on the rock at our feet, as we stood and waited after that cry.
A minute passed thus, and then there was heard from below, at a
great depth, a faint uncertain sound. One word only--uttered in
the voice of a child,--tremulous, and intensely earnest: "Father!"

St Aubyn fell on his knees. "My God! my God!" he cried, sobbing;
"it is my boy! He is alive, and can hear and speak!"

With feverish haste we descended the crag, and speedily found
ourselves on a green sward, sheltered on three sides by high walls
of cliff, and bounded on the fourth, southward, by a rushing stream
some thirty feet from shore to shore. Beyond the stream was a wide
expanse of pasture stretching down into the Arblen valley.

Again St. Aubyn shouted, and again the childlike cry replied, guiding
us to a narrow gorge or fissure in the cliff almost hidden under
exuberant foliage. This passage brought us to a turfy knoll, upon
which opened a deep recess in the mountain rock; a picturesque cavern,
carpeted with moss, and showing, from some ancient, half obliterated
carvings which here and there adorned its walls, that it had once
served as a crypt or chapel, possibly in some time of ecclesiastical
persecution. At the mouth of this cave, with startled eyes and
pallid parted lips, stood a fair-haired lad, wrapped in the mantle
described by the elder Raoul. One instant only he stood there;
the next he darted forward, and fell with weeping and inarticulate
cries into his father's embrace.

We paused, and waited aloof in silence, respecting the supreme joy
and emotion of a greeting so sacred as this. The dogs only, bursting
into the cave, leapt and gambolled about, venting their satisfaction