s you have done now. Fear me no longer. Look up, Aubrey, it is
Morton who calls you. Why do you not speak? My brother, my brother,--a
word, a single word, I implore you."

For one moment did Aubrey raise his eyes, one moment did he meet mine.
His lips quivered wildly: I heard the death-rattle; he sank back, and
his hand dropped from my clasp. My words had snapped asunder the last
chord of life. Merciful Heaven! I thank Thee that those words were the
words of pardon!

CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH THE HISTORY MAKES A GREAT STRIDE TOWARDS THE FINAL
CATASTROPHE.--THE RETURN TO ENGLAND, AND THE VISIT TO A DEVOTEE.

AT night, and in the thrilling forms of the Catholic ritual, was Aubrey
Devereux consigned to earth. After that ceremony I could linger no
longer in the vicinity of the hermitage. I took leave of the Abbot and
richly endowed his convent in return for the protection it had afforded
to the anchorite, and the Masses which had been said for his soul.
Before I left Anselmo, I questioned him if any friend to the Hermit
had ever, during his seclusion, held any communication with the Abbot
respecting him. Anselmo, after a little hesitation, confessed that a
man, a Frenchman, seemingly of no high rank, had several times visited
the convent, as if to scrutinize the habits and life of the anchorite;
he had declared himself commissioned by the Hermit's relations to make
inquiry of him from time to time; but he had given the Abbot no clew to
discover himself, though Anselmo had especially hinted at the expediency
of being acquainted with some quarter to which he could direct any
information of change in the Hermit's habits or health. This man had
been last at the convent about two months before the present date; but
one of the brothers declared that he had seen him in the vicinity of the
well on the very day on which the Hermit died. The description of this
stranger was essentially different from that which would have been given
of Montreuil, but I imagined that if not the Abbe himself, the stranger
was one in his confidence or his employ.

I now repaired to Rome, where I made the most extensive though guarded
inquiries after Montreuil, and at length I learned that he was lying
concealed, or rather unnoticed, in England, under a disguised name;
having, by friends or by money, obtained therein a tacit connivance,
though not an open pardon. No sooner did I learn this intelligence,
than I resolved forthwith to depart to that cou