The second evening of their journey they entered a small, straggling village, so completely buried in mountains that its existence was unknown save to its own rustic inhabitants.  The appearance of a monk evidently caused an unusual excitement, which was speedily explained.  The chief of the villagers approached Father Ambrose, and, addressing him with the greatest respect, entreated him to follow him to his house, where, he said, lay a man at the point of death, who had, from the time he became aware of his dangerous position, incessantly called for a priest to shrive him from some deadly sin.  He had been found, the villager continued.  In a deep pit sunk in a solitary glen half way to Segovia, with every appearance of attempted murder, which, being supposed complete, the assassins had thrown him into the pit to conceal their deed; but chancing to hear his groans as he passed, he had rescued him, and hoped to have cured his wounds.  For three weeks they seemed to progress favorably, but then fever—­occurring, he thought, from great restlessness of mind—­had rapidly increased, and, after ten days of fearful struggle between life and death mortification had ensued, and hope could exist no longer At first, Perez added, he seemed to shrink from the idea of priestly aid, only harping on one theme—­to get strength enough to reach Segovia, and speak to the King.  They had thought him mad, but humored him; but now he was almost furious in his wild cries for a priest, not only to shrive him, but to bear his message to the King.  They had tried to gratify him, but their distance from any town or monastery had prevented it; and they now, therefore, hailed Father Ambrose almost as sent from heaven to save a sinner by absolution ere he died.

This tale was told as the monk and novice hastened with.  Perez to his house.  The poor inhabitants thronged his path to crave a blessing, and proffer every attention their simple means afforded.  Fearing for Marie, Julien’s only care was for the supposed novice; and therefore Perez, at his request, eagerly led her to a large comfortable chamber, far removed from the bustle of the house, and left her to repose.  But repose was not at that moment possible, even though her slightly returning strength was exhausted, from the fatigue of a long day’s travel.  Fruit and cakes were before her; but, though her mouth was parched and dry, she turned from them in loathing; and interminable seemed the space till Father Ambrose returned.  Ere he spoke, he carefully closed and secured the door, and exclaimed, in a low, cautious tone, “My child, this is indeed the finger of a righteous God—­blessed be His name!  The unhappy man to whose dying bed they brought me—­”

“Is the murderer of my husband!” interposed Marie in a tone of almost unnatural calmness.  “I knew it from the first moment Perez spoke.  We have but to think of one thing now—­Stanley is innocent, and must be saved!”

“And shall be, if possible, my child; but there are fearful difficulties in the way.  The unhappy man conjures me not to leave him, and is in such a horrible state of mental and bodily agony that I fear if I do, he will commit some act of violence on himself, and so render his evidence of no avail.  We are not much above sixty miles from Segovia, but the roads are cross and rugged; so that it will need steadiness and speed, and instant audience with the King.”