Leif was silent. He remembered carved and painted images he had seen of a God they called Jesus Christ. He hung nailed to a cross, with blood dripping from His hands and feet, from His thorn-crowned head, and from a wound in His side. Leif had always despised this God, who, according to the narrative, had willingly let Himself be killed and hung up upon a cross of wood. He did not comprehend the love of such a wretched divinity which could make a man like this monk live his life on this desert island, merely to pray to Him and thank Him. A powerless God He must be—much more wretched than even Odin and Thor. And yet He could obtain such power over men.
The monk had seated himself on a stone directly opposite Leif. The last rays of the sun fell on his back, and made his grey hair glow like a golden glory round his head. Leif remembered having seen this gold ring round the head, and he sat and began to feel quite strange and uneasy in his mind.
"Shall I tell you about Jesus Christ?" asked the monk at last, in a voice that was soft and ingratiating like a woman's.
"No," answered Leif, not without a certain fear in his soul, which distinctly betrayed itself in his voice. "Tell me rather of something else."
The monk sighed sorrowfully. "As you will, my brother. The Lord is mighty, and I am but the least of His instruments. Perhaps He has reserved the grace of delivering your soul for another and worthier than myself. What shall I tell you, brother?"
"Tell me something about foreign lands," said Leif, who had a dim consciousness that there could hardly be anything which this man did not know.
"I cannot tell you about foreign lands," answered the monk gently. "I have not seen any other country except Ireland. And I do not feel the want of it. The wickedness of the world is great in the lands. The Devil rules most lands where people dwell. The Lord has of His mercy granted me this lonely island, and my only wish is to live here in peace till He takes me to Himself in His glory."
He was silent for a while, and reflected. "But I can read to you of a place called Paradise," he said, breaking off his meditations. Then he rose and crept into the low mouth of the cave.
A little while after he came back with a roll in his hand. When he opened it, Leif saw that it consisted of some pieces of skin covered over with strange signs.
The monk sat down and began to read in a monotonous and devout voice: