ACT FOUR.

(Pointing with his sword down the street.)

The son of Satan.A Man— It's the dwarf, Father.Father Benedict—(Solemnly.)God lifts the curtain and the Play is on,Whose last act shall unfold above the cloudsWith Tempest and with Earthquake that shall shakeHell to the very bottom. Seize him.Oswald—(Excitedly.) No!No, no! The boy has done no—(Coughing.)Jardin— Come on, men!Shall bloody daggers drip on our gray hairs,And chase us through the deep? Shall they? Come on!

The son of Satan.

A Man— It's the dwarf, Father.

Father Benedict—(Solemnly.)God lifts the curtain and the Play is on,Whose last act shall unfold above the cloudsWith Tempest and with Earthquake that shall shakeHell to the very bottom. Seize him.

Oswald—(Excitedly.) No!No, no! The boy has done no—(Coughing.)

Jardin— Come on, men!Shall bloody daggers drip on our gray hairs,And chase us through the deep? Shall they? Come on!

(The line swings off.)

Never will Jardin patch a truce with HellUntil her towers, stormed by angels' wings,Shall bow like Acre to the Son of God.Oswald—Stop them, Father! Until I tell you!Father Benedict—(Overcome with rage.) This,This is the worst I ever did hear. (Looking about him whileOswald coughs with great distress.) Men,—

Never will Jardin patch a truce with HellUntil her towers, stormed by angels' wings,Shall bow like Acre to the Son of God.

Oswald—Stop them, Father! Until I tell you!

Father Benedict—(Overcome with rage.) This,This is the worst I ever did hear. (Looking about him whileOswald coughs with great distress.) Men,—

(Seeing that all the men have gone, he shouts after them.)

Pile your wood here, men! We shall have sacrifice!

(He goes toward the church.)

Oswald—(Frantically.)Father! Father!(He falls upon his knees.)

Father Benedict—A burnt offering. (Oswald risesquickly, his face full of horror, and flees in the directionof the Abbey, coughing violently.)

Father Benedict—(From the steps, calling after him bitterly.)If Benedict, whose "joy is in the chase,"Shall "chase the deer with hounds as hunters do,"Perhaps this devil that goes up in smokeWill drop somewhere upon the mountain pathsAnd pluck your haunches from the talbot's teeth.Pray God he may, when Benedict turns hound.

(He enters the church and closes the door.)

SCENE FIVE—The same street, projected to the outskirtsof the village. On the right, is a wagon bridge builtof logs. Some slabs, left over from the building of thebridge years ago, lie in a pile at the roadside. Fartherback, across the river the course of which is marked bya line of sycamores, the mountain rises abrupt and green,with here and there patches of bare rocks and trees thickeningas it extends back and up. Away to the center andleft, a stretch of bottom land with cultivated fields.One gets a nearer view of the snow-capped peaks seenfrom the mountain side in the first Scene and from thecourtyard of the abbey in the second. In the foregroundat the roadside, is a large olive tree with its dark shadowlying directly beneath it, for over the landscape is a clearlight as of a noonday sun shining from a cloudless sky.Under the tree, with several willow baskets strung togetherlying upon the ground beside him, sits the dwarf, Sigurd,polishing Oswald's silver crucifix upon his knee. Heholds it out in a bit of sunshine that falls through theleaves and, after flashing the light about, resumes rubbingit upon his trousers.

Under the tree, with several willow baskets strung togetherlying upon the ground beside him, sits the dwarf, Sigurd,polishing Oswald's silver crucifix upon his knee. Heholds it out in a bit of sunshine that falls through theleaves and, after flashing the light about, resumes rubbingit upon his trousers.

Jardin—(Left, shouting as to men far off.)Close in, men! Close in!

(The dwarf rises to his knees and looks in the direction ofthe town. Then, hiding the crucifix in his bosom, hecomes out in the road and looks in the opposite directionas though trying to discover who it is they are after.Stones strike in the road and go clattering across thebridge. A moment later Jardin and his men comerushing in.)

