecision, the boy lifted his hand and knocked at the
wicket, so to force a resolution within the limit of seconds left. The
stone figures clapped back an echo. His heart sprang an invocation in
response, and straightway he relinquished thought of asking an irksome
favour of lower agents. So when the wicket opened, this was all he had to
say: 'Of your charity give food to a hungry body.'

To the pale, spare Monitress, half shrouded in the gloom, the ruddy young
giant, glowing in the sunshine, said this: 'Of your charity give food to
a hungry body.' She paused and looked at the boy, for his great stature,
his fair hair, and grey eyes made him very singular.

The questioning he half feared and expected did not come. The Monitress
withdrew silently, and presently returning handed a portion of bread. She
said, 'Not food for the body, but prayer for the soul is chiefly asked of
our charity.'

The boy's face flamed, understanding how he was rebuked. Thanks stumbled
on his tongue, and no word to excuse could come; so the wicket closed
upon his silence.

Not so closely but that the Monitress could look again, to sigh over that
creature of gross wants with angel-bright hair. Surprised, she saw that
he was instantly away, and mounted high by the three stone saints. She
saw that he touched their feet reverently, that he knelt down, crossed
himself and