Passe Rose

XIII.

IT had been felt by all the inmates of the Abbey of St. Servais, after Brother Dominic’s return from Immaburg, that his journey had wrought in him some strange transformation. He who used to labor at his desk with such patience, content to spend an entire day on a single gigantic capital (though able to copy in that time an entire epistle of the blessed St. Peter in Tironian characters), now sighed at his window like a longing girl, or paced the garden walks in restless self-communion. Brother Dominic was himself aware of this change, although he would have strenuously denied it, had it been brought to his charge; for at times, in the oval of the capital he was tracing, a face looked out upon him, his pen was entangled in a tress of yellow hair, and a mist of blue eyes hid the page altogether.

Reflecting upon his experiences at Immaburg, he was at least ready to admit there was that in the world he had not suspected, and that the wine of a king is sometimes stronger than that of an abbot. He endeavored in vain, however, to retrace in sequence the events of his journey. At whichever end he began, he came always to that fatal cup on the eve of his departure from the villa, — a cup in which the strands of memory had dissolved away. Certain he was that before setting out from the abbey he was no favorite of the prior. How then should the woman know that he had the prior’s esteem ? It was equally true that before his journey he gave no thought to the coarseness of his frock, which now irritated and displeased him as he recalled the cendal of soft texture about the neck of the woman who roused him from his nap in the strangers’ hall at Immaburg. So dear to him had been his copying - desk, its parchment and inks of vermilion and gold, that when he fell asleep he was dreaming of nothing more than to be seated at it again ; and now he gazed listless at the manuscript spread before him, and his former pursuit afforded him no satisfaction. More than this, a fragrance other than that of the holy spices mingled with the smoke of the censer, and a voice not the reader’s ravished his ear in the very midst of the sacred offices.

Exactly what had happened while the fumes of the wine were upon him he could not tell. A confused recollection of messages given and taken ; of seeing the captain with the demon; of the demon itself, which nevertheless had thrust an arm of honest flesh under his nose, and had entered the house of God freely without signs of terror ; and above all, of a face and voice sweeter and more potent than even the king’s wine, was all he could recover from memory. He felt conscious of having committed some grievous error, but whether it consisted in holding converse with the woman or the demon, in receiving the message or in surrendering it, he could not determine. On his homeward way he had reflected upon what he should say to the prior when he rendered an account of his journey, and after much misgiving had purposed to tell in all sincerity how a woman of the princesses’ household had given him letters for a certain goldsmith of Maestricht, but had taken them again, saying she would dispatch them by another messenger ; also, how another, whether woman or devil he knew not, had bidden him tell the prior she was well. Less than this he dared not utter, more he could not. But when, after relating the issue of his mission to the king and the queen’s reception of the missal, the prior questioned him of other matters, between his own confusion and the chill of the prior’s eye, his courage failed him, and he held his peace altogether.

Had any one deemed it worthy of notice, a change as great as that which had befallen Brother Dominic might also have been observed in Friedgis, after the last visit of Passe Rose to the abbey. Upon the apathy and dejection into which misfortune had plunged him she had blazed like a star. Suspicious as he had been of her sincerity, it was only when she failed to reappear that he realized what credit he had attached to her promises. As the days passed, his suspicions had deepened. But a hope once kindled is hard to kill. The monotony of the abbey life jarred with this hope and irritated his expectancy. As he lay awake at night, listening for the song of the cuckoo, balancing the girl’s promise against her long delay, those mysterious words of the gospels, “ in kings’ houses,” came to him with all the assured conviction of Passe Rose’s utterance, and he followed the courses of awakened hope and desire as the Northman’s bark follows the rising wind. Did the girl indeed speak truly ? He would verify her words in person. Being a slave, to flee was to steal, and to steal was to lose, for the first offense, an eye ; for the second, the nose ; for the third, life. Beyond the instant when, outside the abbey walls, he should set his face in the direction Passe Rose had so vaguely indicated as that of Aix, he had no plan. But to plan was not his nature; he would meet what the future brought as the bark’s prow meets the waves. Surely the collar was an omen from the gods, —the gods, always forgotten in prosperity, denied in misfortune, and remembered again at the first gleam of hope ! Of a truth the gods lived; for on the very eve of his projected flight Brother Dominic came to his cell, bidding him prepare to accompany the Prior Sergius on the morrow to Aix as his servant. Aye, surely, the gods lived !

Upon Brother Dominic, whom the prior also took with him, the announcement of this second journey produced a strange exhilaration. Inasmuch as Sergius, the abbot being still weak, went to represent the latter on the occasion of the return of Pepin, victor in the campaign against the Avars, it was natural that Brother Dominic should argue that he was certain to share with the prior the king’s hospitality, — a thought well calculated to excite pride. And it was thus he sought to explain the elation which the anticipations of this journey caused him, as he rode one morning of the harvest month from the abbey yard, just as the sun rose out of the wood of Hesbaye. “ I have served God these many years.” thought he. drawing himself erect on his mule ; “ the saints forbid I should now serve the devil! ” If it pleased him to go to Aix, certainly that was because he should mingle there with great people and witness a great pageant. Vassals of the king from the Marches of Spain to the land of the Obodrites, nobles from Brittany and Carinthia, prelates of the Church and dignitaries of the State, the king himself, his young queen and fair daughters, women of the royal household,— when Brother Dominic reached this point in his enumeration, the beatings of his heart forced him to grasp the mule tightly, till the vision had passed. Surely the woman was right; he had the prior’s favor, else why was he now his companion ? It was strange ; who had told her ? Yet the very sweetness of truth was in her voice, and her eyes— Here Brother Dominic’s heart was seized with such new tremors that the Saxon Friedgis, who walked behind with the servants and beasts of burden, looked to see him lose his hold altogether.

Mounted upon a fiery horse whose restive movements he controlled without seeming to heed them, the Prior Sergius rode alone in advance of Brother Dominic’s gray mule. At a little distance he might have been mistaken for some fidèle of the king, on his way to the Champ de Mai to fulfill the service of the ban ; or, if One observed his Roman dress, prescribed for the clergy, for one of those Frankish prelates in whose veins ran the blood of a conquering race, and whose instincts of enterprise and audacity often led them to exchange the solitude and idleness of the cloister for the excitement of war or the adventuresome life of missionary conquest. As he drew near, one observed a certain grace and elegance of carriage, betraying his Italian descent, and announcing, in spite of his dress, a courtier of the Eastern Empire rather than a prelate of the West. On closer inspection, one saw the pale face of the scholar, possessing the magic and reserve of learning, and forgot in its dreamy gaze both the courtier and the warrior-priest.