One of the Men—(With his hands to his mouth, shoutingacross the river.) We've got him!Another— Fellows!

One of the Men—(With his hands to his mouth, shoutingacross the river.) We've got him!

Another— Fellows!

(He makes for the pile of slabs. Several of the men follow him.)

Another—We can get shavings up at Bacqueur's shop.

(They load themselves with slabs. Jardin, who with thedwarf is in the center of the crowd, suddenly holds aloftthe silver crucifix.)

Jardin—You know who threw him down now, don't you, eh?A Cry of Rage—Devil!Jardin—Don't knock him, men. This is God's work.Cries—Down with him! Burn him!Jardin— Fetch your slabs, men.Cries— Come on!(They start toward the village.)Shouts—(From over the river.)Look out! Look out!

Jardin—You know who threw him down now, don't you, eh?

A Cry of Rage—Devil!

Jardin—Don't knock him, men. This is God's work.

Cries—Down with him! Burn him!

Jardin— Fetch your slabs, men.

Cries— Come on!(They start toward the village.)

Shouts—(From over the river.)Look out! Look out!

(The men carrying slabs glance back, then throw their loadsdown and go fleeing toward the village.)

Cries— Men! Men!

(The crowd flees, leaving Jardin holding the dwarf by thecollar standing in the road.)

A Voice—(From across the bridge.) Let go that boy.Jardin—This is a day of miracles.(Canzler enters.)Heathen,Between us is a grave.(He lays his hand upon his sword.)Canzler— Let go that boy.Jardin—(Advancing to meet him.)With Christ in one hand, and in the other this.

A Voice—(From across the bridge.) Let go that boy.

Jardin—This is a day of miracles.(Canzler enters.)Heathen,Between us is a grave.(He lays his hand upon his sword.)

Canzler— Let go that boy.

Jardin—(Advancing to meet him.)With Christ in one hand, and in the other this.

(Canzler draws his sword, and a duel ensues. The Bailiff,protected by his armor which Canzler has twice struckand failed to pierce, lays his blows on as though hewould end it all at once. Canzler deliberately drawsback into the shade of the tree. Lunging madly, Jardinfollows him. The villagers reappear with stones intheir hands, and try to get where they will not hit Jardinwhen they throw.)

Cries—Run him through, Bailiff! Run him through!Jardin—(With a lunge.) There!A Cry— Ha!

Cries—Run him through, Bailiff! Run him through!

Jardin—(With a lunge.) There!

A Cry— Ha!

(Canzler has parried the thrust, and his sword has passedthrough the chain hauberk deep into the Bailiff's breast.The latter staggers back, his astonishment that steelarmor should be pierced by mortal sword giving wayto a look of chagrin, and after endeavoring to steadyhimself with the blade of his sword, falls flat, his armorclanking on the road. The villagers drop their stonesand flee terror-stricken. Canzler stands for a moment,wipes the perspiration from his brow, then reaches downand takes up the Bailiff's sword by the point.)

Canzler—

(Swinging it around his head and hurling it toward the village.)

You men in steel!

(He goes back under the tree and gets the baskets and comesout into the road. The dwarf stoops to pick up thecrucifix that lies in the dirt about a yard from theBailiff's hand.)

Canzler— Nay, let it lie, my boy.

(He takes the boy by the hand and they return across thebridge. The Bailiff stirs, lifts himself to his elbow,and stretches his hand toward the crucifix. He cannotreach it and falls back and lies still.)

SCENE ONE—In the cavern, as in Scene two of the secondact. The spinning wheel stands against the wall andabove it from a peg hangs a heavy skein of black wool.The baskets lie upon the floor. To the right of the lowfire, a heap of chips, pine cones, and broken limbs. Thecave is quite dark.From the left the gnomes enter stealthily, one after another.TIME—The same night.

From the left the gnomes enter stealthily, one after another.

TIME—The same night.

Kilo—(Huskily.) Gone.Zip—(Calling back.) Gone.Voice—(To the left.) She's gone.

Kilo—(Huskily.) Gone.

