of it, as I think," answered Dalfin. "But, without jesting,
the poor lady is in sore need of shelter and hospitality, and I
think you cannot refuse that. Will you not take us to the
monastery?"

"Monastery, my son? There is none here."

"Why, then, whence come you? Are you weather bound here also?"

"Aye, by the storms of the world, my son. We are what men call
hermits."

Dalfin looked at me with a rueful face when he heard that. What a
hermit might be I did not at all know, and it meant nothing to me.
I was glad enough to think that there was a roof of any sort for
Gerda.

"Why, father," said my comrade, "you do not sleep on the bare
ground, surely?"

"Not at all, my son. There are six of us, and each has his cell."

"Cannot you find shelter for one shipwrecked lady? It will not be
for long, as we will go hence with the first chance. We have our
boats."

Now all this while the hermit had his eye on Dalfin's splendid
torque, and at last he spoke of it, hesitatingly.

"My son, it is not good for a man to show idle curiosity--but it is
no foolish question if I ask who you are that you wear the torque
of the O'Neills which was lost."

"I am Dalfin of Maghera, father. The torque has come back to me,
for Dubhtach is avenged."

At that the hermit gave somewhat like a smothered shout, and his
stately way fell from him altogether. He went on his knee before
Dalfin, and seized his hand and kissed it again and again, crying
words of welcome.

"My prince, my prince," he said, with tears of joy running down his
cheeks. "It was told me that you had gone across the seas--but I
did not know it was for this."

Dalfin reddened, and raised the hermit from the sand.

"Father," he said quickly, "I am not the avenger. It is a long
tale--but the lady, who is a queen in Norway, shipwrecked with us
here by a strange fate, has to do with the winning back of the
torque."

"A queen!" said the hermit quickly. "Then the rule of which I spoke
must needs be broken; nay, not broken, but set aside. Now, where
are your men?"

"Never a man have we. There is Malcolm here, and Bertric, a Saxon
thane, who is my friend also and a good Christian, and the poor
young queen, and no more."

The hermit threw up his hands.

"All drowned!" he cried. "Alack, alack! May their souls rest in
peace!"

"We sailed without them, father. There were none, and so they are
all safe at home."

"Good luck to them--for if they had been here they were