These contradictions in the external appearance of the prior were paralleled by the differences of opinion in which he was held. The monks of St. Servais, being forbidden to speak ill one of another, would have testified that he was fair of speech, just in government, and nice in the discharge of his duties as in the care of his person. Yet his glance begot in them all an uneasy self-examination. When a rule was broken, one thought of the prior first, of God afterwards. The guests at the monastery table, on the other hand, won by his manner and cheer, were loud in his praise ; except it were some surly fellow who, while the rest fed on the prior’s smile, growled in his beard over his cups,

“ Such a smile never fattened man nor ox. ” The children, playing in the court as the prior rode out on the road to Aix, ceased their sport at his approach. For them he was so much black shadow, chilling their laughter as the passing cloud dulled the crimson mist of maple buds on the hill slope beyond the ponds in spring. More sensitive than their elders, they responded more quickly to the iron string which vibrated under the pleasantest tones of the prior’s voice.

A shepherd of the abbey had once found a dog in the woods at a she-wolf’s teats, and enticed it back on his return at night. None had ever suffered from its bite, yet all who saw it, sleek now and well favored, asleep in the gate, remembered that it had wintered with the wolf. The prior constrained the same deference.

If, as the woman of Immaburg had said, Brother Dominic enjoyed the prior’s favor, it was evident that he did not possess his confidence, for Sergius rode in front, alone, paying him no heed. Untroubled, however, by this thought, the monk ambled contentedly behind his superior, his face smiling as the landscape lying before them under the ascending sun. Surely no one knows the day which God has made who has not seen it break, nor loves it well who does not greet its first approach, when flowers are bedewed and birds sing. For what man, if he delights in the face of his mistress, will not go before her coming to see her countenance when joy is fresh upon it ? Brother Dominic was no poet to feed upon dew and larks’ songs, and it was not long before the cravings of his stomach, stimulated by the morning air, carried his hand to his wallet. Yet a poet’s thoughts, unformed and unuttered, stirred in his simple soul.

The road which the prior had taken, traversing the luxuriant meadows about the Meuse, soon entered the narrowing valley, following close now to the river’s dancing waters, and now to the oakcrowned cliffs, whose bastions, like a mighty fortress, overtopped the deep moat of the stream. Alive to new impressions, his lips moving softly to a bubbling stream of pleasure, Brother Dominic saw all that passed before his eyes : the corn-flag whence the blackbird shook the dew in his sudden flight; the hamlets hidden among the trees; the villages nestling to the water ; the barges floating by ; and above, the bluffs of towering rock, out of whose heart the Roman stronghold overhanging the valley had long ago been hewn, and whose quarries now furnished the material for the royal edifices of Aix.

It was clear that in taking the longer road to his destination the prior purposed to spend the night at Visé, a royal bourg where the king had established one of those hospitable houses which afforded free shelter and security to travelers, and which were designed to facilitate commerce and intercourse throughout the kingdom. Brother Dominic remembered the place well, for he had passed this way on his return from Immaburg; and it was not long before the rude movements of his mule and the exhaustion of his wallet combined to render it a very haven of rest and fruition to his quickened imagination. It was with no little satisfaction, then, that he saw at last its outlying farm-buildings, and detected, as he approached, the savory odors of roasting flesh and steaming stews.

The sound of a horn woke the valley echoes as they entered the inclosure. The prior, well known at Visé was received with ceremony ; one hastening to take his horse as he dismounted, another running to fill a copper bowl with water for his ablutions. Brother Dominic, content to mingle with the throng gathered about the fountain, finished his toilet quickly, not failing to observe, meanwhile, among the trees, the smoking dome of the kitchen, which, like an immense beehive, swarmed with servants running to and fro, and gave forth sounds and scents most agreeable to his senses.

“ Sir,” said a voice, suddenly, at his side, ” tell me if, by the grace of God ” —

Brother Dominic turned to see who it was thus plucking him by the sleeve, but, the press being great, he discovered no one, and passed with the rest into the room where the tables were spread. Scarcely, however, had he seated himself when he felt his sleeve pulled again, and heard a plaintive voice in his ear: —

“Tell me, in the name of the good God, if by his grace thou hast seen anywhere my dear daughter ” — And then came the servants bearing covered dishes, and once more his interlocutor disappeared before he could discover who it was thus addressing him.

After the repast was over, accustomed as he was to the hour of meditation prescribed by the rules of the monastery, and bewildered by the songs and tales of those who lingered at table, he betook himself to a quiet, sunny seat in the open air, where, finding his lids growing heavy, he began to repeat the five canticles whose first letters form the name of the Blessed Mother; and while thus engaged he thought himself transported, by some magical power, to the strangers’ hall at Immaburg, and that a voice, sweeter than honey, took as it were the very words of the canticle out of his mouth. Rousing himself with an effort, he perceived that in fact a woman sat beside him, but resembling in no wise the woman of the princesses’ household. Her hand shook, whether from age or palsy he could not tell; her voice, sweet though feeble, trembled; her eyes, vacant of intelligence, were yet restless and full of lights.

“ Sir. I beseech thee — she was the gift of God. Never did she suck these breasts, yet was she mine. See, this was her girdle. Sawest thou ever one so small ? I keep it here, warm, within my bosom. Surely thou wouldst know her by this girdle. Well, then, who hath taken her from me ? Listen. I have a house in Maestricht— In Maestricht, did I say? Yes, that was right,

— a house with a garden. Loriots sing there every morning, but she sings there no longer. Tell me, I pray thee, why the loriots sing there, when she is gone; it is not fitting.” Troubled by her incoherency, Brother Dominic made a motion to rise. " Nay, I beseech thee, tell me first where she is ; the world is so very large, — never before did I conceive it was so large. How is it possible I should find her? Every one must search. Thou wilt know her by her mouth, — a little mouth, like a red rose. No one has so sweet a mouth. Ah, my God, the rose-leaves are not softer nor so fragrant! If one followed the bees, surely one would discover her,” — her face brightened ; then, relapsing into her monotone,—“but they fly so fast! Who can follow the bees ? That is impossible.”

” Good mother ”—interposed Brother Dominic.

“ Aye, good mother, — that is what she used to say, — good little mother. I remember it well, when she said this, standing beside me : her breast reached to my shoulder, — she was obliged to stoop to kiss me. Oh, I remember it well! I have a long memory, for it is a long while. Let us see how long it is. My husband began on that day a silver image to the Virgin. It is said that the king has forbidden that one should prostrate one’s self before an image, but to make an image of silver, delicately carven, for God’s altar, that is quite different ” —

“ Is thy husband, then, a goldsmith ? ” interrupted Brother Dominic, remembering suddenly the message with which Passe Rose had charged him.

