nd life as Jean Merle was an illusion.
It would not have amazed him if he had been invisible and inaudible to
those about him. That which filled him with astonishment and terror was
the fact that the people took him to be what he said he was, a Swiss
peasant, and a wood-carver.

He had no difficulty in getting work as soon as he had done a piece as a
specimen of his skill. Monsieur Nicodemus recognized a delicate and
cultivated hand, and a faithful delineator of nature. As he acquired
more skill with steady practice he surpassed the master's most dexterous
helper, and bid fair to rival Monsieur Nicodemus himself. But Jean Merle
had no ambition; there was no desire to make himself known, or put his
productions forward. He was content with receiving liberal wages, such
as the master, with the generosity of a true artist, paid to him. But
for the unflagging care he expended upon his work, his fellow-craftsmen
would have thought him indifferent to it.

For nine months in the year Jean Merle remained in Engelberg, giving
himself no holiday, no leisure, no breathing time. He lived on the
poorest fare, and in the meanest lodging. His clothing was often little
better than rags. His wages brought him no relaxation from toil, or
delivered him from self-chosen wretchedness. Silent and morose, he lived
apart from all his fellows, who regarded him as a half-witted miser.

When the summer season brought flights of foreign tourists, Merle
disappeared, and was seen no more till autumn. Nobody knew whither he
went, but it was believed he acted as a guide to some of the highest and
most perilous of the Alps. When he came back to his work at the end of
the season, his blackened and swarthy face, from which the skin had
peeled, and his hands wounded and torn as if from scaling jagged cliffs,
bore testimony to these conjectures.

He never entered the church when mass was performed, or any congregation
assembled; but at rare intervals he might be seen kneeling on the steps
before the high altar, his shaggy head bent down, and his frame shaken
with repressed sobs which no one could hear. The cure had tried to win
his confidence, but had failed. Jean Merle was a heretic.

When he was spoken to he would speak, but he never addressed himself to
any one. He was not a native-born Swiss, and he did not seek
naturalization, or claim any right in the canton. He did not seek
permission to marry or to build a house, but as he was skilful and
indus