unhappy distemper, and to beg a little bread, which I have not tasted for two days.  I at times conceive myself attended by an evil spirit shaped out by a guilty conscience, and this is the only familiar which attends me, and by it I have been dogged into madness through every turning of life.  Whilst it lasts I am subject to spasms and convulsive starts which are exceedingly painful.  The lump on my back is the robe I wore when innocent in my peaceful convent.”

The intensity of general interest was now transferred to Father Philip; every face was turned towards him, but he cared not.  A solemn stillness yet prevailed among all present.  From the moment she spoke, her eye drew his with the power of a basilisk.  His pale face became like marble, not a muscle moved; and when she ceased speaking, his blood-shot eyes were still fixed upon her countenance with a gloomy calmness like that which precedes a tempest.  They stood before each other, dreadful counterparts in guilt, for truly his spirit was as dark as hers.

At length he glanced angrily around him;—­“Well,” said he, “what is it now, ye poor infatuated wretches, to trust in the sanctity of man.  Learn from me to place the same confidence in God which you place in his guilty creatures, and you will not lean on a broken reed.  Father O’Rourke, you, too, witness my disgrace, but not my punishment.  It is pleasant, no doubt, to have a topic for conversation at your Conferences; enjoy it.  As for you, Margaret, if society lessen misery, we may be less miserable.  But the band of your order, and the remembrance of your vow is on your forehead, like the mark of Cain—­tear it off, and let it not blast a man who is the victim of prejudice still,—­nay of superstition, as well as of guilt; tear it from my sight.”  His eyes kindled fearfully, as he attempted to pull it away by force.

She calmly took it off, and he immediately tore it into pieces, and stamped upon the fragments as he flung them on the ground.

“Come,” said the despairing man—­“come—­there is a shelter for you, but no peace!—­food, and drink, and raiment, but no peace!—­no peace!” As he uttered these words, in a voice that sank to its deepest pitch, he took her hand, and they both departed to his own residence.

The amazement and horror of those who were assembled in Bartley’s house cannot be described.  Our readers may be assured that they deepened in character as they spread through the parish.  An undefined, fear of this mysterious pair seized upon the people, for their images were associated in their minds with darkness and crime, and supernatural communion.  The departing words of Father Philip rang in their ears:  they trembled, and devoutly crossed themselves, as fancy again repeated the awful exclamation of the priest—­“No peace! no peace!”