“ Docs not every one in Maestricht know Werdric the goldsmith ?” replied the woman. “ But it is only I who know why he works day and night on the Virgin’s image. That is because he struck the gift of God. Did I say he struck her ? It seems to me that he struck her.” She passed her hands over her eyes, in the endeavor to recollect. ” When a blow is given the blood runs to the spot. That is what I saw. Where the grass is trampled, there the wild boar has passed. Is it not so ? ”

“ Good woman,” said Brother Dominic, “ methinks thy daughter is well. When I was at ” —

“ Oh, she is well, never fear. Every night she comes to my bed. Only that cursed collar which the fay gave her has cast a spell about her. Hast thou heard how the fay lost its girdle ? My child found its comb by a pool in the wood of Hesbaye. Who would not pick up a comb of gold ? I do not blame her. But when she laid hold of it, the fay gave forth such sobs and wailings that her heart was touched, — her heart is so tender!” Father Dominic could but be interested in this narration. The great pagan gods were indeed gone forever, but a host of lesser divinities, like the skirmishers of a retiring army, still lingered in the sacred places and haunted the popular imagination. " So she gave back the comb, receiving in its stead a collar of gold, — cursed collar ! It has bewitched my child ”—

Wait a little, my good mother, ” interposed the monk. “ Listen a moment. When I was at Immaburg, at the king’s villa, a girl like the one thou tellest of bade me say to the goldsmith ” —

“ Aye, aye, the goldsmith, — that is my husband. He is making an image for the Virgin Mother because he struck a virgin. That is just. It is very easy to appease the Blessed Mother. Her heart is like the good God’s. She will forgive. But my child will not forgive so easily. The blow cut her heart in twain.”

“ I tell thee I have seen thy daughter ! ” cried Brother Dominic; “ that is to say, I have no doubt of it. When I was at Immaburg, a woman came to me after supper — Wait a little, — there were two. One gave me letters, the other bade me say she was well. Certainly the message must have been for thee. One of the two I saw not, but heard her voice only. Either she gave me the letters for the prior, which is clearly impossible, since I did not see her; or she took the letters who did not give them, which is contrary to reason ; or the demon — God defend us ! ” said the monk, scratching his head in perplexity, “ would I had told the prior the whole truth! Only, not knowing the truth, how could I utter it?” And pleased at the sudden discovery of this balm to his troubled conscience, Brother Dominic smiled on his companion.

His words had made no impression upon her mind. Even the announcement that he had seen her daughter passed unnoticed, and as he spoke she continued muttering to herself with that incoherency of a mind hurried on by the torrent of its own disordered thoughts, and powerless to fix its attention upon even the objects of its desire. But her senses, reveling like hounds escaped from the leash while the master is abroad, were alive to sights and sounds beyond the knowledge of others, and she raised her head suddenly at the rustle of leaves in the thicket behind her to see the prior disappearing softly ; and, leaving the monk bewildered by his strange interview and the misgivings which it had aroused, she plunged into the bushes, crying, “ Seigneur, listen in the name of Christ ” —

“ The blessed St. Servais preserve us ! ” thought Brother Dominic, doubly troubled with pity for the woman and concern for himself. Renouncing at last the effort to reconcile the contradictions of memory, he entered the house to inquire of the king’s vidame if the woman were indeed the wife of the goldsmith of Maestricht.

“ Aye,”replied the vidame, " her husband cannot restrain her;" and tapping his forehead, " God hath taken her wits from her. They say at Maestricht that she hath housed a demon these ten years.”

Remembering his experience with the demon, Brother Dominic trembled. Many were his prayers and brief was his sleep that night at Visé ; and riding behind the prior on his mule the next morning, it seemed to him that Sergius read his thoughts whenever he turned to speak with him, and that the very birds, fluttering from the boughs as they passed underneath, laughed aloud at his trouble. But gradually the morning sun cleared his brain of bodings, as it had cleared the fog from the valleys. The wood was fresh and cool. At the crossing of the Geule he saw the road which branched to Immaburg. Soon the ford of the Wurm was passed, and then the towers of Aix rose up unexpectedly on the skirt of the forest.

At the city gate their entrance was blocked by a passing troop. Sounds of laughter and women’s voices filled the echoing archway, and the prior, checking his horse to observe the riders as they went by, smiled when his eye fell upon the Saxon Rothilde, between Gesualda and Agnes of Solier. Her face was bright and her laughter gay. “ Robert of Tours returns with Pepin from Hungary,” thought the prior. Then, as he looked, the girl’s face grew white, and the smile left it. “ So,” thought the prior, “ am I then come amiss ? Nay, little one, I will give thee thy lover over the king’s will — and body.”

Behind the others, Friedgis, on foot, and Brother Dominic, on his mule, could see nothing, and the troop was soon gone, like a flight of swallows. Then the three rode in, — prior, monk, and slave, — little dreaming that each was thinking of the same woman.

XIV.

It had been a day of delights for Brother Dominic. He had sat at table with the abbot of Fontenelle, director of the royal buildings, with whom the Prior Sergius lodged ; and though his place was with those of less degree, it was enough for him that the meats were well seasoned and garnished with flowers, that the wine in his goblet was interdicted by no vow, and that the crystal jar of honey stood at his elbow. Free to come and go, he had passed the morning hours in viewing the imperial city, whose growing splendors he doubted not would eclipse those of Rome itself. He had wandered at will through its streets and squares, stood on the foundations of the vast theatre which the king was building beyond the northern gate, marveled at the mighty columns transported so great a distance for the new basilica, dipped his hands in the springs whose heat proclaimed the reality of regions infernal, and braved the guards at the palace gate to gaze at the king’s abode. But more than all these things, at the evening hour, while sitting, fatigued with wonder, on one of the marble benches of the palace court, he had seen the woman of Immaburg. Ah, fool that he was ! to be so overcome that he must needs stare, without the wit to speak or move, as at a were-wolf issuing from a cavern ! His back was turned to the place whence she came, but as she passed a smell of sweet ointment carried him in a twinkling to the strangers’ hall at Immaburg ; and then strength fled from his limbs, so that when he would have risen the damsel was already far from him. Worst of all, when he would have followed her, — for what purpose God knows, — a devil of a soldier at the gate beset him with questions, jesting at his haste, and charging him with evil intent, so that for very shame he forced himself to go another way than that the woman had taken.

