to spare him the trouble of such attendance and told him so many times with much earnestness.  But all to no purpose—­Elzear only smiled gently and continued to perform the duties of hospitality in his own way ... it was evidently no use interfering with him.  Later on he showed his visitor a small cell-like apartment containing a neat bed, together with a table, a chair, and a large Crucifix, which latter object was suspended against the wall, . . and indicating by eloquent signs that here the weariest traveller might find good repose, he made a low salutation and departed altogether for the night.

What a still place the “Hermitage” was, thought Alwyn, as soon as Elzear’s retreating steps had died away into silence.  There was not a sound to be heard anywhere, ... not even the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.  And what a haunting, grave, wistfully tender expression filled the face of that sculptured Image on the Cross, which in intimate companionship with himself seemed to possess the little room!  He could not bear the down-drooping appealing, penetrating look in those heavenly-kind yet piteous Eyes, ... turning abruptly away he opened the narrow window, and folding his arms on the sill surveyed the scene before him.  The full moon was rising slowly, ... round and large, she hung like a yellow shield on the dark, dense wall of the sky.  The Rums of Babylon were plainly visible.. the river shone like a golden ribbon,—­the outline of Birs-Nimoud was faintly rimmed with light, and had little streaks of amber radiance wandering softly up and down its shadowy slopes.

“’And I went into the field called Ardath and there I sat among the flowers!’” mused Alwyn half aloud, his dreamy gaze fixed on the gradually brightening heavens ...  “Why not go there at once ...  Now!”

CHAPTER IX.

The field of flowers.

This idea had no sooner entered his mind than he prepared to act upon it,—­though only a short while previously, feeling thoroughly overcome by fatigue, he had resolved to wait till next day before setting out for the chief goal of his long pilgrimage.  But now, strangely enough, all sense of weariness had suddenly left him,—­a keen impatience burned in his veins,—­and a compelling influence stronger than himself seemed to urge him on to the instant fulfillment of his purpose.  The more he thought about it the more restless he became, and the more eagerly desirous to prove, with the least possible delay, the truth or the falsity of his mystic vision at Danel.  By the light of the small lamp left on the table he consulted his map,—­the map Heliobas had traced,—­and also the written directions that accompanied it—­though these he had read so often over and over again that he knew them by heart.  They were simply and concisely