"God forbid! the shadow of the Cross protects it. Call off your dogs and go your way."
"Let us force the door," said a rough sportsman.
"Accursed be he who does so; his light shall be extinguished in darkness," said the hermit.
"Come, there are more deer than one;" and the knight called off his dogs with great difficulty.
"Thou hast done well: so shall it be for thy good in time of need, Sir Knight."
"I would sooner fight the deadliest fight I have ever fought than violate that sanctuary," said the latter; "a curse would be sure to follow."
When the hunters had at last taken themselves away, dogs and all, and the discontented whines and howls of the hounds and the crack of the huntsman's whip had ceased to disturb the silence of the dell, the hermit and the boys went in to look at the deer: he had thrown himself down, or fallen, panting, in the boys' bed of leaves, and turned piteous yet confiding eyes on them, large and lustrous, which seemed to implore pity, and to say, "I know you will not let them hurt me."
The better instinct of Evroult was touched.
"Well, my son," said the hermit, "dost thou still crave for flesh? Shall we kill him and roast some venison collops?"
"No," said Evroult, with energy.