"Father, or rather brother," said I, with a slow and firm voice, "for
you are of mine own age, and you have the passion and the infirmity
which make brethren of all mankind, I am one to whom all places are
alike: it matters not whether I visit a northern or a southern clime; I
have wealth, which is sufficient to smooth toil; I have leisure, which
makes occupation an enjoyment. More than this, I am one who in his
gayest and wildest moments has ever loved mankind, and would have
renounced at any time his own pleasure for the advantage of another.
But at this time, above all others, I am most disposed to forget myself,
and there is a passion in your words which leads me to hope that it may
be a great benefit which I can confer upon you."

"You speak well," said the Hermit, musingly, "and I may trust you; I
will consider yet a little longer, and to-morrow at this hour you shall
have my final answer. If you execute the charge I entrust to you, may
the blessing of a dying and most wretched man cleave to you forever!
But hush; the clock strikes: it is my hour of prayer."

And, pointing to a huge black clock that hung opposite the door, and
indicated the hour of nine (according to our English mode of numbering
the hours), the Hermit fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands
tightly, bent his face over them in the attitude of humiliation and
devotion. I followed his example. After a few minutes he rose: "Once
in every three hours," said he, with a ghastly expression, "for the last
twelve years have I bowed my soul in anguish before God, and risen to
feel that it was in vain: I am cursed without and within!"

"My Father, my Father, is this your faith in the mercies of the Redeemer
who died for man?"