u not happy at the idea of passing the age of thraldom,
and seeing arrayed before you the numberless and dazzling pomps and
pleasures of the great world?" said Montreuil, abruptly, fixing his dark
and keen eye upon me.

"I have not yet fully made up my mind whether to be happy or not," said
I, carelessly.

"It is a strange answer;" said the priest; "but" (after a pause) "you
are a strange youth: a character that resembles a riddle is at your age
uncommon, and, pardon me, unamiable. Age, naturally repulsive, requires
a mask; and in every wrinkle you may behold the ambush of a scheme: but
the heart of youth should be open as its countenance! However, I will
not weary you with homilies; let us change the topic. Tell me, Morton,
do you repent having turned your attention of late to those graver
and more systematic studies which can alone hereafter obtain you
distinction?"

"No, father," said I, with a courtly bow, "for the change has gained me
your good opinion."

A smile, of peculiar and undefinable expression, crossed the thin
lips of the priest; he rose, walked to the door, and saw that it was
carefully closed. I expected some important communication, but in vain;
pacing the small room to and fro, as if in a musing mood, the Abbe
remained silent, till, pausing opposite some fencing foils, which among
various matters (books, papers, quoits, etc.) were thrown idly in one
corner of the room, he said,--

"They tell me that you are the best fencer in the school--is it so?"

"I hope not, for fencing is an accomplishment in which Gerald is very
nearly my equal," I replied.

"You run, ride, leap, too, better than any one else, according to the
votes of your comrades?"

"It is a noble reputation," said I, "in which I believe I am only
excelled by our huntsman's eldest son."

"You are a strange youth," repeated the priest; "no pursuit seems to
give you pleasure, and no success to gratify your vanity. Can you not
think of any triumph which would elate you?"

I was silent.

"Yes," cried Montreuil, approaching me,--"yes," cried he, "I read your
heart, and I respect it; these are petty competitions and worthless
honours. You require a nobler goal, and a more glorious reward. He who
feels in his soul that Fate has reserved for him a great and exalted
part in this world's drama may reasonably look with indifference on
these paltry rehearsals of common characters."

I raised my eye, and as it met that of the priest, I was