boy, then?" said he.

"Nor that either," replied I. "I am English."

"English! you English, and in this place!" cried he, in astonishment.
"From what part of England do you come?" said he, in English, which he
spoke as a native.

"I came from Ireland. My father was of that country. My mother, I have
heard, was French."

"You have heard! So that you do not know it of yourself?"

"I never remember to have seen either of them."

"Your name?"

"Carew--Jasper Carew."

"I recollect one of that name," said he, pondering for some time. "But
he could not have been your father. And how came you here?"

In a few words I told him of my adventure, and in doing so revealed such
habits as appeared to interest him, for he questioned me closely about
my wanderings, and the causes which at first suggested them. In turn
I asked and learned from him that several weeks had elapsed since my
accident; that numerous scouts had traversed the glen, evidently sent
in search of me, but that for reasons which regarded himself he had
not spoken with, nor, indeed, been seen by any of them, but still
had written a few lines to the Cure of Reichenau to say that I was in
safety, and should be soon restored to my friends. This he had conveyed
to the post by night, but without suffering any clew to escape from
whence it came.

"And these figures are yours?" said he, referring to the paper.

I nodded, and he went on:--

"What toilsome nights, boy, had I been spared if I had but detected this
error! These mistakes have marred whole weeks of labor. I must have been
ill. My head must have been suffering, to have fallen into error like
this; for see, here are far deeper and more abstruse calculations,--all
correct, all accurate. But who can answer for moments of weakness!"

He sighed heavily, and the stern expression of his features assumed a
look of softened, but suffering meaning.

"I have often thought," said he, hastily, "that if another were joined
with me in this task, its completeness would be more certain; while to
trust myself alone with this secret is both unwise and unjust. Human
life is the least certain of all things. To-morrow I may be no more. I
have already passed through enough to have brought many to the grave.
You, however, are young. You have yet, in all likelihood, long years of
life before you. What if you were to become my associate?"

I gave no reply for some seconds. When he repeated his words still more
forcibly,--