There had been a flaming sunset behind the turrets of a castle and he had climbed up--up--up to the gabled kingdom, seeking, away from the track of the tourist, relief from the exotic gayety of his rocketing over Europe.
And high above the elfin kingdom on a wooded ravine where a silver rivulet leaped and sang along the mountain, a gray and lonely monastery had offered him a cell of retreat.
Houdania! Yes, he had found Houdania.

Philip Poynter had told him of the monastery months before.

Philip liked to seek and find the picturesque.

Thus had he come into Andorra in the Pyrenees and Wisby in the Baltic.

And he--Carl--had found Houdania.