Then in my gown of sober gray

Along the mountain path I’ll wander,

And wind my solitary¹ way

To the sad shrine² that courts me yonder.

There, in the calm monastic shade,

All injuries may be forgiven;

And there for thee, obdurate³ maid,

My orisons shall rise to heaven.

The Cruel Lady of the Mountains.

The first words which Edward uttered were — “My brother is safe, reverend father — he is safe, thank God, and lives! — There is not in Corri-nan-shian a grave, nor a vestige⁴ of a grave. The turf around the fountain has neither been disturbed by pick-axe, spade, nor mattock, since the deer’s-hair first sprang there. He lives as surely as I live!”

The earnestness of the youth — the vivacity⁵ with which he looked and moved — the springy step, outstretched hand, and ardent⁶ eye, reminded Henry Warden⁷ of Halbert, so lately his guide. The brothers had indeed a strong family resemblance, though Halbert was far more athletic⁸ and active in his person, taller and better knit in the limbs, and though Edward had, on ordinary occasions, a look of more habitual⁹ acuteness and more profound reflection. The preacher was interested as well as the Sub-Prior.

“Of whom do you speak, my son?” he said, in a tone as unconcerned as if his own fate had not been at the same instant trembling in the balance, and as if a dungeon¹⁰ and death did not appear to be his instant

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