“Here you can enjoy nature and freedom in security;” said the Eremite, “for your enemies, if they have not already given up their pursuit, will scarcely search this sweet solitude.”
“It is indeed sweet, holy father,” said Iduna; “but the captive, who has escaped from captivity, can alone feel all its sweetness.”
“It is true,” said the Eremite; “I also have been a captive.”
“Indeed! holy father. To the Infidels?”
“To the Infidels, gentle pilgrim.”
“Have you been at Adrianople?”
“My oppressors were not the Paynim,” replied the Eremite, “but they were enemies far more dire, my own evil passions. Time was when my eye sparkled like thine, gentle pilgrim, and my heart was not as pure.”
“God is merciful,” said Iduna, “and without His aid, the strongest are but shadows.”
“Ever think so,” replied the Eremite, “and you will deserve rather His love than His mercy. Thirty long years have I spent in this solitude, meditating upon the past, and it is a theme yet fertile in instruction. My hours are never heavy, and memory is to me what action is to other men.”
“You have seen much, holy father?”