with pleasure, as he waved his hand towards him, and led
the way from the tower.

I had but time to leave two louis-d'ors on the block of wood, when he
called out to me to follow him. The pace he walked at, as well as the
rugged course of the way he took, prevented my keeping at his side; and
I could only track him as he moved along through the misty rain, like
some genius of the storm, his long locks flowing wildly behind him, and
his tattered garments fluttering in the wind.

It was a toilsome and dreary march, unrelieved by aught to lessen the
fatigue. Lazare never spoke one word the entire time; occasionally he
would point with his staff to the course we were to take, or mark the
flight of some great bird of prey soaring along near the ground, as if
fearless of man in regions so wild and desolate; save at these moments,
he seemed buried in his own gloomy thoughts. Four hours of hard walking
brought us at last to the summit of a great mountain, from which, as the
mist was considerably cleared away, I could perceive a number of lesser
mountains surrounding it, like the waves of the sea. My guide pointed to
the ground, as if recommending a rest, and I willingly threw myself on
the heath, damp and wet as it was.

The rest was a short one; he soon motioned me to resume the way, and we
plodded onward for an hour longer, when we came to a great tableland of
several miles in extent, but which still I could perceive was on a very
high level. At last we reached a little grove of stunted pines, where a
rude cross of stone stood--a mark to commemorate the spot where a murder
had been committed, and to entreat prayers for the discovery of the
murderers. Here Lazare stopped, and pointing to a little narrow path in
the heather, he said--

'Spa is scarce two leagues distant; it lies in the valley yonder; follow
this path, and you 'll not fail to reach it.'

While I proffered my thanks to him for his guidance, I could not help
expressing my wish to make some slight return for it. A dark, disdainful
look soon stopped me in my speech, and I turned it off in a desire to
leave some souvenir of my night's lodging behind me in the old tower.
But even this he would not hear of; and when I stretched out my hand to
bid him good-bye, he took it with a cold and distant courtesy, as though
he were condescending to a favour he had no fancy for.

'Adieu, monsieur,' said I, still tempted, by a last effort of allusion
to his once condition, t