Rothilde had not so much as noticed the monk. Her face was covered as she crossed the court, though it was late twilight. One would have sworn her to be only some servant of the palace, — as indeed the soldier had thought, —for her head-cloth was of coarse serge, and her shoe-nails sounded on the stones as she walked. Paying no heed to any she met, she went her way by the street which skirted the eastern side of the palace to the church of St. Marcellus, into which she disappeared. If it was dusk without, it was night within, and she stood inside the door till her eyes were accustomed to the darkness ; then, following the wall, entered one of the side chapels, where the obscurity was almost complete. Against the pier hung a small votive casket, inclosing a sweet gum, from which the smoke curled upward in spirals. In the centre of the chapel was a sarcophagus of Parian marble, executed in Italy for the king. Upon this the girl seated herself, gathering one foot beneath her, and waited. A verger came down the nave, and lighted four candles before an altar in the opposite aisle. The taper in his hand hovered a moment about the candles, was effaced by a pillar, reappeared again, then vanished altogether. Silent and immobile, the girl watched the retreating light. It was evident that she did not wish to be observed, yet in her attitude there was an insolent unconcern. Her hood had fallen from her hair, where the black pearls of Robert of Tours shone with a dull lustre in the candle-light reflected from the pavement.

Yesterday, at the Liege gate, she had seen Friedgis, her Saxon lover. Till the dancing-girl spoke his name in the supper-room at Immahurg, she had forgotten him. Yet she had loved him — once. He stood with the asses behind the monk to whom she had given the papers for the prior. Had he seen her? How her heart had leaped! “ What ails thee ? ” Gesualda had said, observing her pallor. Certainly it was her collar the dancing-girl wore at Immaburg. At the sight of it the past had come back like the memory of a dream, — her Saxon home and lover. She changed her posture mechanically, shrugging her shoulders with a movement of disdain. How was it possible she had ever loved him ? Her eyes followed the smoke ascending from the casket along the rough surface of the wall to the carven capital, where, curling outward, it crept along the curve of the arch to the keystone. Did he know where she was ? Had he come seeking her ? She remembered the look the dancing-girl had given her when uttering his name. Did she perchance come from him ? The smoke, escaping from under the arch of the chapel, floated higher into the vaultings of the aisle. “ Come up hither,” it seemed to say, “ above the pavement where the multitude kneel, into the tribune of the king.” Rothilde leaned forward to watch its ascending spiral. She had sought the dancing-girl after supper, and from the gallery had seen her conversing with the monk at the door of the chapel. But when she descended to speak with her, she found no one, and seeing the captain approaching had retreated hastily. “ Friedgis, the Saxon slave who keeps the gate for the monks of St. Servais,” — that was what the girl had said. A slave, leading the asses ! how could it be that she had ever loved him ! — and her blue eyes followed the smoke-wreaths, stealing ever upward softly, as if fearful of hindrance or surprise, into the great dome.

A sound caused her to turn her head and draw her cloak about her. In the shadow of the pillar near the font something moved. Slipping from her seat, she removed her shoes, and gliding obliquely in her noiseless sandals towards the black figure beside the font, paused, as if to dip her finger in the holy water ; then, with a quick motion, threw back her head-cloth and revealed her face.

“ Enough,” said the prior softly; “ cover thyself.” Without doubt he remembered the monk Fardolphus, who, secreted beneath one of the altars, had overheard the conspirators of Pepin the Bastard, and had hastened to tell the king. With a gesture the girl led the way into the recess of the chapel, where she seated herself again on the lid of the sarcophagus. The distant candles shone on her face, still uncovered; the fillet of pearls gleamed in her hair; her teeth glistened between her parted lips.

“ Cover thyself,” repeated the prior authoritatively. She obeyed but in part, and reluctantly. It seemed to give her pleasure to reveal a little of the beauty concealed behind the coarseness of her garment. Standing between her and the light, the prior looked at her attentively, struck anew by this beauty which the Abbot Rainal had thought to consecrate to the service of God. Keener in his perceptions than the abbot, the prior had seen in this convert, destined for the Saxon mission, a tool of another temper, fitted for other ends. More learned, too, than his superior, the prior was acquainted with the writings of certain Greek authors, who maintained that moral character may be discovered in the expression of the face, even in the forms of the members ; that the shape of the extremities indicates the fineness or coarseness of the intelligence : and that in the movements of the body are revealed those of the soul. Looking about among the king’s household for an accomplice, when his eye fell upon Rothilde, it had rested on her face with satisfaction. In truth, the Greek was right. Does the habitual state of the soul leave no trace upon its dwelling ? See how she has decked her body. Is not that eye which delights in the things of sense the eye also of the soul ? Those fingers, so frail, yet so full of nervous energy, are fingers to clutch at a crown. That month, so small, what passions tremble on its fine lines, what desire sleeps in the hollow of its lips ! “It is she I seek,” the prior had said, looking into her eye. It was a blue eye, trustful, but not trusty ; in repose clear as a shallow pool in an open field, — then filling with sudden lights ; one saw there what one would, — stars or flames. When he first saw her, she wore, as now, the black pearls of Robert of Tours, to whom the king had refused her in marriage. Should he win her to his purpose by playing on her love of kindred and home, fill her soul with the desire of vengeance ? “ Nay,”said the prior to himself, observing her more closely: “ to such an one a nation is less than a man ; she will do greater things for her lover than for her country.” On inquiry, he learned that Robert of Tours had won the young queen to his suit. The king, however, remained obstinate, and to rid himself of further importunity sent the girl to the convent of Eicka, to take the veil. So chance threw her into the prior’s hands ; for the convent of Eicka belonged by royal diploma to the abbot’s domain, and during the latter’s sickness its oversight, both as to internal order and external affairs, fell to the prior’s charge. Having thus become director of the girl’s conscience, he had opportunity to study her character, and, by mitigation of the rules in her favor, to establish himself in her confidence. He knew how to render worldly pleasures attractive in condemning them, and to deepen the sullen rage of her disappointed ambition by dwelling upon the irrevocableness of her lot. To strip her arms of their jewels and her dress of its silver fringes, to break her garnet girdle and lay it on the altar, to give herself over to the austerities of fasts, vigils, and macerations, to abandon her passionate love for the mystical substitute offered her,—all this the prior knew how to paint in words fit to quicken her terror and disgust for the tomb to which she saw herself destined in the very plenitude of life and ambition.

Meanwhile, he had obtained, through the young queen’s intercession, the king’s permission for her return to court, on condition that she renounced all hopes of marriage.

On the eve of her consecration Sergius entered her room. Sleepless with rage and fear, she saw him leaning above her bed. shading his face from the taper in his hand.

“ What wilt thou of me? ” she stammered, pressed against the wall.

“ To leave this grave, and take thy place in the queen’s household.”

She raised herself on her elbow, still gazing at him fiercely from her blue eyes.

“ Rise anti dress thyself. The horses are at the gate.”

“ The king relents? ’’ she said, dazed.

The prior smiled.

“ What wilt thou of me ? ” she asked again, sitting up in bed, and searching his face.

