pt to hear him. I stood by
his bedside, and called on him, but he neither heard nor saw me. Upon
the ground, by the bed's head, as if it had dropped from under
the pillow, was a packet seated and directed to myself. I knew the
handwriting at a glance, even though the letters were blotted and
irregular, and possibly traced in the first moment that his present
curse fell upon the writer. I placed the packet in my bosom; the
Hermit saw not the motion; he lay back on the bed, seemingly in utter
exhaustion. I turned away, and hastened to the monastery for assistance.
As I hurried through the passage, the Hermit's shrieks again broke upon
me, with a fiercer vehemence than before. I flew from them, as if
they were sounds from the abyss of Hades. I flew till, breathless,
and half-senseless myself, I fell down exhausted by the gate of the
monastery.

The two most skilled in physic of the brethren were immediately
summoned, and they lost not a moment in accompanying me to the cavern.
All that evening, until midnight, the frenzy of the maniac seemed rather
to increase than abate. But at that hour, exactly indeed as the clock
struck twelve, he fell all at once into a deep sleep.

Then for the first time, but not till the weary brethren had at this
favourable symptom permitted themselves to return for a brief interval
to the monastery, to seek refreshment for themselves and to bring down
new medicines for the patient,--then, for the first time, I rose from
the Hermit's couch by which I had hitherto kept watch, and repairing to
the outer chamber, took forth the packet superscribed with my name.

There, alone in that gray vault, and by the sepulchral light of the
single lamp, I read what follows:--

THE HERMIT'S MANUSCRIPT.

Morton Devereux, if ever this reach you, read it, shudder, and, whatever
your afflictions, bless God that you are not as I am. Do you remember
my prevailing characteristic as a boy? No, you do not. You will say
"devotion!" It was not! "Gentleness." It was not: it was JEALOUSY! Now
does the truth flash on you? Yes, that was the disease that was in my
blood, and in my heart, and through whose ghastly medium every living
object was beheld. Did I love you? Yes, I loved you,--ay, almost with
a love equal to your own. I loved my mother; I loved Gerald; I loved
Montreuil. It was a part of my nature to love, and I did not resist the
impulse. You I loved better than all; but I was jealous of each. If my
mother care