Argathona marvelled that the glamour of the woodland could not prevail against the old man. "Why are you so wise, father," she asked, "that you seem to know what no others have known?" "Daughter," answered the hermit, "you speak to me with a speech that is not spoken of men, and yet I understand you, and when I speak to you, you understand my tongue though it is unlike yours. Also the birds have no fear of you, the shy birds that fly from a shadow or a sigh." "Why should the birds fear me," asked Argathona, "that have never hurt living thing? And who has given you the gift to know that I speak the speech of the gods?" The old man turned, and, going towards the shrine, knelt for a moment before the image of the Redeemer. Then he rose again and faced the girl. "My Lord and yours," he said, pointing to the crucifix, "has granted me to see and know the things of this world as they truly are. Time was when my eyes were blinded by pride and my heart was big with evil, but the time has been, and I, long dead to the world, wait in patience for the hour of my true translation." Argathona pointed to the figure on the cross, which she was looking at with a childlike curiosity. "Is that your Lord?" she questioned, gently. She remembered that she had seen kindred images at Athens, and that Simon had told her hurriedly how they made part of the new faith that had usurped the ancient rule. But she had paid them little heed, being so busy on her own purposes. Now, however, in the silence of the lonely woodside, the image to which its guardian paid so profound a reverence seemed to assume a new significance. So, "Is that your Lord?" she asked. "Your Lord and mine," the old man answered, "and the Lord of all the souls living in the world." Argathona looked from the image to the old man, and from the old man again to the image. If that face in its beauty presented the features of a god, why was that god so slaughtered? Why was the brow of divinity crowned with a crown of thorns? For the first time since she passed into the world of men, Argathona felt herself in the presence of something that was higher than herself and her kindred, and for the first time, she knew not why, she felt abashed and astray. "I know little of the world of men," she faltered. "Few and bitter have been the hours I passed among them, and in those few hours I heard little speech of any lord of the world, though, indeed, I can remember seeing images like unto this to which men paid a kind of reverence, though not with that joy and humility wherewith we of the woodland reverenced our gods. Your Athens seemed only to care for laughter and banquets, and the making of false love, and the waging of false war, and from first to last I heard little speech of this Lord of the world, save when now and then one strengthened an oath with His name. Will you tell me of Him, for of Him I am ignorant?"