rable, white-bearded old man,
something between Stephen's notions of an apostle and of a magician,
though the latter idea predominated at sight of a long parchment scroll
covered with characters such as belonged to no alphabet that he had ever
dreamt of. What were they doing to his brother? He was absolutely in
an enchanter's den. Was it a pixie at the door, guarding it?
"Ambrose!" he cried aloud.

Everybody started. Ambrose sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "Stephen!"
The pixie gave a little scream and jumped up, flying to the old man, who
quietly rolled up his scroll.

Lucas rose up as Ambrose spoke.

"Thy brother?" said he.

"Yea--come in search of me," said Ambrose.

"Thou hadst best go forth with him," said Lucas.

"It is not well that youth should study over long," said the old man.
"Thou hast aided us well, but do thou now unbend the bow. Peace be with
thee, my son."

Ambrose complied, but scarcely willingly, and the instant they had made
a few steps from the door, Stephen exclaimed in dismay, "Who--what was
it? Have they bewitched thee, Ambrose?"

Ambrose laughed merrily. "Not so. It is holy lore that those good men
are reading."

"Nay now, Ambrose. Stand still--if thou canst, poor fellow," he
muttered, and then made the sign of the cross three times over his
brother, who stood smiling, and said, "Art satisfied Stevie? Or wilt
have me rehearse my _Credo_?" Which he did, Stephen listening
critically, and drawing a long breath as he recognised each word,
pronounced without a shudder at the critical points. "Thou art safe so
far," said Stephen. "But sure he is a wizard. I even beheld his
familiar spirit--in a fair shape doubtless--like a pixie! Be not
deceived, brother. Sorcery reads backwards--and I saw him so read from
that scroll of his. Laughest thou! Nay! what shall I do to free thee?
Enter here!"

Stephen dragged his brother, still laughing, into the porch of the
nearest church, and deluged him with holy water with such good will,
that Ambrose, putting up his hands to shield his eyes, exclaimed, "Come
now, have done with this folly, Stephen--though it makes me laugh to
think of thy scared looks, and poor little Aldonza being taken for a
familiar spirit." And Ambrose laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.

"But what is it, then?"

"The old man is of thy calling, or something like it, Stephen, being
that he maketh and tempereth sword-blades after the prime Damascene or
Toledo