"Wish ye for Marie Torode's body or her spirit?" said a harsh female
voice; "her body ye can have! but what avail closed eyes and rigid
limbs? Her spirit, tossed by the whirling death-blast, is beyond your
reach!"

The speaker, on whom all eyes turned, was an aged woman of unusual
height; her snow-white hair was confined by a metal circlet, her eyes
were keen and searching, her gestures imperious; her dress was simple
and would have been rude but for the quaintly ornamented silver girdle
that bound her waist, and the massive bracelets on her arms. Like the
girl she was seen for the first time; her almost supernatural appearance
inspired wonder and awe. She bent over the prostrate form: "Marie said
with her last breath," she muttered to herself, "that ere the oaks were
green again the sweetest maidens in the island would be in her embrace,
but she cannot summon this one now! her vext spirit has not yet the
power!"

She examined the wound, and raising herself said, "No human hand can
save her. The Spirits alone have power: those Spirits who prolong human
life regardless of human ills; but they must be besought, and who will
care to beseech them?"

"Prayers may save her," answered a stern voice, "but not prayers to
devils! The Holy Virgin should we beseech, by whom all pure maidens are
beloved. She will save her if it be God's will, or receive her into her
bosom if it be decreed that she should die."

The words were those of Father Austin, one of the monks of Lihou,
distinguished by his sanctity and the austerity of his habits. He was