The young canon hesitated to proceed.

“You were about to say, father, that they who have the means to show gratitude are not always unmindful of the wants of those, who share the same hospitality without possessing the same ability to manifest their respect for the institution.”

The Augustine bowed, and he turned the discourse by pointing out the frontiers of Italy, and the site of the ancient temple; both of which they had this time reached.  An animal moved among the rocks, and attracted their attention.

“Can it be a chamois!” exclaimed Sigismund, whose blood began to quicken with a hunter’s eagerness:  “I would I had arms!”

“It is a dog, though not of our mountain breed!  The mastiffs of the convent have failed in hospitality, and the poor beast has been driven to take refuge in this retired spot, in waiting for his master, who probably makes one of the party in the refectory.  See, they come; their approaching footsteps have brought the cautious animal from his cover.”

Sigismund saw, in truth, that a party of three pedestrians was quitting the convent, taking the path for Italy.  A sudden and painful suspicion flashed upon his mind.  The dog was Nettuno, most probably driven by the mastiffs, as the monk had suggested, to seek a shelter in this retreat; and one of those who approached, by his gait and stature was no other than his master.

“Thou knowest, father,” he said, with a clammy tongue, for he was strangely agitated between reluctance to accuse Maso of such a crime, and horror at the fate of Jacques Colis, “that there has been a murder on the mountain?”

The monk quietly assented.  One who lived on that road, and in that age, was not easily excited by an event of so frequent occurrence.  Sigismund hastily recounted to his companion all the circumstances that were then known to himself, and related the manner in which he had first met the Italian on the lake, and his general impressions concerning his character.

“All come and go unquestioned here;” returned the Augustine, when the other had ended.  “Our convent has been founded in charity, and we pray for the sinner without inquiring into the amount of his crime.  Still we have authority, and it is especially our duty, to keep the road clear that our own purposes may not be defeated.  I leave thee to do what thou judgest most prudent and proper in a matter so delicate.”

Sigismund was silent; but as the pedestrians were drawing near, his resolution was soon and sternly formed.  The obligations that he owed to Maso made him more prompt, for it excited a jealous distrust of his own powers to discharge what he conceived to be a duty.  Even those late events in which his sister was so wronged had their share, too, on the decision of a mind so resolute to be upright.  Placing himself in the middle of the path, he awaited the arrival of the party, while the monk stood quietly at his side.  When the travellers were within