plied from the Castle, pens, ink and paper, neither of which seemed to afford him amusement. He was always rambling about, as if weary of his existence, and though he affected the language, as well as the manners, of a hermit, yet he paid but little attention to the duties of religion; his devotions were by fits and starts, and seemed not to proceed from a regular and habitual course.
From all these observations Ferdinand could not respect his host, and therefore was very impatient to get well enough to leave him; but more than a week passed without having strength to walk, his bruises being infinitely more painful than the wound.
During this time the hermit had not been at the Castle, for he had received his usual supply of bread, meat and wine, the very day that Ferdinand was so wonderfully saved from a dreadful death, and having caught a good deal of fish, they had not felt any want of provisions; but now the stock being exhausted, he signified his intention of going to the