Zip—(Calling back.) Gone.

Voice—(To the left.) She's gone.

(Gimel enters and, after him, Suk. Kilo crosses the caveand stands listening.)

Zip—(Stopping.) What is it?

(Gimel puts out his hand, palm back, warningly. Suk stops.Suddenly, to the left, a sound of whistling is heard.)

Suk—(Huskily, to silence him.) Zory! (The whistling stops.)Kilo—(Turning back.)It's a frog booming on the river bank.Gimel—The villagers should hear it they would squeal:"Ave! Ave!" and hurry to the churchAnd take their pennies to the Priest. Curse them!

Suk—(Huskily, to silence him.) Zory! (The whistling stops.)

Kilo—(Turning back.)It's a frog booming on the river bank.

Gimel—The villagers should hear it they would squeal:"Ave! Ave!" and hurry to the churchAnd take their pennies to the Priest. Curse them!

(While the rest snoop about the cave in search of food, Kiloputs some kindling upon the fire, and getting down uponhis knees, blows it into a flame. He then stretcheshimself out upon the floor, and proping his head uponhis elbow, begins to poke in the ashes with a stick.)

Kilo—Gimel, you're mad because your monk's alive.

(Zip goes out right on tiptoe.)

Suk—I wonder if Granny knows we killed the bat?Gimel—I haven't had a bite since.Suk— YesterdayI found a cricket down among the stonesStill numb with winter's cold.Gimel—(Fearfully.) What is it, Zip?Kilo—(Nonchalantly.)Gimel, if the monk was sleeping thereOn Granny's couch and you had Loki's sledge,Think you could kill him?Suk— Sh!

Suk—I wonder if Granny knows we killed the bat?

Gimel—I haven't had a bite since.

Suk— YesterdayI found a cricket down among the stonesStill numb with winter's cold.

Gimel—(Fearfully.) What is it, Zip?

Kilo—(Nonchalantly.)Gimel, if the monk was sleeping thereOn Granny's couch and you had Loki's sledge,Think you could kill him?

Suk— Sh!

(Kilo sits up.)

Gimel— Zip, what is it?Zip—(Re-entering.)It's going to storm. The clouds are scudding fastAnd thick and dark, brushing the mountain tops.Suk—She gets the owl, she'll be here.

Gimel— Zip, what is it?

Zip—(Re-entering.)It's going to storm. The clouds are scudding fastAnd thick and dark, brushing the mountain tops.

Suk—She gets the owl, she'll be here.

(Kilo lies down. The other gnomes, as if fearing the entranceof the witch, walk, left.)

Suk— Better get up.Zip—She'll flog you, Kilo, if she finds you there.Kilo—I'll play I'm Sigurd.Zip— Then she'll drub you sure.You see these baskets here? To-night at duskThe boy crept tiptoe to the entrance thereAnd threw them in. I holloed at him: "Hey!You'd better run! Granny's been looking for you."

Suk— Better get up.

Zip—She'll flog you, Kilo, if she finds you there.

Kilo—I'll play I'm Sigurd.

Zip— Then she'll drub you sure.You see these baskets here? To-night at duskThe boy crept tiptoe to the entrance thereAnd threw them in. I holloed at him: "Hey!You'd better run! Granny's been looking for you."

(Kilo rakes a coal from the fire and blows the ashes fromit.)

Kilo—You say the wind's up, Zip?Zip— It's going to storm.Suk—(Looking among the dry herbs.)There's not a leaf of Odin's helmet here.Kilo—Gimel!(He blows the coal.)Gimel—(To Suk.)She's taken it with her. She knewIf we should get out in the air—Kilo— Come here.Gimel—She'd never see us in this cave again.Voice—(To the left, in a monotone.)A rat and a cat and a cat and a mouse.Suk—I wonder when she's going to make us broth.Gimel—She said we'd be as thin as chestnut leavesBefore she put the cauldron on again.Suk—How can we toil when fire won't burn,When Loki's hammers are soft as lead,When her charms all fail wherever we turn,When blight won't gather and murrain won't spread?How can we toil when there's not a NixBut turns to stone at a crucifix?

