Paul listened to him in silence, with his eyes raised to heaven, and when he had concluded, said-- “It is not thus, that a priest would have spoken to you, my father, for I have spoken to you as a seaman, and with a voice more accustomed to pronounce words of death than consolation. Forgive me, father, forgive me for it.” “You have made me pray, and believe as you do,” said the old man; “tell me, then, what more could a priest have done? What you have said is plain and grand--let me reflect on what you have said.” “Listen!” said Paul, shuddering, “What is it?” “Did you not hear?” “No.” “I thought that a voice of some one in distress called to me--there again--do you not hear it?--now, again!--It is the voice of Marguerite.” “Go to her instantly,” replied the old man; “I need to be alone.” Paul rushed into the adjoining room, and as he entered it he heard his name again repeated, and close to the door of the cottage. Then, running to the door he anxiously opened it, and found Marguerite upon the threshold, her strength having failed her, and she had fallen upon her knees. “Save me! save me!” she cried, with an expression of profound terror, on perceiving Paul, and clasped his knees. CHAPTER XV.--THE PAPERS. Mercy from him! And how can I expect it? By what right Can I demand he should withhold his claim, The proofs once in his power?--Anonymous. Paul ran to Marguerite, and caught her in his arms; she was pale and icy cold. He carried her into the first room, placed her in an arm chair, returned to the door which had remained open, and closed it, and then hastened back. “What is it that so terrifies you? who is pursuing you? and how does it happen that you come here at this unusual hour?” “Oh!” exclaimed Marguerite, “at any hour, whether by day or night, I should have flown as long as the earth would have borne me! I should have flown till I had found some heart in which I could have poured forth my sorrows, an arm capable of defending me. Paul! Paul! my father is dead?” “Poor child!” said Paul, pressing Marguerite to his heart, “who flies from one house of death to fall into another; who leaves death in the castle, to find it in the cottage.” “Yes, yes!” cried Marguerite rising, still trembling with terror, and convulsively pressing Paul’s arm. “Death is yonder, and I find death here! but yonder it is attended with despair and fear, while here it is met with tranquillity and hope. Oh! Paul! Paul! had you but seen that which I have seen!” “Tell me all that happened.” “You saw the terrible effect produced by your appearance, and the mere sound of your voice?” “Yes, I saw that.” “They carried him still fainting and speechless into his own room.” “It was to your mother that I spoke,” said Paul, “and he heard me; I could not foresee it would so much have terrified him.”