"Talk not to me of faith!" cried the Hermit, wildly. "Ye laymen and
worldlings know nothing of its mysteries and its powers. But begone!
the dread hour is upon me, when my tongue is loosed and my brain
darkened, and I know not my words and shudder at my own thoughts.
Begone! no human being shall witness those moments: they are only for
Heaven and my own soul."

So saying, this unhappy and strange being seized me by the arm and
dragged me towards the passage we had entered. I was in doubt whether
to yield to or contend with him; but there was a glare in his eye and a
flush upon his brow, which, while it betrayed the dreadful disease of
his mind, made me fear that resistance to his wishes might operate
dangerously upon a frame so feeble and reduced. I therefore
mechanically obeyed him. He opened again the entrance to his rugged
home, and the moonlight streamed wanly over his dark robes and spectral
figure.

"Go," said he, more mildly than before, "go, and forgive the vehemence
of one whose mind and heart alike are broken within him. Go, but return
to-morrow at sunset. Your air disposes me to trust you."

So saying, he closed the door upon me, and I stood without the cavern
alone.

But did I return home? Did I hasten to press my couch in sleep and
sweet forgetfulness, while he was in that gloomy sepulture of the
living, a prey to anguish, and torn by the fangs of madness and a fierce
disease? No: on the damp grass, beneath the silent skies, I passed a
night which could scarcely have been less wretched than his own. My