"It is ages since I started this morning," mused Constance. "Yet we divide each day into the same measurements, and by the clock it is only a little more than six hours." "It is nine since I left the Lodge," reflected Frank, "after a very light and informal breakfast at the kitchen door. Yes, I am willing to confess that such time should not be measured in the ordinary way." There was a sharper crash of thunder and a heavier gust of rain. Then a fierce downpour that came to them in a steady, muffled roar. "When shall we get home?" Constance asked, anxiously. "We won't worry, now. Likely this is only a shower. It will not take long to get down the mountain, once we're in the trail, and it's light, you know, until seven." The door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. He bore a flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. The glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble set the flat stone at an angle before them. Then from the wooden bowl he emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed it with a wooden paddle. Rising he said: "I fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but I can only offer you what cheer I have." The aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room. "Please don't apologize," pleaded Constance. "My only hope is that I can restrain myself until the food is ready." "I'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning the stone a little. "And if I let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did King Alfred," answered Constance. Then a glow came into her cheeks that was not all of the fire, for the man's eyes--they were deep, burning eyes--were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. Yet he smiled without replying, and again disappeared. "Conny," admonished Frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake I'll eat the stone." So they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary.