"One moment," said the old man, as he held the hand he had taken; "I wish to say but one word to you."
"Speak, but be brief. I have the weightiest reasons for desiring your immediate departure; in a few minutes some wounded men will arrive here, who have hitherto been kept in the fort, and whom you would probably not be at all pleased to meet."
"I fancy I can understand to whom you allude; but that is not the question. I wish, before parting with you, and not knowing whether I shall ever see you again, to express to you the gratitude I feel for your conduct toward me, a gratitude which is the greater because I am convinced you have recognised me."
"And suppose I have?"
"You needed only to say one word to surrender me to my most inveterate enemies; and yet you did not utter that word."
"Certainly not; for even supposing, as you seem to believe, that I have recognised you, I was only discharging a debt I had incurred with you."
The old man's face writhed; his eye became moist; he warmly squeezed the monk's hand, which he had till now held in his own, and it was with much emotion and tenderness that he added—
"Thanks. This kindness will not be lost; the events of the last few days have greatly modified my way of looking at certain things; you shall never regret having saved my life."
"I hope so; but be gone, and may Heaven guard you!"
"We shall meet again."