"I thought so till to-night," replied the abbot. "But if he escaped it,
it must have been by miracle; or by aid of those powers with whom he was
charged with holding commerce."

"He did escape!" thundered the monk, throwing back his hood. "Look up,
John Paslew. Look up, false abbot, and recognise thy victim."

"Borlace Alvetham!" cried the abbot. "Is it, indeed, you?"

"You see, and can you doubt?" replied the other. "But you shall now hear
how I avoided the terrible death to which you procured my condemnation.
You shall now learn how I am here to repay the wrong you did me. We have
changed places, John Paslew, since the night when I was thrust into the
cell, never, as you hoped, to come forth. You are now the criminal, and
I the witness of the punishment."

"Forgive me! oh, forgive me! Borlace Alvetham, since you are, indeed,
he!" cried the abbot, falling on his knees.

"Arise, John Paslew!" cried the other, sternly. "Arise, and listen to
me. For the damning offences into which I have been led, I hold you
responsible. But for you I might have died free from sin. It is fit you
should know the amount of my iniquity. Give ear to me, I say. When first
shut within that dungeon, I yielded to the promptings of despair.
Cursing you, I threw myself upon the pallet, resolved to taste no food,
and hoping death would soon release me. But love of life prevailed. On
the second day I took the bread and water allotted me, and ate and
drank; after which I scaled the narrow staircase, and gazed through the
thin barred loophole at the bright blue sky above, sometimes catching
the shadow of a bird as it flew past. Oh, how I yearned for freedom