“Yes,” she said, “I am a Christian, and know as many prayers as you; but I will never set foot in city walls again, lest I be caught and put back into the convent.”

“What,” cried the Hermit with a start, “you are a runagate nun?” And he crossed himself, and again thought of the demon.

She smiled and said:  “It is true I was once a cloistered woman, but I will never willingly be one again.  Now drive me forth if you like; but I cannot go far, for I have a wounded foot, which I got in climbing the cliff with water for your garden.”  And she pointed to a deep cut in her foot.

At that, for all his fear, the Hermit was moved to pity, and washed the cut and bound it up; and as he did so he bethought him that perhaps his strange visitor had been sent to him not for his soul’s undoing but for her own salvation.  And from that hour he earnestly yearned to save her.

But it was not fitting that she should remain in his cave; so, having given her water to drink and a handful of lentils, he raised her up and putting his staff in her hand guided her to a hollow not far off in the face of the cliff.  And while he was doing this he heard the sunset bells ring across the valley, and set about reciting the Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae; and she joined in very piously, with her hands folded, not missing a word.

Nevertheless the thought of her wickedness weighed on him, and the next day when he went to carry her food he asked her to tell him how it came about that she had fallen into such abominable sin.  And this is the story she told.

IV

I was born (said she) in the north country, where the winters are long and cold, where snow sometimes falls in the valleys, and the high mountains for months are white with it.  My father’s castle is in a tall green wood, where the winds always rustle, and a cold river runs down from the ice-gorges.  South of us was the wide plain, glowing with heat, but above us were stony passes where the eagle nests and the storms howl; in winter great fires roared in our chimneys, and even in summer there was always a cool air off the gorges.  But when I was a child my mother went southward in the great Empress’s train and I went with her.  We travelled many days, across plains and mountains, and saw Rome, where the Pope lives in a golden palace, and many other cities, till we came to the great Emperor’s court.  There for two years or more we lived in pomp and merriment, for it was a wonderful court, full of mimes, magicians, philosophers and poets; and the Empress’s ladies spent their days in mirth and music, dressed in light silken garments, walking in gardens of roses, and bathing in a great cool marble tank, while the Emperor’s eunuchs guarded the approach to the gardens.  Oh, those baths in the marble tank, my Father!  I used to lie awake through the whole hot southern night, and think of that plunge at sunrise under the last stars.  For we were in a burning country, and I pined for the tall green woods and the cold stream of my father’s valley; and when I had cooled my limbs in the tank I lay all day in the scant cypress shade and dreamed of my next bath.