“ Obedience.” “ And afterwards ? ” “ Obedience.” “ Afterwards ? ” she insisted.

“ On the night I bid thee, to open the door of the king’s apartment, and lead him thou findest without to the king’s bed. Afterwards,” said the prior softly, “ I will give thee to Robert of Tours in marriage.”

That night Rothilde set out for the court, wearing her girdle and pearls.

Not a little vain of his perspicacity in having divined what lay beneath the innocent expression of her blue eyes, the prior had often smiled at the abbot’s naive projects for Rothilde : but after her return among the queen’s women, he had often also experienced a nervous apprehension of what he had discovered. Having, as it were, been unmasked by bis penetrating eye, the girl made no further effort at concealment from him, seeming rather to take an insolent satisfaction in revealing more than he had perceived. On several occasions, trembling for her discretion, he had been on the point of saying, “ Cover thyself ! ” as just now, when she threw off her disguise in the church of St. Marcellus, despite the candle-light shining in her face. Moreover, if in discovering the weakness of another one acquires a sense of superiority, in profiting by it one falls into bondage; and Rothilde, sitting on the lid of marble, was more at ease than the prior, walking irresolutely to and fro between the chapel walls, as if dreading to make use of the instrument which he had chosen.

“The king is still obdurate,” he said at length, pausing before her, and approaching the subject in hand indirectly.

“ Thou art not come to tell me that! ” replied the girl, returning his gaze.

“ Nay,” he said quickly, “ but to remind thee of thy promise ” —

“ I remember,” she interrupted. “ Is the time come ? ”

“ Within a month’s time I will wed thee in this very place with Robert of Tours — if thou darest.”

“ Why ask ? ” she replied dryly, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand.

“ I have here the abbot’s ring,” continued the prior, drawing it from his pouch ; “ with this ring one may enter the palace at all hours, even to the king’s chamber. Only, to reach the king’s chamber, one must know the way ” —

“Especially when it is night,” interposed Rothilde.

“ It is for thee to show the way. Thou wilt wait at the stair by the door of the audience hall.” The prior spoke rapidly, and the girl listened intently. “ He who wears this ring ” —

“ Who ? ” she interrupted again.

Sergius made a gesture of impatience — “ will come after matins, at the eighth hour of night. He will show thee the ring, and will follow thee.”

“ I will be there.” She reached forth her hand. “ Give me the ring, that I may know it when I see it again. Is the night fixed? ” she asked, examining the ring attentively.

“ Not yet. He who ” — The prior hesitated.

The girl looked up. “ Strikes,” she said, observing his repugnance.

— “ is not yet, come.”

“ Who is he ? ” she whispered.

“A Greek from Pavia. His arm is sure. When — when it is over ”— He paused, feeling his way softly, and seeking fitting words.

“ Well ? ” said the girl.

He laid his hand on her arm, and, grasping her robe, drew her palm from her chin. " Such a secret is for two only, —thee and me.” She seemed not to comprehend, but her eyes dilated. “This man cannot live. If he escapes, gold will buy his tongue as it hath bought his hand; if he is taken, if there should be an outcry, torture will loosen it. Escape he must not, and if taken — dead—the dead keep their secrets, and ours.”

For a moment neither spoke nor moved.

“ Yes,” murmured the girl absently, “that were better.” She sat motionless, like a figure sculptured on the lid of the sarcophagus.

The prior drew a poniard from his cloak, and laid it softly beside her. Her eyes, half closed, looked beyond him, and he could see her bosom rise and fall under the cendal.

“ He — the Greek — is not yet come ? ” she said almost inaudibly.

“ Not yet. He who came with him is here. They parted company for greater surety.” He was going to say more, but saw she was no longer listening to him. Her eyes were fixed on the blade lying beside her. The head-cloth had fallen again upon her shoulders, but the prior paid no heed to it. He seemed fearful of disturbing her, watching her as a fox watches a pheasant approaching.

“ I would see him, the Greek, first,” she said at length, lifting her eyes.

“ It shall be as thou wilt, when he comes,” he replied eagerly, unable to repress his joy.

“ And if he fails ? ”

“ He will not fail.”

As he spoke, footsteps echoed in the vaultings. The girl snatched the blade from the stone, and drew the cloth over her face.

“ Dost thou know the tower by the ford of the Wurm, on the road to Immaburg? — to the east, beside the river, a hundred paces. Bring thy Greek thither at night, the third day. Here — the ring—quick”—and slipping from her seat, the girl glided from the chapel, and disappeared in the darkness. In the street she threw back her hood, and filled her lungs with the cool night air. Absorbed by her thoughts, she was not conscious of the dagger in her hand till she emerged into the open space before the baths, where a torch flared in the wind. Secreting the weapon in her cloak, and covering her face quickly, she crossed to the opposite side, to avoid those going in and out, and in her agitation stumbled against a passerby. She recoiled, holding herself flat against the wall, — it was Friedgis ! Dieu ! how coarse he was! She followed him at a little distance, cautiously. He walked carelessly, looking from side to side, the cord of his tunic swinging against his bare legs. Notwithstanding her emotions, the girl laughed, it was so droll. What would he do if he knew ? At the gate of the palace he stopped, scrutinizing its massive walls, and moving from place to place, like a spy observing the camp of an enemy. The girl’s heart beat heavily. Did he know? At last he went slowly away. She could see him looking back from time to time, till his form grew indistinct in the darkness. As it possessed by a sudden idea, she took a few quick steps after him ; then paused a moment, undecided, and finally turning back entered the gate. Within the court the lights shone on the pavement, and she followed the encircling gallery in the shadow of the pillars. At the stairs in the angle, some one sitting on the lower step rose at her approach, and between the folds of her head-cloth she recognized the monk of Immaburg. Unable to resist the promptings of his imagination, Brother Dominic had lingered the entire evening in the vicinity of the palace. Now that the vague hope he cherished was so unexpectedly realized, timidity paralyzed him, and, ill at ease under the glance of those eyes which fascinated him, he would have fled, had not the girl laid hold of his sleeve.

“ Art thou not he to whom I gave the papers at Immaburg ? ” she asked, peering into his face.

“ Aye,” replied Brother Dominic, trembling.

“ I saw thee yesterday at the gate with the prior of St. Servais ; ” and in Spite of his trouble, this mark of interest was not without its effect. Seeing his tremor, Rothilde smiled assuringly, as one encourages a child. “ There was another with thee, — he who held the asses.”

“ Aye, the porter.”

“ Stand not here ; the night is cold,” said the girl, pulling him by the robe along the gallery. Brother Dominic’s courage began to return in the obscurity.

“ What porter ? ” she asked.

“Of the abbey; a Saxon serf whom the king gave the abbot.”