Kilo—You say the wind's up, Zip?

Zip— It's going to storm.

Suk—(Looking among the dry herbs.)There's not a leaf of Odin's helmet here.

Kilo—Gimel!(He blows the coal.)

Gimel—(To Suk.)She's taken it with her. She knewIf we should get out in the air—

Kilo— Come here.

Gimel—She'd never see us in this cave again.

Voice—(To the left, in a monotone.)A rat and a cat and a cat and a mouse.

Suk—I wonder when she's going to make us broth.

Gimel—She said we'd be as thin as chestnut leavesBefore she put the cauldron on again.

Suk—How can we toil when fire won't burn,When Loki's hammers are soft as lead,When her charms all fail wherever we turn,When blight won't gather and murrain won't spread?How can we toil when there's not a NixBut turns to stone at a crucifix?

(From the left, Zory enters.)

Zip—What are you chewing, Zory?Zory— Slippery elm.Gimel—She's scared herself at the pesky thing.Often as here by the coals she's satCrunching her pignuts and stroking her cat,Many a time I've heard her sayThat Thor's arm shriveled that April dayWhen out of a cloud in a thunder showerHe threw his bolt at the tall gray tower.It shivered a poplar tree near by.The church stood sound with its cursed crest,While the god went bellowing down the sky,Clutching his shoulder in terrible pain.Now he rides to the east and he rides to the west—SoGranny says—and he's never seenLashing his goats through the driving rain.Dark and fireless the clouds drift round;Their waters fall without any sound.It's Hoder that drives them now, I ween.Zory—(Leaving the herbs.)She'd left a slip of the Devil's herb,

Zip—What are you chewing, Zory?

Zory— Slippery elm.

Gimel—She's scared herself at the pesky thing.Often as here by the coals she's satCrunching her pignuts and stroking her cat,Many a time I've heard her sayThat Thor's arm shriveled that April dayWhen out of a cloud in a thunder showerHe threw his bolt at the tall gray tower.It shivered a poplar tree near by.The church stood sound with its cursed crest,While the god went bellowing down the sky,Clutching his shoulder in terrible pain.Now he rides to the east and he rides to the west—SoGranny says—and he's never seenLashing his goats through the driving rain.Dark and fireless the clouds drift round;Their waters fall without any sound.It's Hoder that drives them now, I ween.

Zory—(Leaving the herbs.)She'd left a slip of the Devil's herb,

(Skipping to the right.)

You'd see me sweeping along the sky;I'd straddle the moon and ride her down.Zip—Be quiet, Zory.—You'd better not. You hear?

You'd see me sweeping along the sky;I'd straddle the moon and ride her down.

Zip—Be quiet, Zory.—You'd better not. You hear?

(Zory goes out.)

