Romeias on perceiving this change for the better rolled some big stones under the window of the cell. "In two hours I shall be back to fetch you;--God bless you, virgins all," he said aloud and then added in a whisper to the Greek maid,--"and don't be frightened if she should fall into one of her trances." Whistling to his dogs he then quickly strode towards the wood. The first thirty steps or so, he got on without any impediment; but then he suddenly stopped; and turning first his shaggy head round, and then the whole body, he stood leaning on his spear, intently gazing at the spot before the cell, as if he had lost something there. Yet he had forgotten nothing. Praxedis smiled and kissed her hand to the rudest of all gate-keepers. Then Romeias quickly turned round again, shouldered his spear,--dropped it, took it up again, then stumbled and finally managed to complete his retreat, after which he vanished behind the moss-grown stems. "Oh thou child of the world, groping in darkness," scolded the recluse, "what meant that movement of thy hand?" "A mere jest," replied Praxedis innocently. "A downright sin," cried Wiborad in rough accents, so that Praxedis started,--and then continuing with her preaching added: "Oh the Devil's works and delusions! There you cast your eyes slily about until they enter a man's heart like lightning, and kiss your hands to him as if that were nothing! Is it nought that he looks back who ought to be looking forwards? No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God. 'A jest?' O give me hyssop to take away your sin, and snow to wash you clean!" "I did not think of that," admitted Praxedis deeply blushing. "That is the misery, that you do not think of so many things;"--then looking at Praxedis from head to foot she continued, "neither do you think that wearing a bright green garment, and all such flaring colours are an abomination unto those, who have banished all worldly thoughts; and that thy girdle is tied so loosely and negligently round thy waist, as if thou wert a public dancer. Watch and pray!" Leaving the window for a few moments, the recluse returned presently, and held out a coarsely twisted cord. "I have pity on thee, poor turtle-dove," she said. "Tear off thy silken finery and receive herewith the girdle of self-denial, from Wiborad's own hand; and let it be a warning to thee, to have done with all vain talkings and doings. And when thou feelest the temptation again to kiss thy hand to the gate-keeper of a monastery, turn thy head eastwards and chaunt the psalm, 'Oh Lord, deliver me from evil!'--and if even then peace will not come to thee, then light a wax-candle and hold thy forefinger over the flame, and thou wilt be saved; for fire alone, cures fire." Praxedis cast down her eye. "Your words are bitter," she said.