The good old man here closed his eyes, with an expression of patient resignation, and rather as if he courted sleep than felt inclined to it:  and, after shutting the door of his cell, I repaired to his little garden, to pass the allotted two hours.  Left to my meditations, when I thought that I was probably about to be deprived for ever of the Hermit’s conversation and society, I felt the wretchedness of my situation recur with all its former force.  I sat down on a smooth rock under a tamarind tree, the scene of many an interesting conference between the Brahmin and myself; and I cast my eyes around—­but how changed was every thing before me!  I no longer regarded the sparkling eddies of the little cascade which fell down a steep rock at the upper end of the garden, and formed a pellucid basin below.  The gay flowers and rich foliage of this genial climate—­the bright plumage and cheerful notes of the birds—­were all there; but my mind was not in a state to relish them.  I arose, and in extreme agitation rambled over this little Eden, in which I had passed so many delightful hours.

Before the allotted time had elapsed—­shall I confess it?—­my fears for the Hermit were overcome by those that were purely selfish.  It occurred to me, if he should thus suddenly die, and I be found alone in his cell, I might be charged with being his murderer; and my courage, which, from long inaction, had sadly declined of late, deserted me at the thought.  After the most torturing suspense, the dial at length showed me that the two hours had elapsed, and I hastened to the cell.

I paused a moment at the door, afraid to enter, or even look in; made one or two steps, and hearing no sound, concluded that all was over with the Hermit, and that my own doom was sealed.  My delight was inexpressible, therefore, when I perceived that he still breathed, and when, on drawing nearer, I found that he slept soundly.  In a moment I passed from misery to bliss.  I seated myself by his side, and there remained for more than an hour, enjoying the transition of my feelings.  At length he awoke, and casting on me a look of placid benignity, said,—­“Atterley, my time is not yet come.  Though resigned to death, I am content to live.  The worst is over.  I am already almost restored to health.”  I then administered to him some refreshments, and, after a while, left him to repose.  On again repairing to the garden, every object assumed its wonted appearance.  The fragrance of the orange and the jasmine was no longer lost to me.  The humming birds, which swarmed round the flowering cytisus and the beautiful water-fall, once more delighted the eye and the ear.  I took my usual bath, as the sun was sinking below the mountain; and, finding the Hermit still soundly sleeping, I threw myself on a seat, under the shelter of some bamboos, fell asleep, and did not awake until late the next morning.