Suk—The fairies too are bolder now.Every hour you can hear them callFrom forest and bracken and water-fall.Even at midday, when I've been clearingOre from the mountains and stood a peeringThrough cracks in the cliff, I have seen them at playCatching the drops of silvery spray,Running with emeralds and amethystsTo the stones where the purple iris rests.With hands to their mouths, from the mossy ledge,They boom to the bittern far down in the sedgeOn the river bank. They are in the air.Woodland and water—everywhere.Gimel—And there's not a place even down in the ground,No matter how dark, but that elves are foundWhispering and prying, their little eyesDarting and glancing like fireflies.Suk—They say that's the cause of Loki's fright.Zip—And well it might be, if this tale is true.Sleeping he lay on the ground one night—He had guzzled his fill of Granny's brew—When, thinking he heard his bellows blow,He opened his eyes and spied the glowOf flames on his forge, the sparks a leaping,And a score of elves—-they thought him sleeping—On trough and anvil and on the groundClapping their hands as they fell around.Then he stirred, when lo! there was not a spark;The bellows was still, the stithy was dark.Kilo—(Rising quickly to a sitting posture.)The tale is as true as the master's steel.Here on the stones I lay that night,Curled like a cat in the fire-light,While there by the wall with a whirring soundGranny's old spinning wheel went round.It whirred and it whirred so I could not sleep,So I lay and yawned and began to peepAnd nudge the fire, for the night was cool.Around the big wheel the wether's woolRan black, the dame's foot under her skirtPaddling the pedal for Sigurd's shirt.The wheel stopped a moment, and during the hushI had dropped to a doze, when there came a rushOf the coldest air that ever warped skin,And Loki, frightened, dashed up and inFrom the rift in the rocks.(He rises to one knee.)His face was whiteAnd the smut upon it showed black as nightAnd his limbs were so weak that he almost fell.When he got his breath he began to tellHow, roused from his sleep by a noise in his shop—Then Granny spied me and nudged him to stop,And the two went out. I leaped to the ledgeAnd peered through the crack. Far up on the edgeOf the cliff where the hazel bushes grow,The pines were glossing; the gnomes, I trow,Were choking the caves to get in the groundAnd hide in the dark lest they should be foundWhen Balder should roll his bright wheel on high.Already his lances waved in the skyBedabbled with blood. The heavens were paleAnd the peaks were bright with his burning mail.I lost not a trice. As quick as a winkI rushed to the roots and out through the chinkWith the Devil's herb I followed the pair.Darting invisible through the air,I squatted toad-like on the turf and heardThem babble their plans, heard every word,Heard Granny wheeze and the master say—Asthey rose from the rock and turned away—"Wemust nag on the gnomes or the cross will rise.They must take the monk's life or put out his—"Zory—(Rushing in.) Look out!

Gimel—And there's not a place even down in the ground,No matter how dark, but that elves are foundWhispering and prying, their little eyesDarting and glancing like fireflies.

Suk—They say that's the cause of Loki's fright.

Zip—And well it might be, if this tale is true.Sleeping he lay on the ground one night—He had guzzled his fill of Granny's brew—When, thinking he heard his bellows blow,He opened his eyes and spied the glowOf flames on his forge, the sparks a leaping,And a score of elves—-they thought him sleeping—On trough and anvil and on the groundClapping their hands as they fell around.Then he stirred, when lo! there was not a spark;The bellows was still, the stithy was dark.

Kilo—(Rising quickly to a sitting posture.)The tale is as true as the master's steel.Here on the stones I lay that night,Curled like a cat in the fire-light,While there by the wall with a whirring soundGranny's old spinning wheel went round.It whirred and it whirred so I could not sleep,So I lay and yawned and began to peepAnd nudge the fire, for the night was cool.Around the big wheel the wether's woolRan black, the dame's foot under her skirtPaddling the pedal for Sigurd's shirt.The wheel stopped a moment, and during the hushI had dropped to a doze, when there came a rushOf the coldest air that ever warped skin,And Loki, frightened, dashed up and inFrom the rift in the rocks.(He rises to one knee.)His face was whiteAnd the smut upon it showed black as nightAnd his limbs were so weak that he almost fell.When he got his breath he began to tellHow, roused from his sleep by a noise in his shop—Then Granny spied me and nudged him to stop,And the two went out. I leaped to the ledgeAnd peered through the crack. Far up on the edgeOf the cliff where the hazel bushes grow,The pines were glossing; the gnomes, I trow,Were choking the caves to get in the groundAnd hide in the dark lest they should be foundWhen Balder should roll his bright wheel on high.Already his lances waved in the skyBedabbled with blood. The heavens were paleAnd the peaks were bright with his burning mail.I lost not a trice. As quick as a winkI rushed to the roots and out through the chinkWith the Devil's herb I followed the pair.Darting invisible through the air,I squatted toad-like on the turf and heardThem babble their plans, heard every word,Heard Granny wheeze and the master say—Asthey rose from the rock and turned away—"Wemust nag on the gnomes or the cross will rise.They must take the monk's life or put out his—"

Zory—(Rushing in.) Look out!

