Chapter XXXII
Then in my gown of sober grey
Along the mountain path I'll wander,
And wind my solitary way
To the sad shrine that courts me yonder.
There, in the calm monastic shade,
All injuries may be forgiven;
And there for thee, obdurate maid,
My orisons shall rise to heaven.
The Cruel Lady of the Mountains.
The first words which Edward uttered were, 'My brother is safe, reverend father—he is safe, thank God, and lives! There is not in Corri-nan-shian a grave, nor a vestige of a grave. The turf around the fountain has neither been disturbed by pick-axe, spade, nor mattock, since the deer's-hair first sprang there. He lives as surely as I live!'
The earnestness of the youth—the vivacity with which he looked and moved—the springy step, outstretched hand, and ardent eye, reminded Henry Warden of Halbert, so lately his guide. The brothers had indeed a strong family resemblance, though Halbert was far more athletic and active in his person, taller and better knit in the limbs, and though Edward had, on ordinary occasions, a look of more habitual acuteness and more profound reflection. The preacher was interested as well as the sub-prior.
'Of whom do you speak, my son?' he said, in a tone as unconcerned as if his own fate had not been at the same instant trembling in the balance, and as if a dungeon and death did not appear to be his instant doom—'Of whom, I say, speak you? If of a youth somewhat older than you seem to be, brown-haired, open-featured, taller and stronger than you appear, yet having much of the same air and of the same tone of voice—if such a one is the brother whom you seek, it may be I can tell you news of him.'
'Speak, then, for Heaven's sake,' said Edward—'life or death lies on thy tongue!'
The sub-prior joined eagerly in the same request, and, without waiting to be urged, the preacher gave a minute
