Here he surveyed himself with an air of indescribable assurance and satisfaction.

“And, saving your presence,” continued the deputy, “I come here as castellan, or governor, until he whose right it is shall possess it.”

“And how know we that we be not opening our gates and surrendering our castle to some losel knave, whose only title may lie on the tip of his tongue, and his right on the end of his rapier?”

“By this token,” said the seneschal haughtily, at the same time drawing out a formal instrument, to which was appended the broad seal of the ancient house of Fitz-Eustace.

The dean cast his eyes over the document, returning it to the messenger without either answer or inquiry, and immediately retired from the presence of this usurper on his long-coveted possessions.

Much chagrined by so unexpected an interference, he left the castle, even at this untimely hour.  Yet his footsteps were not bent towards the shadow of his own roof, the deanery at Whalley.

Outside the castle wall, and on the steepest side of the hill, was a little hermitage, wherein dwelt one of those reputed saints that dealt in miracles and prayers for the benefit of the “true believers.”  Many of these solitaries were well skilled in craft and intrigue; others, doubtless, deceived themselves as well as others in the belief that Heaven had granted them the power to suspend and control the operations of nature.  To this habitation, occupied by one of these holy santons of the Church, were the steps of the dean immediately directed.  He raised the latch as though accustomed to this familiarity.  The chamber, a high narrow cell, scooped out of the rock, was quite dark; but the voice was heard, a deep sepulchral tone, as though issuing from the ground—­

“Art thou here so soon, De Whalley?”

“Sir Ulphilas,” said the intruder hastily, and with some degree of agitation, “canst work miracles now?  The Canaanites are come into the land to possess it; nor will threatenings and conjurations drive them forth.”

“I know it,” said the hermit, who, though unseen, had not, it seems, been an inattentive observer of the events of the last two hours.  A light suddenly shot forth, enkindled as if by magic, showing the tall gaunt form of the “Holy Hermit of the Rock.”  He was dressed in a long grey garment of coarse woollen.  It was said that he wore an iron corslet next his skin, for mortification, it was thought by the vulgar; but whether for this purpose, or for one of a more obvious nature, it would perhaps be easy to surmise.  A girdle of plaited horse-hair encompassed his thin attenuated form.  His head was uncovered; and he seemed to have just risen from his couch, a board or shelf, raised only a few inches from the rock on which it lay.  His eye was wild, quick, and sparkling; but his cheek was deadly pale, and his features collapsed and haggard in their expression.

“I have dreamed a dream,” said the visionary.