would have pursued, when he perceived the page's flight, but his steps were arrested by the nervous grasp of the priest.

"Loose your hold, sirrah!" he said, impatiently; but instantly recollecting himself, added, with a gesture of respect, "Pardon me, holy father, my mind was chafed with its own thoughts, or I should not have forgotten the reverence due to your character and office."

"Know you that boy?" asked the priest, in a tremulous voice, and without appearing to notice his apology.

"I once knew him well," returned the other, looking at the monk in surprise; "a few months since, we were companions in the fort of St. John's. But why do you question me thus?"

"Ask me not," returned the priest, resuming his habitual calmness; "but, as well might you pursue the wind, as seek to overtake that light-footed page."

"You have kept me till it is too late to make the attempt;" murmured the other; and, his thoughts reverting to what had just passed, he continued to himself, "A pretty page, truly! and who, but a fool, or a mad-cap, like myself, could have looked at those eyes once, and not know them again?"

"You are disturbed, young man," said the priest, regarding him attentively; "and that disguise, for whatever purpose assumed, seems to sit but ill upon you."

"You speak most truly, good father; but I hope to doff these tawdry garments before morning, if the saints prosper my undertaking."

"Time is waning, my son, and that which you have to do, do quickly; the dawn of day must not find you lingering here, if your safety and honor are dear to you."

"You know me!" said the young man, surprised, "but I am totally unconscious of having ever seen you before."

"I am not sought by the young and gay," replied the priest, "but we may meet again; yonder is your path," pointing towards the fort, "mine leads to retirement and solitude."

With these words he turned from him; and the young man, with hasty steps, pursued his lonely way to the fort of St. John's.

CHAPTER IV.