"The holy hermit hath betaken himself early to his repose. How fareth he in this hard cell? 'Tis long since we have met."
"Peradventure it might have been longer, had not news travelled to thine ear touching the safety of the Fitz-Eustace and his speedy arrival," said the hermit, without so much as turning his eyes toward his visitor. Robert de Whalley stood silent and aghast. This was a direct and unequivocal testimony to the prescience of the good father, for to no ears but his own had the tidings been communicated.
"Thou knowest of his return?"
"Yes, ere the knowledge was thine," said the hermit carelessly.
"There is little use in secrecy where the very walls possess a tongue; and seeing that the first part of mine errand is known, it may be thou art as well instructed in the latter, which is the true purport of my visit."
"I am," replied the other quickly, now for the first time fixing his eyes on the intruder, "and of the issue too, I trow."
"Ah!" said the dean, with a long-drawn exclamation of surprise, and a sudden gasp as though he would have held the secret more tightly to his bosom; "and who"—
"Nay, thou art but obeying the impulse of thy nature," said the hermit, musing. "The brutes ye hunt obey their common instinct—and thou—Yet the ravening wolf and the cunning fox ye follow, and worry to their death."
"Death!" cried the dean; "what meanest thou?"
"Did I not counsel thee to beware? But thou wilt tumble into thine own pitfall. The trap is laid for thine own feet!"