The huts were set in a rough circle, and each had its door toward the sun, and a little square window alongside that, and a smoke-blackened hole in the top of the roof.  Doubtless it was from one of these that Bertric had seen the smoke from the sea, though there was none now.  From the hill and down the valley across the space between the huts ran a little brook, crossed in two or three places by wandering paths, some with a stepping stone, and others with only a muddy jumping place.  The stream was dammed into a deep, stone-walled pool in the midst of the space, and close to the brink of this stood a tall, black stone cross, which was carved most wonderfully with interlacing patterns, and had a circle round its arms.

We saw no men at first.  Pigs there were, fat and contented, which rooted idly or wallowed along the stream, and fowls strolled among the huts.  I saw one peer into an open door, raise one claw slowly as if she was going in, and then turn and fly, cackling wildly, as if some inmate had thrown something at her.

“That is brother Fergus,” said our guide.  “The more he throws things at the hens, the more they pester him.  It is half a loaf this time.  See.”

The hen had gone back into the doorway in a hurry, and now retired behind the hut with the bread, to be joined there by hurrying friends.

“The pigs will come in a minute,” our hermit said, chuckling and rubbing his hands together.  “They know that Fergus hurls what comes first without heed of what it may be.”

He half stayed to watch, and then remembered that he was not alone or with some of his brethren.  We had been silent as we came, and he had gone before us with the dog in front of him, musing.  I think that he had forgotten us.

“Pardon, prince,” he said.  “Year in and year out in this place we have naught but these little haps to lighten our thoughts.  We watch for them, and are disappointed if we miss them.  Ah, well, tonight at least we shall have somewhat more wonderful of which to talk.  I only pray that you, with your breath of the outer world—­warfare and wreck, victory and vengeance—­may not leave us unsettled.”

He sighed, and turned back to the way once more with bent head.  He seemed a young man to be in this desolate place of his own free will, for his black beard and hair were hardly grizzled with the passing years yet.

There was a low wall round the gathering of huts, the gate being closed with a wattled hurdle, lest the pigs should wander.  Here the hermit stopped, and before he opened the gate lifted his voice and cried loudly in the tongue which I did not know.

There was a stir then in the peaceful enclosure.  Out of the huts came in all haste men clad like our guide, speaking to one another fast, with eager faces and gestures.  At that time I counted nine huts, and thought that we need turn out none of these strange hosts of ours.

P Again our hermit cried out, for the rest did not come to meet us.  I saw Dalfin smiling, and asked what it all meant in a low voice.