(He dashes out, left, followed by the other gnomes. Fromthe right, the witch enters. In her right hand she holdsa big black owl by the wing; in her left, a large club.She is tall, raw-boned, and weasened. Her hair is of astringy gray, and a skein of it hangs upon her cheek.Her breath comes short, and there is a wheeze in hervoice.)

Witch—What's this? Burning my wood?(Shouting.)Sigurd! Ay, ay!You'd better hide, you lazy, crooked dwarf.You'll pay for this.

(She throws the owl down, and taking the sticks from thefire, beats the flames out upon the floor.)

You'll pay for this, I say.You'll gladly sleep upon the coldest stones,But you'll not close an eye. You'll moan all night,Dragging your red-puffed soles across the floor,And beg the gnomes for snow. I'll teach you howTo burn my kindling up. Here I must trudgeUp to the blasted cliffs day after day,Strip bark, drag brush, break limbs, and gather conesAmong the pines, the bait of all the winds,And barely get enough to heat my brew,And here you'll lie roasting your wretched bones.I'll warm your cursed shanks. I'll put your feetTo blister on the red-hot coals againAnd flog you limping up the rocks for wood.

(Hanging up the baskets.)

Let the monks take the geese. They're out there nowFlapping their wings and gaggling at the moonTo call the Christians down. You'll keep their necks!You'll swear by father Thor you fetched them upAnd penned them in the lot. I'll beat you, though;I'll whale you with these rods until you're sore.

(She piles her wood against the wall.)

Let the monks steal the geese. You'll gather wood.You'll find it scarce, I vow. There's not a dayYou're by the stream. You're up among the crags,Beating the eagles from the new-dropped kids.You feed the woodman's ewes. You hunt the hillsFor sorrel-grass to see the lambkins eat.You never drain an udder for my sop,Or bring me honey from the gum. SneezeweedYou never dig or nightshade from the marsh.You play among the logs. My nuts and cornYou steal to feed the striped chipmunks with.All day you're in the wood or on the slope,Listening to hear the noisy Christian bells.You love the damned sound. You love the monks.You fetch them pine knots from the big green ridgeTo singe the gnomes and light their altar fires.You've learned to fumble buckeyes on your breast.I'll teach you how to pray. Ay, ay! You hear?I'll weave my dwarf a cowl. Ha, ha! You hear?Sigurd! I'll get you in the morning.

(A rumble of thunder.)

Eh?

(Thunder again.)

Ay, ay, Thor! I'll have them there!

(Shouting.)

Gnomes! Gnomes!Zip! Gimel! Kilo! Lazy broth-suckers!Here's work for you, you knaves!Work and broth!(Louder.) Broth, I said! You hear?Zory, you scamp!

(Feeling about her dress.)

Hear what I say?Kilo! Suk! Gimel! Here's broth for you!

(In an underbreath.)

If you'll work.You don't, I'll lamn you, you toads.

(Shouting.)

You hear?Ay, peak about! peak about!Thor wants you.

(The gnomes enter timidly, half-afraid.)

Suk—(Whimpering.)I'm hungry.Witch—Hungry!Out in the air with you, then!Suck the lightning's dugs! Guzzle in the rain!

Suk—(Whimpering.)I'm hungry.

Witch—Hungry!Out in the air with you, then!Suck the lightning's dugs! Guzzle in the rain!

(Low muttering thunder.)

Hear that? Can you? Can you bark?Ay, ay, Thor!

(As the thunder dies away, the gnomes rush wildly towardthe witch.)

Ay, here's your herb!Out with you now, every last one of you!Zip—(Giving him a leaf.)Up with you!(Zip disappears.)Kilo! There you go!

Ay, here's your herb!Out with you now, every last one of you!

Zip—(Giving him a leaf.)Up with you!(Zip disappears.)Kilo! There you go!

(Kilo disappears.)

Now Suk! Now Gimel! Now you can get him!

(The gnomes, taking the slips, disappear.)

