sition of the light: it was only when the figure entered, and the whole person was seen, that my curiosity was gratified. He who stood before me was the parent and fosterer of my mind, the companion and instructor of my youth—from whom I had been parted for years, from whom I believed myself to be for ever separated—Sarsefield himself!
CHAPTER XXIV.
"My deportment at an interview so much desired, and so wholly unforeseen, was that of a maniac. The petrifying influence of surprise yielded to the impetuosities of passion: I held him in my arms—I wept upon his bosom—I sobbed with emotion, which, had it not found passage at my eyes, would have burst my heartstrings. Thus it should seem as if I, who had escaped the deaths that had previously assailed me in so many forms, were to be reserved to solemnise a scene like this, by—dying for joy!
The sterner passions and habitual austerities of my companion exempted him from pouring out this testimony of his feelings: his feelings were, indeed, more allied to astonishment and incredulity than mine had been. My person was not instantly recognised; he shrunk from my embrace, as if I were an apparition or impostor; he quickly disengaged himself from my arms, and, withdrawing a few paces, gazed upon me as on one whom he had never before seen.
These repulses were ascribed to the loss of his affection: I was not mindful of the hideous guise in which I stood before him, and by which he might justly be misled to imagine me a ruffian or a lunatic. My tears flowed now on a new account; and I articulated, in a broken and faint voice—"My master! my friend! have you forgotten, have you ceased to love me?"
The sound of my voice made him start, and exclaim—"Am I alive—am I awake? Speak again, I beseech
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