a mind to ride forth and so craved permission from Sir Percival who
gave ready consent.

Forth he went and rode for many an hour. And then, since the day had
great heat, he found himself turn drowsy. Thereupon finding a
pleasant, shaded spot, he quickly made a couch of cedar boughs and
soon was fast asleep.

It seemed to the boy he had slept but few moments when his eyes opened
wide with the certainty that other eyes were directed upon him. Nor
was this mere fancy nor dream. Near him sat a monk, and from under the
black hood the face that peered forth at him was gaunt, cadaverous,
with eyes that seemed to burn straight through the lad. But for the
eyes, this figure could well have been carven, so still and immovable
did it sit there and gaze at the youth. Nor did the monk speak far
many minutes even though he must have known that the boy was awake and
watching him.

The sun now hung low in the sky. Allan knew that he must have been
asleep for at least two hours. He knew, too, that he should rise and
return to the castle, since the hour was already late and his time
overspent. Yet did the monk's eyes hold him to the spot. Nor was the
thing that held him there fear; rather could it be described as the
feeling one has before a devout, sacred and holy presence. Despite the
holy man's unworthy aspect he inspired no fear in the lad.

"Allan, boy," and the lad wondered that the monk knew him by name,
"two things I know have been chief in your thoughts these days." Kindly
was the monk's tone. "What then are these two things?"