I looked and saw that upon a kind of natural platform on the rock was
built a small stone hut, upon the grey-tiled roof of which we were
gazing down.
"Yes, there are the `twenty-four foot-holes' mentioned in the record, no
doubt," I said. "I wonder if anybody lives down there."
"Well, let's descend and investigate," suggested Reggie anxiously, and a
few moments later we had struck a narrow track leading from the chestnut
wood direct to the roughly-cut steps that went down to a narrow opening
between two rocks. Upon the right hand one we found deeply graven an
old-fashioned capital E, about a foot long, and passing by it we saw
that a rough and perilous track led zigzag down to the small hut, the
closed door and small barred window of which caused us the wildest
curiosity as to what was within.
Next moment, however, the truth was plain. The front of the little
place was pointed, and upon the apex was a small stone cross.
It was a hermit's cell, like so many similar ancient places of retreat
and contemplation in old-world Italy, and an instant later, as we passed
the rocks and came cautiously down the path, the door opened, and there
issued forth the hermit himself, who, to my surprise, I recognised as no
other person than the burly, dark-bearded monk, Antonio!
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, speaking in Italian, as he greeted us, "this
is certainly an unexpected meeting," and he indicated the stone bench
that ran along the outside of the low little hut, which I saw was so
cunningly concealed by the overhanging trees as to be invisible either
from the river or from the opposite bank. As we seated ourselves at his
direction, he hitched up his faded brown habit beneath his waist-cord
and himself sat down beside us.