ediately retired from the
presence of this usurper on his long-coveted possessions.

Much chagrined by so unexpected an interference, he left the castle,
even at this untimely hour. Yet his footsteps were not bent towards the
shadow of his own roof, the deanery at Whalley.

Outside the castle wall, and on the steepest side of the hill, was a
little hermitage, wherein dwelt one of those reputed saints that dealt
in miracles and prayers for the benefit of the "true believers." Many of
these solitaries were well skilled in craft and intrigue; others,
doubtless, deceived themselves as well as others in the belief that
Heaven had granted them the power to suspend and control the operations
of nature. To this habitation, occupied by one of these holy santons of
the Church, were the steps of the dean immediately directed. He raised
the latch as though accustomed to this familiarity. The chamber, a high
narrow cell, scooped out of the rock, was quite dark; but the voice was
heard, a deep sepulchral tone, as though issuing from the ground--

"Art thou here so soon, De Whalley?"

"Sir Ulphilas," said the intruder hastily, and with some degree of
agitation, "canst work miracles now? The Canaanites are come into the
land to possess it; nor will threatenings and conjurations drive them
forth."

"I know it," said the hermit, who, though unseen, had not, it seems,
been an inattentive observer of the events of the last two hours. A
light suddenly shot forth, enkindled as if by magic, showing the tall
gaunt form of the "Holy Hermit of the Rock." He was dressed in a long
grey garment of coarse woollen. It was said that he wore an iron corslet
next his skin, for mortification, it was thought by the vulgar; but
whether for this purpose, or for one of a more obvious nature, it would
perhaps be easy to surmise. A girdle of plaited horse-hair encompassed
his thin attenuated form. His head was uncovered; and he seemed to have
just risen from his couch, a board or shelf, raised only a few inches
from the rock on which it lay. His eye was wild, quick, and sparkling;
but his cheek was deadly pale, and his features collapsed and haggard in
their expression.

"I have dreamed a dream," said the visionary.

"And to what end?" inquired his visitor, seating himself with great
deliberation.

"Nay, 'twas not a dream," continued the hermit: "St Michael stood before
me this blessed night, arrayed as thou seest him portrayed in the glass
of his ho