About this period, one afternoon in the month of March, when I repaired to the hermitage as usual, I found my venerable friend stretched on his humble pallet, breathing very quickly, and seemingly in great pain.  He was labouring under a pleurisy, which is not unfrequent in the mountainous region, at this season.  He told me that his disease had not yielded to the ordinary remedies which he had tried when he first felt its approach, and that he considered himself to be dangerously ill.  “I am, however,” he added, “prepared to die.  Sit down on that block, and listen to what I shall say to you.  Though I shall quit this state of being for another and a better, I confess that I was alarmed at the thought of expiring, before I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with you.  I am the depository of a secret, that I believe is known to no other living mortal.  I once determined that it should die with me; and had I not met with you, it certainly should.  But from our first acquaintance, my heart has been strongly attracted towards you; and as soon as I found you possessed of qualities to inspire esteem as well as regard, I felt disposed to give you this proof of my confidence.  Still I hesitated.  I first wished to deliberate on the probable effects of my disclosure upon the condition of society.  I saw that it might produce evil, as well as good; but on weighing the two together, I have satisfied myself that the good will preponderate, and have determined to act accordingly.  Take this key, (stretching out his feverish hand,) and after waiting two hours, in which time the medicine I have taken will have either produced a good effect, or put an end to my sufferings, you may then open that blue chest in the corner.  It has a false bottom.  On removing the paper which covers it, you will find the manuscript containing the important secret, together with some gold pieces, which I have saved for the day of need—­because—­(and he smiled in spite of his sufferings)—­because hoarding is one of the pleasures of old men.  Take them both, and use them discreetly.  When I am gone, I request you, my friend, to discharge the last sad duties of humanity, and to see me buried according to the usages of my caste.  The simple beings around me will then behold that I am mortal like themselves.  And let this precious relic of female loveliness and worth, (taking a small picture, set in gold, from his bosom,) be buried with me.  It has been warmed by my heart’s blood for twenty-five years:  let it be still near that heart when it ceases to beat.  I have yet more to say to you; but my strength is too much exhausted.”