"Thou art weak as thy faith!" exclaimed the recluse with scorn upon every feature, "How feeble would be the penitence, thou shouldst prescribe! As miserable as the hope, which thou canst offer. Holy Mother of God! Would that Father Paul were near me. Oh! that my soul may behold him, where he standeth amid the seraphim, when she shall have past the fires of purgatory."
He lay for some time exhausted, as if in slumber, then starting, said, "I know thee! Thou art Death! Maurice hath never turned from thee in battle. He will go with thee. Thou art sweeter than this mortal life. Ha! whom bringest thou? His dark wings overshadow thee. He desireth to rend my soul in pieces! Is there none to deliver? {1 see a fair woman! She stretcheth her hand to save me. Take that hatchet from her head! alas! I planted it deep there. She mocks at me. She is gone. I sink in a sea of blood."
Again he became absorbed in devotion, praying to the holy Saints, and entreating the blessed Virgin to intercede with her Son in his behalf. A sun-beam fell through the casement upon his bed "This," he said, more calmly, "is my last morning upon the earth. A hand that ye cannot see, beckons me away. Still it waits a little. Know ye wherefore? That I may pour out the dregs of my guilt. So shall the soul travel lighter upon her dreary passage. Heard ye ever the name of M'Rae? Yes! M'Rae! M'Rae! For years I have not dared to pronounce that name. Even now, the demons shriek it in my ears. They write it in flame upon the walls. It scorch-