“ The good abbot! It was he who baptized me in the wood at Ehresberg.” They were passing under the gallery towards the gate. " Does he lodge with thee, this porter ? ”

“ At the abbot of Fontenelle’s,” replied Brother Dominic proudly.

“ This way,” said the girl, drawing him after her. He felt her hand in his, warm as the spring waters in the king’s baths, but it suggested to the poor monk no place of torment. “ Thou gavest the papers to the prior ? ” Brother Dominic trembled again. “ He has much faith in thee, therefore I trust thee.” Her hand pressed his, and Brother Dominic passed from apprehension to ecstasy. “ Hast thou lodgings of thine own at the abbot’s ? ”

“Aye, a goodly chamber in the court, with a Damascus carpet.”

The girl could but laugh. “Truly, a Damascus carpet! ”

The laugh smote his heart like the ripple of soft fingers on a lute’s strings.

“ Aye, I will show it thee,” he stammered, amazed at his own daring.

“ What said the dancing-girl to thee at Immaburg ?” asked Rothilde abruptly.

But Brother Dominic could articulate nothing. As to many others, so it happened to him that, having often thought to see demons, now that one assailed him he did not recognize it. At the archway of the court where he lodged he paused. He heard behind him the girl’s breathing, and, observing no one, entered softly, hugging the wall’s shadow, suddenly full of resources.

Before the narrow door of his room he hesitated, terrified at what he was doing. The girl pushed him aside, and entered.

A taper burned on the table. Uncovering her face, she glanced rapidly about her. Brother Dominic stood in the door. “ Listen,” she said, approaching him and pulling him within. “ I would see this Saxon. Bring him here to me, and leave us a little space.” Brother Dominic, a moment before ready to abandon this adventure, perceiving now that it was to see another she had come, stood stubbornly his ground. She laid her hand on his sleeve and smiled reassuringly. “ Then come again.” For such a smile the monk would certainly have gone to fetch Cerberus from the Acheron. “ Hasten,” she said, pushing him gently.

When he had gone, the girl threw off her hood, removed her shoes, and surveyed herself eagerly. Her underskirt was short, closely fitted, and its points were tied with silver cords. Her neck was visible under a veil of tissue, fastened behind to her hair. Between the draperies of her outer tunic shone her girdle, set with garnets, and the silver lacings of her sandals, binding the stamped leather above her ankles. Satisfied with the result of her inspection, she stood waiting, her back against the door. Presently the door was pushed open, and Friedgis entered. As he crossed the sill, the girl, leaning against the door, closed it deftly and slid forward the bolt. Friedgis had at first seen no one ; then he uttered a suppressed cry of joy and surprise, and caught her in his arms.

XV.

Is there any one who, in years of ripeness, does not look back with wonder upon the things which charmed his childish fancy? And if. perchance, for any reason, he must needs feign an outgrown pleasure, what more vapid and wearisome than a former delight outlived and dispossessed of power? The shining flint contents no longer the eye which has seen the diamond’s lustre; the softest fleece chafes the limbs that have felt the touch of spun-silk raiment; and the heart that has fed in a king’s palace from the golden dishes of vanity and ambition, what palate hath it for things which once satisfied its unwhetted appetite? Far away, indeed, for Rothilde, were the wooden huts and sheep pastures of Bardengau. In Friedgis’ clasp, so strong with sudden, unfeigned joy, a thrill of revolt ran through her, as her body had shrunk from the touch of her serge garment. Yet she let him have his way, and clung to his neck, her head upon his breast, her blue eyes smiling under the pearl chaplet. It was a long journey from the camp at Ehresberg to this chamber at Aix, and she must needs go over it all with her lover, recounting, between his kisses, what had befallen her. There were questions to ask and to answer, a story to tell and to hear, and, after the first thirst of his heart was slaked, other questions hard to parry ; and while he gave her lips scarce time to speak, fearing to utter a sound, lest joy, like a frail vase, should break at a murmur, she smiled through her half-shut eyes and held her shrinking body still, with no thought but of Robert of Tours, no anxiety but to know how long a time the poor fool of a monk without would give her to accomplish her purpose.

“ How knewest thou I was here ? ” he whispered.

“ I saw thee with the monk at the gate.”

“And thou camest at once?” He stooped and kissed her. “ I knew thou wert here. There came a girl to the abbey wearing thy collar. It was she who bade me seek in the king’s house.”

“The captain’s dancing-girl,” thought Rothilde; then aloud, “ It was to seek me thou camest ? ”

“ Aye, indeed. But for this journey of the prior’s I had come alone. The girl spoke like a seer.” Then he bent to her lips again. What mattered these things? Why waste time in speech? Silence and kisses were better.

The minutes slipped away, he not heeding them, she counting them. At last, sighing, she unclasped his arms and stood up. “ I must be gone ; it is time,” she said.

“ Go ? ” he stammered, bewildered. “ Whither ? ”

She touched her lips to his forehead. He saw now for the first time her silvercorded dress, the girdle and pearls, and a shadow of jealous fear crossed his face.

She saw it, and smiled sadly. “ Why am I here? ” she said reproachfully.

“ Because thou Iovest me,”he replied, springing to her side.

“ And thou ? ”

“ Thou knowest I would die for thee.”

She freed herself gently from his clasp. Why did she look at him so pitifully? What was she going to say to him ? She made an effort to speak, smiled helplessly, and turned away, her eyes bright with tears. A terrible fear began to oppress him. Suddenly she turned again, standing before him. Her eyes shone dry as fire ; her very body, rigid with purpose, seemed changed. “ Whither do I go ? ” she said, in a hard voice. “ Whither, indeed, but to the king’s palace ! The girl spoke truly. See,” — she loosed the pearls from her hair, — “ here are the proofs. Where will a maid find such but in a king’s palace ? ” Friedgis stared at her in silence. “ For what end should a king take a captive from the dust of the road to put sandals on her feet and deck her hair with pearls?” She watched the poison work in his veins. “ He hath slain her kindred and laid her roof in ashes. One thing yet remains undone, — to waste her heart with fire as he hath wasted her land. Hush! The monk is at the door.” Friedgis was advancing towards her. She put out her hand to stay him, gathering her cloak from the floor, where it had fallen when she entered, and drawing it about her.

“ Thou shalt not go,” he said hoarsely, seizing her arm.

Her eyes softened with pity. “ Art thou able to contend with a king ? ”

He still held her arm. In her fingers were the pearls of Robert of Tours. “ Give me the gems ; ” and taking them from her hand, he ground them under foot. “ Thou goest back willingly to thy king ? ”

“ And if I go,”— she loosed her dress, and drew forth the prior’s poniard. — “ what dost thou fear ? Tell me, when thou strikest, when the foe’s arms are locked about thy neck and thine eyes swim with mist, when time presses, where dost thou push the blade home ? Is it not here ? ” She laid her hand on his breast. “ Fear nothing. I am strong — and I am thine.”

