"Father!" returned Gerande, with so piteous an emotion that the old man seemed to return to the world of the living.
"Thou here, Gerande?" he cried; "and thou, Aubert? Ah, my dear betrothed ones, you are going to be married in our old church!"
"Father," said Gerande, seizing him by the arm, "come home to Geneva,—come with us!"
"Do not abandon your children!" cried Aubert.
"Why return?" replied the old man, sadly, "to those places which my life has already quitted, and where a part of myself is forever buried?"
"Your soul is not dead!" said the hermit, solemnly.
"My soul? O no,—its wheels are good ! I perceive it beating regularly—"
"Your soul is immaterial,—your soul is immortal!" replied the hermit, sternly.
"Yes,—like my glory! But it is shut up in the château of Andermatt, and I wish to see it again!"
The hermit crossed himself; Scholastique became almost inanimate. Aubert held Gerande in his arms.
"The château of Andermatt is inhabited by one who is damned," said the hermit, "one who does not salute the cross of my hermitage."
"My father, go not thither!"
"I want my soul! My soul is mine—"
"Hold him! Hold my father!" cried Gerande.
But the old man had leaped across the threshold, and plunged into the night, crying, "Mine, mine, my soul!"
Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique hastened after him. They went by difficult paths, across which Master Zacharius sped like a tempest, urged by an irresistible force. The snow raged round them, and mingled its white flakes with the froth of the tumbling torrents.
The château of Andermatt was a ruin even then. A thick, crumbling tower rose above it, and seemed to menace with its downfall the old gables which reared themselves below. The vast piles of jagged stones frowned gloomily to the right. Several dark halls appeared amid the débris, with caved-in ceilings, now become the abode of vipers.
A low and narrow postern, opening upon a ditch choked with rubbish, gave access to the château. No doubt some
