he attempt. He was silent--and
appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort to speak. He
began.

"This is the end of my journey, and of my life;--I came here to die:
but I have a request to make, a command--for such my last words must
be.--You will observe it?"

"Most certainly; but have better hopes."

"I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this--conceal my death from every
human being."

"I hope there will be no occasion; that you will recover, and----"

"Peace!--it must be so: promise this."

"I do."

"Swear it, by all that"----He here dictated an oath of great
solemnity.

"There is no occasion for this--I will observe your request; and to
doubt me is----"

"It cannot be helped,--you must swear."

I took the oath: it appeared to relieve him. He removed a seal ring
from his finger, on which were some Arabic characters, and presented
it to me. He proceeded--

"On the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely (what month you
please, but this must be the day), you must fling this ring into the
salt springs which run into the Bay of Eleusis: the day after, at the
same hour, you must repair to the ruins of the temple of Ceres, and
wait one hour."

"Why?"

"You will see."

"The ninth day of the month, you say?"

"The ninth."

As I observed that the present was the ninth day of the month; his
countenance changed, and he paused. As he sat, evidently becoming
more feeble, a stork, with a snake in her beak, perched upon a
tombstone near us; and, without devouring her prey, appeared to be
steadfastly regarding us. I know not what impelled me to drive it
away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few circles in the air,
and returned exactly to the same spot. Darvell pointed to it, and
smiled: he spoke--I know not whether to himself or to me--but the
words were only, "'Tis well!"

"What is well? what do you mean?"

"No matter: you must bury me here this evening, and exactly where
that bird is now perched. You know the rest of my injunctions."

He then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner in
which his death might be best concealed. After these were finished,
he exclaimed, "You perceive that bird?"

"Certainly."

"And the serpent writhing in her beak?"

"Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey.
But it is odd that she does not devour it."

He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, faintly, "It is not yet
time!" As he spoke, the stork flew away. My e