glade, halted in amazement.

A flower incarnate stood before him; stood--nay, danced in the
wind. Over the sunny sward two little scarlet-clad feet chased
each other in rhythmic maze; dainty little brown hands spread the
folds of the deep blue skirt; a bodice, silver-laced, served as
stalk, on which balanced, lightly swaying, the flower of flowers
itself. Hilarius' eyes travelled upwards and rested there. Cheeks
like a sunburnt peach, lips, a scarlet bow; shimmering, tender,
laughing grey eyes curtained by long curling lashes; soft tendrils
of curly hair, blue black in the shadows, hiding the low level
brow. A sight for gods, but not for monks; above all, not for
untutored novices such as Hilarius.

His sin had found him out; it was the Devil, the lovely lady of St
Benedict; he drew breath and crossed himself hastily with a
murmured "Apage Sataas!"

The dancer stopped, conscious perhaps of a chill in the wind.

"O what a pretty boy!" she cried gaily. "Playing truant, I dare
wager. Come and dance!"

Hilarius crimsoned with shame and horror. "Woman," he said, and
his voice trembled somewhat, "art thou not shamed to deck thyself
in this devil's guise?"

The dancer bit her lip and stamped her little red shoe angrily.

"No more devil's guise than thine own," she retorted, eyeing his