All these thoughts came back to him now in his cave on the cliff-side.  The stillness seemed to enclose him with wings, to fold him away from life and evil.  He was never restless or discontented.  He loved the long silent empty days, each one as like the other as pearls in a well-matched string.  Above all he liked to have time to save his soul.  He had been greatly troubled about his soul since a band of Flagellants had passed through the town, exhibiting their gaunt scourged bodies and exhorting the people to turn from soft raiment and delicate fare, from marriage and money-getting and dancing and games, and think only how they might escape the devil’s talons and the great red blaze of hell.  For days that red blaze hung on the edge of the boy’s thoughts like the light of a burning city across a plain.  There seemed to be so many pitfalls to avoid—­so many things were wicked which one might have supposed to be harmless.  How could a child of his age tell?  He dared not for a moment think of anything else.  And the scene of sack and slaughter from which he had fled gave shape and distinctness to that blood-red vision.  Hell was like that, only a million million times worse.  Now he knew how flesh looked when devils’ pincers tore it, how the shrieks of the damned sounded, and how roasting bodies smelled.  How could a Christian spare one moment of his days and nights from the long long struggle to keep safe from the wrath to come?

Gradually the horror faded, leaving only a tranquil pleasure in the minute performance of his religious duties.  His mind was not naturally given to the contemplation of evil, and in the blessed solitude of his new life his thoughts dwelt more and more on the beauty of holiness.  His desire was to be perfectly good, and to live in love and charity with his fellow-men; and how could one do this without fleeing from them?

At first his life was difficult, for in the winter season he was put to great straits to feed himself; and there were nights when the sky was like an iron vault, and a hoarse wind rattled the oakwood in the valley, and a great fear came on him that was worse than any cold.  But in time it became known to his townsfolk and to the peasants in the neighbouring valleys that he had withdrawn to the wilderness to lead a godly life; and after that his worst hardships were over, for pious persons brought him gifts of oil and dried fruit, one good woman gave him seeds from her garden, another spun for him a hodden gown, and others would have brought him all manner of food and clothing, had he not refused to accept anything but for his bare needs.  The good woman who had given him the seeds showed him also how to build a little garden on the southern ledge of his cliff, and all one summer the Hermit carried up soil from the streamside, and the next he carried up water to keep his garden green.  After that the fear of solitude quite passed from him, for he was so busy all day long that at night he had much ado to fight off the