tion of a troubled sleeper. Was there magic in it, not wholly
natural? The hand might have been a dead one. But then, was it
surprising, after all, that the [156] methods of curing men's maladies,
as being in very deed the fruit of sin, should have something strange
and unlooked-for about them, like some of those Old Testament healings
and purifications which the Prior's biblical lore suggested to him?
Yet Brother Apollyon, if their surly Janitor, in his less kindly
moments, spoke truly, himself greatly needed purification, being not
only a thief, but a homicide in hiding from the law. Nay, once, on his
annual return from southern or eastern lands, he had been observed on
his way along the streets of the great town literally scattering the
seeds of disease till his serpent-skin bag was empty. And within seven
days the "black death" was there, reaping its thousands. As a wise man
declared, he who can best cure disease can also most cunningly engender
it.

In short, these creatures of rule, these "regulars," the Prior and his
companion, were come in contact for the first time in their lives with
the power of untutored natural impulse, of natural inspiration. The boy
experienced it immediately in the games which suited his years, but
which he had never so much as seen before; as his superior was to
undergo its influence by-and-by in serious study. By night chiefly, in
its long, continuous twilights, Hyacinth became really a boy at last,
with immense gaiety; eyes, hands and feet awake, expanding, as he raced
his comrade over the [157] turf, with the conical Druidic stone for a
goal, or wrestled lithely enough with him, though as with a rock; or,
taking the silver bow in hand for a moment, transfixed a mark, next a
bird, on the bough, on the wing, shedding blood for the first time,
with a boy's delight, a boy's remorse. Friend Apollyon seemed able to
draw the wild animals too, to share their sport, yet not altogether
kindly. Tired, surfeited, he destroys them when his game with them is
at an end; breaks the toy; deftly snaps asunder the fragile back.
Though all alike would come at his call, or the sound of his harp, he
had his preferences; and warred in the night-time, as if on principle,
against the creatures of the day. The small furry thing he pierced
with his arrow fled to him nevertheless caressingly, with broken limb,
to die palpitating in his hand. In this wonderful season, the
migratory birds, from Norway,