“Depart!” roared the King, while his nobles crowded around him, murmuring and bending threatening looks upon the Hermit and the lad.  “Not till yonder animal is slain.  Ho, have at her!”

With prick of spur he urged his horse forward.  But quick as thought the Hermit with his staff drew a circle around himself and John and the doe, which still lay panting at his feet, wrapped in the gray mantle.

“Dare not to cross this line!” he cried.  “This ground is holy.  Years ago in the Father’s name I consecrated it.  ’Tis holy as any cathedral, and ’tis sanctuary for man and beast.  Hear what the Lord says to you:  ‘They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain.’”

The Hermit raised his hand and spoke a word to the horses that were being urged forward.  With a shrill whinny they rose on their hind legs, pawing the air, and refused to advance.

“What witchcraft is this!” cried the King, spurring his steed cruelly.  But the animal, like the dogs, obeyed the Hermit’s will rather than the King’s.

“No witchcraft,” said the Hermit, still guarding the deer with his upraised staff.  “It is the Lord’s will.  You, who have ever disobeyed His holy word, perhaps know not how dear to Him were the birds and beasts.  His first companions.  His childhood friends.  And to this day, for He Himself hath said it, not a sparrow falleth without His knowledge and pity.  O wicked man!  How then can you delight to kill?”

The King gazed at the Hermit like one in a dream.  “How dare you say such things to me, your King?” he said at last.

“You are no king of mine, thank God!” said the Hermit.  “I am an exile.  I am of no land.  This forest is my domain, my animal kingdom.  Depart, I beg, without more bloodshed.  O King, already in time past the hunt has cost you dear.  Will you not take heed lest the Lord punish you further for your sins?”

The King turned pale.  “This is certainly witchcraft!” he muttered.  “What know you of the past?” he cried, almost as if against his will.

“I know much,” said the Hermit calmly.  “I know that hunting cost the life of your eldest son.  Will you not heed that warning, lest more ill befall?”

There was a stir among the nobles, and John saw the young man with whom he had wrestled a short time before spur his horse forward to the King’s side.  His face was black and angry.

“Sire—­father,” he said.  “Will you not end this parley and slay them all?  I would have a hand in it for the sake of that young cub there!” and he shook his fist toward John.  But more he did not say; perhaps he was ashamed to tell how the wood-boy had got the best of him.

“Ay,” said the Hermit, pointing a finger at him and shaking it sadly.  “The second son follows in the footsteps of his brother, and like his father is cruel, bloodthirsty, revengeful.  Beware, O King!  Beware, King’s son!  For happiness was never yet distilled from innocent blood, nor life from death.”