slothful Brethren gathered in a month. Erceldoune stooped eagerly, and drank long draughts of thin crimson wine out of a half gourd-rind that the Umbrian monk held to him, looking at him the while with a curious, compassionate, wondering, envying glance.
"You are tired, my son? Ah! what limbs, what strength! Come within; you shall sup with us, and have such a dormitory as we can give you. Bring the great beast too, if there be no danger in him; certes, he is a giant like you."
Erceldoune, as he lifted his head from the wine felt his face as flushed as the stormy sunset light that fell on it; a wild, senseless joy was on him—he should be within the walls that held her. He laid his hand on the hound's collar, with a gesture to silence well enough understood by the animal, and followed mutely the brother.
Jagged precipitous flights of steps, rough hewn in the rock itself, led up to the monastery. The entrance-door was a low-browed iron-studded arched barrier of oak, impregnable as granite. It yielded slowly, unwillingly, with a grating jar as the monk pushed it open.
"Enter, my son."
Erceldoune stooped, and passed through it into
