"It surely was not fancied!" said Vivaldi, after a long pause, "you heard it also?"
"I did!" replied Ellena.
"It was a sigh, was it not?" he added.
"O yes, and such a sigh!"
"Some person is concealed near us," observed Vivaldi, looking round; "but be not alarmed, Ellena, I have a sword."
"A sword! alas! you know not——But hark! there, again!"
"That was very near us!" said Vivaldi. "This lamp burns so sickly!"——and he held it high, endeavouring to penetrate the furthest gloom of the chamber. "Hah! who goes there?" he cried, and stepped suddenly forward; but no person appeared, and a silence as of the tomb, returned.
"If you are in sorrow, speak!" Vivaldi, at length, said; "from fellow-sufferers you will meet with sympathy. If your designs are evil—tremble, for you shall find I am desperate."
Still no answer was returned, and he carried forward the lamp to the opposite end of the chamber, where he perceived a small door in the rock. At the same instant he heard from within, a low tremulous sound, as of a person in prayer, or in agony. He pressed against the door, which, to his surprize, yielded immediately, and discovered a figure kneeling before a crucifix, with an attention so wholly engaged, as not to observe the presence of a stranger, till Vivaldi spoke. The person then rose from his knees, and turning, shewed the silvered temples and pale features of an aged monk. The mild and sorrowful character of the countenance, and the lambent lustre of eyes, which seemed still to regain somewhat of the fire of genius, interested Vivaldi, and encouraged Ellena, who had followed him.
An unaffected surprize appeared in the air of the monk; but Vivaldi, notwithstanding the interesting benignity of his countenance, feared to answer his enquiries, till the father hinted to him, that an explanation was necessary, even to his own safety. Encouraged by his manner, rather than intimidated by this hint, and perceiving, that his situation was desperate, Vivaldi confided to the friar some partial knowledge of his embarrassment.