“Enter!—­but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt stand is holy!”

The King entered, and paused.  The hermit turned a pair of gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said—­

“Who art thou?”

“I am the King,” came the answer, with placid simplicity.

“Welcome, King!” cried the hermit, with enthusiasm.  Then, bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly saying, “Welcome, welcome,” he arranged his bench, seated the King on it, by the hearth, threw some faggots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor with a nervous stride.

“Welcome!  Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not worthy, and were turned away.  But a King who casts his crown away, and despises the vain splendours of his office, and clothes his body in rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the flesh—­he is worthy, he is welcome!—­here shall he abide all his days till death come.”  The King hastened to interrupt and explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him—­did not even hear him, apparently, but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing energy.  “And thou shalt be at peace here.  None shall find out thy refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which God hath moved thee to abandon.  Thou shalt pray here; thou shalt study the Book; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to come; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body with whips, daily, to the purifying of thy soul.  Thou shalt wear a hair shirt next thy skin; thou shalt drink water only; and thou shalt be at peace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek thee shall go his way again, baffled; he shall not find thee, he shall not molest thee.”

The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud, and began to mutter.  The King seized this opportunity to state his case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and apprehension.  But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed.  And still muttering, he approached the King and said impressively—­

“’Sh!  I will tell you a secret!” He bent down to impart it, but checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude.  After a moment or two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out, and peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his face close down to the King’s, and whispered—­

“I am an archangel!”

The King started violently, and said to himself, “Would God I were with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a madman!” His apprehensions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his face.  In a low excited voice the hermit continued—­