Ay, ay! Chase the monk! Crack the big bells!Pluck up the pines and knock the steeples down!Zory—(Rushing in.)Me too, Granny!Witch—Ay, you scamp!(Giving him a leaf.)Bark now!Skedaddle in the air!Zory—I'll straddle the moon and—

Ay, ay! Chase the monk! Crack the big bells!Pluck up the pines and knock the steeples down!

Zory—(Rushing in.)Me too, Granny!

Witch—Ay, you scamp!(Giving him a leaf.)Bark now!Skedaddle in the air!

Zory—I'll straddle the moon and—

(He disappears.)

Witch— There you go!Ay, straddle her! Ride her through the clouds!There they are, Thor.Now for my dwarf.(Picking up her club.)I'll bruise him a little.(Shouting.)Sigurd!I'll get you.(She goes out, left.)

SCENE TWO—The scriptorium in the dormitory of the abbey.The walls are of stone. In the left wall, near thecorner, a door opens into a hall that leads thence to thecourtyard. Near it, forward, an enormous chest withmetal trimmings and handles of embossed stags' heads,the antlers gradually disappearing into the panel. Uponthe chest, as though thrown there carelessly, lies a heavycloak. About ten feet from the door, against the rearwall, stands a small priedieu covered with a rich altar-clothinterwoven with the figure—seen in old arras—of St. Gilessitting upon a rock with the deer resting its head in hislap. Behind the deer is a clump of brambles. Thekneeling piece, which projects from under the folds ofthe altar-cloth, is of dark wood highly polished. Uponit is a scarlet cushion. A little above the priedieu, in asemicircular niche in the wall, is set a bronze crucifix someten inches in height. Before it burns a small taper. Fartherto the right, a second door leading into a corridorwhich connects with the sleeping apartments. Betweenthis door and the priedieu are shelves filled with books andold manuscripts. Beyond the door, which swings in andis partly open, an old buckler hangs upon the wall, and beneathit, upon two iron spikes, a long spear. Between thespear and buckler is fixed a parchment cut mitriform andbearing in large illumined letters the inscriptionsHugh deBuillon cum deo et cum godefrido nicaeis antiochiishierosolymis mil nonag sept oct nov.Farther to theright, in the corner, a Saracen coat-of-mail filled withspears which, converging center and spread out above andbelow, look like a sheaf of steel. Across the breast of thecoat-of-mail is a strip of parchment with the inscriptionillumined as before: AMOHAMED FILIO SATAN CHRISTOFILIO DEI.In the right wall are apertures of two deep-setwindows, near which are three carrels, each with an oldmanuscript spread out upon it and ink-pots and other copyingand illuminating materials. Hanging beside them arefinger rags smeared with various colored stains. On oneof the carrels lies a sprig of flowering mountain laurel.Near the center of the room, a few feet to the right, standsa long table running parallel with the side walls. It isoverstrewn with old manuscripts, some of them discoloredand half unrolled; others, near the forward end, piled inthe form of a miniature pyramid. Farther back, a smallbrass lamp, pitcher-shaped and with a wick protrudingfrom its spout, burns with a yellow flame. The room isbut dimly lighted, as a large room would be, with a singlelamp burning upon the table and a little taper winkingin the niche in the wall.To the right of the table, in a square, high-backed chair withanimal-feet, sits the Abbot in a black gown, bareheaded.His feet, which are under the table, are cased in slippersof sheep-skin with the white fleece still upon it. From hisright hand, which hangs beside his chair, a scroll of parchmenttrails upon the floor. Farther back, upon the oppositeside of the table, stands the Priest, his left hand restingupon the back of a chair the front legs of which areraised a few inches from the floor. At the further endof the table Oswald is standing with his finger wipingaway the tears that trinkle down his cheeks.Thunder is heard intermittently, and from time to time thewindows are shaken by the violence of the wind.

To the right of the table, in a square, high-backed chair withanimal-feet, sits the Abbot in a black gown, bareheaded.His feet, which are under the table, are cased in slippersof sheep-skin with the white fleece still upon it. From hisright hand, which hangs beside his chair, a scroll of parchmenttrails upon the floor. Farther back, upon the oppositeside of the table, stands the Priest, his left hand restingupon the back of a chair the front legs of which areraised a few inches from the floor. At the further endof the table Oswald is standing with his finger wipingaway the tears that trinkle down his cheeks.

