“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”
She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.
“Are you wounded?”
“I was, long ago....”
“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”
“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”
“Who are you?”
“One heavy burdened with sin.”
“What is your name?”
“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”