as
he gazed below. And then, slowly turning to look behind, he saw the gray
and mouldering walls of the castle in which he sought the secrets that
were to give to hope in the Future a mightier empire than memory owns in
the Past. It was one of those baronial fortresses with which Italy was
studded in the earlier middle ages, having but little of the Gothic
grace of grandeur which belongs to the ecclesiastical architecture of
the same time; but rude, vast, and menacing even in decay. A wooden
bridge was thrown over the chasm, wide enough to admit two horsemen
abreast; and the planks trembled and gave back a hollow sound as Glyndon
urged his jaded steed across.

A road that had once been broad, and paved with rough flags, but which
now was half obliterated by long grass and rank weeds, conducted to the
outer court of the castle hard by; the gates were open, and half the
building in this part was dismantled, the ruins partially hid by ivy
that was the growth of centuries. But on entering the inner court,
Glyndon was not sorry to notice that there was less appearance of
neglect and decay: some wild roses gave a smile to the gray walls; and
in the centre there was a fountain, in which the waters still trickled
coolly, and with a pleasing murmur, from the jaws of a gigantic triton.
Here he was met by Mejnour with a smile.

"Welcome, my friend and pupil," said he; "he who seeks for Truth can
find in these solitudes an immortal Academe."

CHAPTER. II.

The attendants which Mejnour had engaged for his strange abode were such
as might suit a philosopher of few wants. An old Armenian, whom Glyndon
recognized as in the mystic's service at Naples; a tall, hard-featured
woman from the village, recommended by Maestro Paulo; and two
long-haired, smooth-spoken, but fierce-visaged youths, from the
same place, and honored by the same sponsorship,--constituted
the establishment. The rooms used by the sage were commodious and
weather-proof, with some remains of ancient splendor in the faded
arras that clothed the walls and the huge tables of costly marble and
elaborate carving. Glyndon's sleeping apartment communicated with a kind
of belvidere or terrace that commanded prospects of unrivalled beauty
and extent, and was separated, on the other side, by a long gallery
and a flight of ten or a dozen stairs, from the private chambers of
the mystic. There was about the whole place a sombre, and yet not
displeasing, depth of repose. I