Thunder is heard intermittently, and from time to time thewindows are shaken by the violence of the wind.

Father Benedict—(White with wrath, turning to the Abbot.)Endorse this, Father?Oswald— Father, I did not say it.Abbot—Ira, Benedict,altis urbibusCausa cur perirent. Let him explain.Father Benedict—I say, do you endorse this?Oswald— I did not say it.Abbot—I endorse nothing till I hear both sides.Father Benedict—I gave you both sides.Abbot— Sit down, Benedict.Father Benedict—You think I'd sit down with these thingsspread here,(With a wave toward the manuscripts.)And Christ thrust yonder in the little niche?Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.Abbot— YetYou seem to have forgotten what αγαπαω means,As found in that third chapter of St. John.

Father Benedict—(White with wrath, turning to the Abbot.)Endorse this, Father?

Oswald— Father, I did not say it.

Abbot—Ira, Benedict,altis urbibusCausa cur perirent. Let him explain.

Father Benedict—I say, do you endorse this?

Oswald— I did not say it.

Abbot—I endorse nothing till I hear both sides.

Father Benedict—I gave you both sides.

Abbot— Sit down, Benedict.

Father Benedict—You think I'd sit down with these thingsspread here,(With a wave toward the manuscripts.)And Christ thrust yonder in the little niche?Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.

Abbot— YetYou seem to have forgotten what αγαπαω means,As found in that third chapter of St. John.

(He lays his parchment upon the table and reaches over andtakes a book from the pile at his right.)

Father Benedict—Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.Abbot—(Turning over the leaves of the book.)IfYou thought more of the Gospels—Father Benedict—-(Sarcastically.) As heathens do.Abbot—What is it to be a heathen? Is it notTo act unchristlike?Father Benedict— What is it to be a dog?Oswald—I did not say that Father was a—Father Benedict— What!Just now you did confess—Oswald— I said you spoke—Spokeas hunters—Father Benedict—That's a lie!Abbot— Benedict!Be circumspect, lest in your anger youBay at him and turn that which you do scorn.Father Benedict—I scorn the imputation which his pridePopped at me. As though all the saints in heavenBowed down to him because the other night—

Father Benedict—Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.

Abbot—(Turning over the leaves of the book.)IfYou thought more of the Gospels—

Father Benedict—-(Sarcastically.) As heathens do.

Abbot—What is it to be a heathen? Is it notTo act unchristlike?

Father Benedict— What is it to be a dog?

Oswald—I did not say that Father was a—

Father Benedict— What!Just now you did confess—

Oswald— I said you spoke—Spokeas hunters—

Father Benedict—That's a lie!

Abbot— Benedict!Be circumspect, lest in your anger youBay at him and turn that which you do scorn.

Father Benedict—I scorn the imputation which his pridePopped at me. As though all the saints in heavenBowed down to him because the other night—

(Turning away.)

Oh, but God hates the proud man!Abbot— And, therefore,Wisdom doth bid you keep an open earAnd leave the scroll of judgment still unsealed.For how shall Mercy find the iron leaf?Will Heaven's book be open if we closeOurs? When men cry to us, if we shut our ears,We shut out Heaven's whispers. Oh, nothing—Ofall the deeds men do that vex the sky—Nothingso rankles in the heart of GodAs to see lips, fresh come from prayer for grace,Refusing justice.

Oh, but God hates the proud man!

Abbot— And, therefore,Wisdom doth bid you keep an open earAnd leave the scroll of judgment still unsealed.For how shall Mercy find the iron leaf?Will Heaven's book be open if we closeOurs? When men cry to us, if we shut our ears,We shut out Heaven's whispers. Oh, nothing—Ofall the deeds men do that vex the sky—Nothingso rankles in the heart of GodAs to see lips, fresh come from prayer for grace,Refusing justice.

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