Straight before him shone a row of lighted squares, high up, as if hung in air, receding in perspective, till blocked out by a black mass which seemed a roof of some kind; far on the left shone some kind of illuminated gateway, and to his right another window or two glimmered almost beneath his feet.

Another fifty yards down the winding drive disclosed a sight that made him seriously wonder whether the whole experience were real, for now only a few steps further on, and still lower than the level at which he was, stood, apparently, a porter’s lodge, as of a great college.  There was a Tudor archway, with rooms above it and rooms on either side; a lamp hung from the roof illuminated the dry stone pavement within, and huge barred gates at the further end, shut off all other view.  It looked like the entrance to some vast feudal castle, and he thought again that if an eccentric old lady lived here, she must be very eccentric indeed.  He began to wonder whether a seneschal in a belt hung with keys would presently make his appearance:  he considered whether or not he could wind a horn, if there were no other way of summoning the retainers.

When at last he tapped at a small interior door, also studded and barred with iron, and the door opened, the figure he did see was hardly less of a shock to him than a seneschal would have been.

For there stood, as if straight out of a Christmas number, the figure of a monk, tall, lean, with gray hair, clean-shaven, with a pair of merry eyes and a brisk manner.  He wore a broad leather band round his black frock, and carried his spare hand thrust deep into it.

(II)

The monk sighed humorously.

“Another of them,” he said.  “Well, my man?”

“Please, father—­”

The monk closed his eyes as in resignation.

“You needn’t try that on,” he said.  “Besides, I’m not a father.  I’m a brother.  Can you remember that?”

Frank smiled back.

“Very well, brother.  I’m a Catholic myself.”

“Ah! yes,” sighed the monk briskly.  “That’s what they all say.  Can you say the ‘Divine Praises’?  Do you know what they are?...  However, that makes no difference, as—­”

“But I can, brother.  ’Blessed be God.  Blessed be His—­”

“But you’re not Irish?”

“I know I’m not.  But—­”

“Are you an educated man?  However, that’s not my affair.  What can I do for you, sir?”

The monk seemed to take a little more interest in him, and Frank took courage.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m an educated man.  My name’s Frank Gregory.  I’ve got two friends out on the road up there—­a man and a woman.  Their name’s Trustcott—­and the woman—­”

“No good; no good,” said the monk.  “No women.”

“But, brother, she really can’t go any further.  I’m very sorry, but we simply must have shelter.  We’ve got two or three shillings, if necessary—­”