‘In that case angels must be infinitely lower than men. To be happy in a place that has reached the end, that stands still, would require a very selfish man—and I don’t see why not a very selfish angel—to settle down contentedly to an eternity of bliss while there’s still so much work to be done in the world.’ ‘I suppose,’ she suggested, ‘that when you get to be an angel, you forget about the world and leave all the sorrow and misery behind.’ ‘A fools’ paradise!’ he maintained. They were suddenly aroused from their talk by a peal of thunder. They looked up to see that the sun had disappeared. Sybert’s small cloud on the horizon had grown until it covered the sky. ‘Well, Miss Marcia,’ he laughed, ‘I am afraid we are going to get a wetting to pay for our immersion in philosophy and art. Shall we turn back?’ ‘If we’re going to get wet anyway,’ she said, ‘I should prefer seeing the monastery first, since we’ve come so far.’ She looked across the valley in front of them, where, not half a mile away, the walls rose grim and gaunt amid a cluster of cypresses. ‘You can see about as much from here as you could if you went any nearer,’ he returned. ‘I should advise you to look and run.’ As he spoke a cool wind swept up the valley, swaying the olive trees and turning their leaves to silver. A flash of lightning followed, and a few big drops splashed in their faces. ‘We’re in for it!’ Marcia exclaimed, as she struggled to control Kentucky Lil, who was quivering and plunging. Sybert glanced about quickly. The flying clouds overhead, and an ominous orange light that had suddenly settled down upon the landscape, betokened that a severe mountain storm was at hand. They would be drenched through before they could reach the monastery—which, after all, might not prove a hospitable order to ladies. He presently spied a low stone building nearer at hand on the slope of the hill they had just left behind. ‘We’d better make for that,’ he said, pointing it out with his whip. ‘Though it hasn’t a very promising look, it will at least be a shelter until the storm is over.’ CHAPTER XIII THE drops were falling fast by the time they reached the building. They hastily dismounted and pushed forward to the wide stone archway which served as entrance. A door of rudely joined boards swung across the opening, but it was ajar and banging in the wind. Sybert threw it open and led the horses into the gloomy interior. It proved to be a wine-cellar, probably belonging to the monastery. The room was low but deep, with a dirt floor and rough masonry walls; in the rear two huge vats rose dimly to the roof, and the floor was scattered with farming-implements. The air was damp and musty and pungent with the smell of fermenting grape-juice. Sybert fastened the horses to a low beam by means of their bridles, while Marcia sat down upon a plough and pensively regarded the landscape. He presently joined her.