“ Give me the blade,” he demanded. “ When the eyes are thick with mist it is too late. I am stronger than thou.”

She trembled now, recoiling before him. “Thou — the king” — she murmured, retreating as he advanced. “ Nay, not thou ” —

“Give it me,” he repeated sullenly.

“Nay, nay,” she pleaded. “They will slay thee. Let me go. Thou art mad — they will slay thee — it is not possible.” Her back was against the wall, his hand on her wrist; his fingers loosed hers from the handle. With a sudden gesture she let go, and tore the veil from her throat and bosom. “Strike here, then; that were better. If thou Iovest, strike. It is I who lead thee to death. If I had not come ! — but I loved thee! Strike, I tell thee, now, while I love thee! ”

The blade fell from his grasp, his frame shook, and he sank at her feet, hiding his face in his hands.

She stooped quickly, picked up the fallen poniard, and adjusted her dress. “ Listen,” she said, between her breathing, and forcing his hands from his face. “ Death is not sweet to those who love, but it is sweet to those who hate. Dost thou remember the dead we left to the vultures by the Weser ? In the night their wounds cry out to me. If I lead thee to his chamber,” — she lowered her voice, — “ the king’s, that were a thing worth dying for; I and thee together.”

She raised her head. Brother Dominic was tapping irresolutely at the door.

“ To die ! ” she whispered passionately in his ear. “ Nay, I will not have it so ! I love thee — we will fly. Leave it only to me — I have a way. For him, death and justice; for us, life and love.” He had caught her again in his arms. “Nay, nay.” She struggled. “ Loose thy hold. Let me go. The monk will rouse the house. My shoes ! ” She slipped her sandaled feet into them, drew back the bolt, cast a quick look of promise and triumph at her lover, and closed the door behind her.

Brother Dominic, waiting impatiently without, had at first laid his ear to the door and listened. Then, fearful of discovery. he hid himself in an angle, squatting in the shadow. He had forgotten the five canticles, upon whose efficacy he relied in hours of peril, but had resolved to put an end to this mystery. when the girl opened the door suddenly upon him.

“ Dear monk,” she said, pressing his hand in her own, “ I have seen thy carpet: another time I will see thee. Thou hast done me service, and when I come again I will pay thee in what coin thou wilt; only be discreet. Farewell.”

Enveloped in her cloak, she hurried through the arch into the street. She had done well to come ! Friedgis was seeking her. She had felt sure of it. He knew where to look, too; the girl had told him. Who was this girl ? Aye. she had done well to come. What wax men were in soft hands! That was a happy thought, to say the king loved her : if it were only so indeed ! Just now she might have slain Friedgis, when he lay at her feet, and, again, when he held his lips to hers. The temptation was strong, though the monk was at the door, — she loathed him so. But this was better. The idea came to her when the prior said the Greek had not come. Pray God he might not come ! As she hurried on, she met the prior returning home. There was another with him, and the two were laughing. “Fool ! ” she said to herself, turning to gaze after them. “ Fret not over thy Greek. I have one to take his place, one whom I fear not to use thy blade upon, — only, by thy God, dear prior, I will use it before he goes in to the king, and I will waken the king myself. If he gave the monk Fardolphus an abbey for revealing the Hunchback’s plot, he will give me my lover. Nay, what will he not give, if I have but the wit to ask aright ? ” And in her exultation a cry of triumph burst from her lips.

XVI.

It was one of those mornings such as come only in the early autumn. The air was crisp, sonorous, and still. On inhaling this air, so pure, so invigorating, one thought of the wood, its odors and lights, its leaves and birds. The king had gone to Frankenburg to hunt, and no wonder. For some other day, less alluring, the sordid suit, the pitiful complaint, the accounts of the vidame ; for some other day, less fair, the disputations of the school, those terrible questions, What is man, what is life, what is death ? and those terrible answers, A guest in his own abode, the expectation of death, a doubtful journey. To-day, a spear, a horse, and the wood !

On his way to the service of the first hour, Brother Dominic inhaled this air with delight. On rising from his bed, his foot had encountered the girl’s fillet of pearls. Some were missing, their fragments scattered on the floor; the rest were whole. What a sweet odor they exhaled ! But he thrust them quickly out of sight into his pouch, for shame afflicted him sorely, and never does an evil action appear so shameful as in the gray light of dawn. He wished to flee from himself, and hastened out into the street, already full of people, with whom he mingled gladly, listening to their conversation, greetings, and laughter. When conscience convicts, one feels one’s self an outcast; so it comforted Brother Dominic to join this stream of life, to enter the church with the congregation, to raise his voice with others in the anthem, and to listen to the clerks reciting the psalms. Fortified by all these things, he said to himself that he was not so bad, after all. Having breakfasted, he felt still easier, and found nothing better to do than to go to the service of the third hour, also. Yet he was conscious that he was no longer the same man. Ordinary sights and sounds had acquired a new significance ; a veil had been torn away from life. As he returned, a band of singers and players, issuing from the church of St. Marcellus, descended the steps of the parvis strewn with flowers; and following the instruments came the newly married, hand in hand. The pair possessed for him a strange fascination. They walked erect, knowing all observed them, blushing and hiding their joy. Dieu ! how beautiful it was! As he went his way, two maids preceded him; they had baskets, and pruning-knives to cut the grapes from the vines. They chatted gayly, and one said, “ If he comes to-day, do thou walk beside me in the same row ; ” then they laughed, one with pleasure, the other with envy. Was the world then so full of love ? It suddenly occurred to him that he ought to restore the pearls ; and he began to imagine with what dignity he would comport himself. “ What a world! ” thought Brother Dominic, as if he formed no part of it, and contemplated it as he would contemplate an object held in his hand. “ After all, it must be so,” he added reflectively. The sun, rising above the roofs, began to shine in his face; so he left his seat and walked along the gallery. At the angle was an open space separating the main from the lateral buildings. A stairway, ascending from the gallery, led to an elevated platform, uncovered to the sky. A woman servant, bearing a jar on her head, coming down the steps, gazed at the monk curiously. What was he doing there ? Was he perchance going into the gynæceum ? At the foot of the steps she turned to observe him. Fatigued by the ascent, Brother Dominic was sitting in the shade. “Yes, certainly, it must be so,” he was repeating to himself, turning over the pearls in his hand. A second stairway, covered by an arch, led down to the level of the court on the other side. The gate at its bottom step was open. He could see shrubbery and hear birds. “ There must be a garden there,” he thought. Holding his robe in his hand, he went down the passage steps leisurely. How still it was ! As the girl had said, every one was at the chase. Aie ! that were tine, — to gallop in the wood, spear in hand, after the deer; and he began to imagine himself in full pursuit, the flanks of his horse white with foam. It must be easier to ride a horse than a mule, it appeared so simple ; he would throw the rein on the neck, and leave his companions far behind. How they sped ! like an arrow from the bow, horse and rider as one. And now, entangled in the thick copse, the stag was at bay, its horns were lowered, it was about to charge. The spear flew. “ Dieu ! what a fine blow ! ” said a voice from behind, — hers, whose purple hair-band fluttered at the head of his lance, dyed deeper now in the jet of blood. Agitated and perspiring at the thought of this scene, Brother Dominic started back. Where was he ? God preserve him! the garden was full of women. It resembled the cloister at Maestricht, only more spacious, more beautiful, and with women for monks. He turned precipitately to retrace his steps, when, under the trees close to the spot where he had come, he saw a maid looking full upon him. Her spindle trembled with her laughter; her eyes shone with merriment, as only Agnes of Solier’s could. He must have passed her as he entered, and there she sat, more terrible in her beauty and her laughter than the dragon at the gate of the garden of Hesperus. Every woman in the place ceased her work to stare at him : this he knew well, though his back was turned. Had God then delivered him, like Job, into the power of Satan ?

