"I will do your bidding, Father, without robbing the poor. You wish,
then, that I should seek Morton Devereux; you wish that I should summon
him hither; you wish to see and to confer with him?"

"God of mercy forbid!" cried the Hermit, and with such a vehemence that
I was startled from the design of revealing myself, which I was on the
point of executing. "I would rather that these walls would crush me into
dust, or that this solid stone would crumble beneath my feet,--ay, even
into a bottomless pit, than meet the glance of Morton Devereux!"

"Is it even so?" said I, stooping over the wine-cup; "ye have been foes
then, I suspect. Well, it matters not: tell me your errand, and it shall
be done."

"Done!" cried the Hermit, and a new and certainly a most natural
suspicion darted within him, "done! and--fool that I am!--who or what
are you that I should believe you take so keen an interest in the wishes
of a man utterly unknown to you? I tell you that my wish is that you
should cross seas and traverse lands until you find the man I have named
to you. Will a stranger do this, and without hire? No--no--I was a fool,
and will trust the monks, and give gold, and then my errand will be
sped."

"Father, or rather brother," said I, with a slow and firm voice, "for
you are of mine own age, and you have the passion and the infirmity
which make brethren of all mankind, I am one to whom all places are
alike: it matters not whether I visit a northern or a southern clime; I
have wealth, which is sufficient to smooth toil; I have leisure, which
makes occupation an enjoyment. More than this, I am one who in his
gayest and wildest moments has ever loved mankind, and would have
renounced at any time his own pleasure for the advantage of another. But
at this time, above all others, I am most disposed to forget myself, and
there is a passion in your words which leads me to hope that it may be a
great benefit which I can confer upon you."

"You speak well," said the Hermit, musingly, "and I may trust you; I
will consider yet a little longer, and to-morrow at this hour you shall
have my final answer. If you execute the charge I entrust to you, may
the blessing of a dying and most wretched man cleave to you forever! But
hush; the clock strikes: it is my hour of prayer."

And, pointing to a huge black clock that hung opposite the door, and
indicated the hour of nine (according to our English mode of numbering
the hours), the Hermit fell