though the ghost of some Babylonian watchman were waving a lit
torch from its summit,--but the lurid glare soon faded and a dead
gray twilight settled solemnly down over the melancholy landscape.
With a sudden feeling of dejection and lassitude upon him, Alwyn,
heaving a deep sigh, went onward, and soon perceived, lying a
little to the north of the river, a small, roughly erected
tenement with a wooden cross on its roof. Rightly concluding that
this must be Elzear of Melyana's hermitage, he quickly made his
way thither and knocked at the door.

It was opened to him at once by a white-haired, picturesque old
man, who received him with a mute sign of welcome, and who at the
same time laid one hand lightly but expressively on his own lips
to signify that he was dumb. This was Elzear himself. He was
attired in the same sort of flowing garb as that worn by the monks
of Dariel, and with his tall, spare figure, long, silvery beard
and deep-sunken yet still brilliant dark eyes, he might have
served as a perfect model for one of the inspired prophets of
bygone ancient days. Though Nature had deprived him of speech, his
serene countenance spoke eloquently in his favor, its mild
benevolent expression betokening that inward peace of the heart
which so often renders old age more beautiful than youth. He
perused with careful slowness the letter Alwyn presented to him,--
and then, inclining his head gravely, he made a courteous and
comprehensive gesture, to intimate that himself and all that his
house contained were at the service of the newcomer. He proceeded
to testify the sincerity of this assurance at once by setting a
plentiful supply of food and wine before his guest, waiting upon
him, moreover, while he ate and drank, with a respectful humility
which somewhat embarrassed Alwyn, who wished to spare him the