“ Here — thy pearls.”

“Heaven bless thee,” she would say. “ I had feared ” —

“ Heaven bless thee, and save thee indeed,” he would answer, and go his way.

Rehearsing this scene, he took the broken fillet from his pouch.

“ Sawest thou the queen as she passed to the chase ? ” said one girl to the other.

“ Aye ; she is fairer than the last one.”

“ And all the women with her ? One had a girdle of dragons and lions.”

“ The images of those who will one day devour her.”

“ I would I had one like it, nevertheless,” sighed the other. Then they laughed together.

“ How still the palace is! There is not a soul left,” observed one, as they passed before the gate.

Brother Dominic paused. Surely, since all were at the chase, it were no harm to enter. He crossed the court, and stopped under the balcony. It was here he had seen her. He might sit down now in tranquillity; there was no danger she would come. Within, a maid talked with a page over the stairrail. “ When wilt thou come again ? ” asked the page in a low voice.

“ How can I tell ? ” she replied, leaning on the balustrade.

“ Adieu,” said the page reluctantly.

“ Adieu,” answered the girl. The boy lingered.

“ If perchance thou wishest a kiss — take one,” said the girl. He took three; then light feet ran up the stairs.

In his confusion he made the sign of the cross with the girl’s flllet of pearls. Seigneur, what a rosary for a monk !

At the sight of the black gems in his hand Agnes ceased her laughter, Rothilde’s pearls !

“ Whence hast thou the pearls ? ” she called to him, making a sign that he should draw near.

“ The pearls ? ” stammered Brother Dominic, assailed in an unexpected quarter. “ I found them hard by.”

“ Hard by ? ”

“ Aye. Some one hath dropped them in the court. I was seeking her to whom they should belong.”

“ Give them here,” said Agnes, reaching out her hand. The monk obeyed with alacrity, ready to profit by any way of escape. “ Some one hath set his foot upon them,” she said, examining them.

“ It was not I. I found them so when I rose from bed.” Ah, cursed tongue ! What was he saying ?

“ From bed ? ” said Agnes of Solier, looking up with surprise. “ Thou saidst hard by, in the court.”

“ In the abbot’s court,” stammered Brother Dominic, sinking deeper in the mire, — “ the abbot of Fontenelle’s, where I lodge.”

“ Is thy bed then in the court ? ” asked Agnes of Solier, marking his confusion and observing him sharply.

“ Nay,” gasped Brother Dominic, seeking to extricate himself, “ said I in the court? In my chamber.” Seigneur! his tongue would prove his ruin; and the girl had said, “ Be discreet! ”

“ In thy chamber ? ” said Agnes of Solier, pricked with curiosity.

‘‘ It was not to me she came, but the Saxon,—the porter.” Brother Dominic perceived that he was no longer responsible for what he was saying. It was the devil that spoke, not he. If ever a man was possessed of a demon bent on his ruin, and the girl’s too, it was he. He heard himself speak with terror ; he endeavored to arrest his tongue, — impossible. There was but one thing to do, — to fly. Never would he betray the girl! He cast a despairing look about him, and called the saints to his succor for a desperate effort.

“ Wait! ” cried Agnes, rising from her seat. I would speak with thee.”

But Brother Dominic’s foot was on the stair, and naught but a wall or a barred gate could arrest him. “ Blessed St. Servais, aid me ! he ejaculated, taking two steps at a time. Ah ! if ever he got back to his desk again, he would serve God indeed.

Many a good resolution is conceived in fear, and a nightmare serves sometimes to wake one from moral lethargy. In the heat of his ignominious retreat Brother Dominic formed a pious resolve. To his excited imagination, the garden into which he had unwittingly penetrated, with its flowers, fountains, and maidens, became a symbol of that paradise whence our first parents were driven, and before the reproaches of his conscience he fled as they had fled before the sword of the angel. He would go back to that quiet cell whose window overlooked a world with which he could not cope, a paradise whose trees bore such sweet but terrible fruits of knowledge, and with whose realities he was unfit to wrestle. God had provided that cell for such as he, and he had known no peace since he left it. The world was too vast a scene for his activities ; it entangled him in matters whose issue threatened soul and body. Every step involved a peril. He would go back to that solitude where he could hear the voice of God. The mirth of the abbot’s table, its wine and flowers ; this woman whose smiles entranced him, whose garments shed forth perfumes; these hours of idleness breeding dreams of forbidden pleasures; this great capital whose splendors allured and overwhelmed him, — how should a simple monk contend with such things ! Danger? It was the very fragrance of the flower, the sparkle of the wine, the glitter of the girdle and the beauty which it zoned. Doubtless others to whom God gave his grace might walk in safety amid such perils, as the three holy ones had stood in the flames of the furnace clothed in the dew of purity. But as for him, he would that very day gain the prior’s permission to return to Maestricht. This resolution was taken before he reached the palace gate, and in passing from under the portal the air seemed fresher, his step more buoyant, and he experienced the charm of that cloister garth he had forsaken with so foolish a pride, desirous of seeing the world from whose vortex he was now escaping with his soul in his hand.

The prior was abroad when he returned. Evidently God would try his purpose. He would fast that day, and observe the hours. Firm in his resolve, he recited his prayers incessantly, keeping his room, and rising even at midnight to attend the service in the king’s oratory.

Arthur Sherburne Hardy.