The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of gleaming,

unrestful eyes upon him, and said:

'Who art thou?'

'I am the king,' came the answer, with placid simplicity.

'Welcome, king!' cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. Then, bustling about with

feverish activity, and constantly saying 'Welcome, welcome,' he arranged his

Bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth, threw some fagots on the fire, and

Finally fell to pacing the floor, with a nervous stride.

'Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not worthy, and

Were turned away. But a king who casts his crown away, and despises the vain

Splendors of his office, and clothes his body in rags, to devote his life to

holiness and the mortification of the flesh — he is worthy, he is welcome! —

here shall he abide all his days till death come.' The king hastened to interrupt

And explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him — did not even hear him

Apparently, but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing

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energy. 'And thou shalt be at peace here. None shall find out thy refuge to

Disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which

God hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray here; thou shalt study the

Book; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusions of this world, and