the vaulted stone passage-way within, dark as twilight; the door swung weightily back to its place, the great bolts rolled into their sockets, the dying day and the living world were alike shut out. Thus far one desire of his heart had fulfilled itself; he shared her prison-house with Idalia.
"This way, my son," said the Umbrian, as he turned down a tortuous vaulted passage which led to the monks' dormitories, small stone cells one in another, with dried grasses shaken down, as he had said, for pallets, and the moisture dripping from the naked walls. The Cistercians of this place were very poor; and Giulio Villaflor loved vicarious mortification, and was very stringent on his monks' asceticism and devotion, visiting the slightest laxity with a fearful rigour.
The poor brother, at whose girdle hung the huge keys of the ecclesiastical fortress, motioned to one of the little chambers.
"This is yours, my son. I will come to you in half-an-hour. We sup then in the refectory."
Erceldoune, left in solitude, closed his door and drew its massive bolt; then stripping off his clothes, dashed the cold water that stood in a pitcher over him, re-arranged his fisher-dress as best he could, slung the pistols again in his sash,
