98 THE MONK. 



only at the customary devotions, or when it was his turn to attend 

 upon the sick. But he loved to dare the perils of the mountain path 

 when the elements were warring in fearful fury. The chilling blast, 

 the howling tempest, the sweeping storm, and the devastating ava- 

 lanche, were more congenial to his spirit, than the quiet monotony 

 of a cloistered life. In consequence of this, he was ever ready upon 

 any expedition of hazard or danger, and he always accompanied the 

 servants of the Hospice, when employed in succouring the benighted 

 travellers, or in rescuing them from the snows. 



" One night, soon after the arrival of Colonel Hamilton and the 

 count, a party was sent out to traverse the mountain, in order to 

 give assistance to any unfortunate wayfarers who might have been 

 overtaken by the darkness. This monk as usual attended them. 



" They visited most of the dangerous parts of the track, and were 

 returning home when the sagacity of one of their dogs, discovered a 

 person overwhelmed by the snow. Life in him was not yet quite ex- 

 tinct ; he was quickly conveyed to the monastery and placed in the 

 saloon where the strangers were partaking of the evening refresh- 

 ment. All gathered around, and proffered their aid. His face, on 

 being exposed, displayed a fine noble countenance on which the death 

 agony seemed stamped. At this moment, a wild shriek burst from 

 Mary, and she fainted in the arms of her father. At the same time, 

 the countess uttered a fearful cry, and rushed from the apartment. 

 All was now confusion ; and, for a time, the dying man was for- 

 gotten. 



" Mary soon revived ; and, never shall I forget her look of concen- 

 trated anguish, the sad piercing accents in which she exclaimed, 

 * Oh I my God I he is dead.' The cause of this extraordinary con- 

 duct was shortly explained. The being who now lay apparently life- 

 less before her, was Arthur de Rosenberg. She knelt by his side. 

 Her hands clasped in agony — her eyes raised imploringly to heaven 

 — her beautiful countenance exhibiting the strongest emotion — and 

 her lips moving with fervent prayer — she seemed as an angel of life 

 sent to arrest the departing spirit, to rekindle the fast expiring spark 

 of vitality. She parted the dark hair upon his marble forehead — she 

 held her lips over his, but no warm breath returned her sigh — she 

 placed her hand upon his heart, but no responsive throb vibrated to 

 her touch. She again sank insensible by his side. For a short time, 

 all were silent. Her father covered his face with his hands, and 

 wept in uncontrollable anguish. Oh I it is a fearful thing to see an 

 old man's tears. In youth, the springs of sensibility lie near the sur- 



