Had any one been disposed to go over to the ruins, they could not have done so without a boat, and the only one belonging to the gardener had been sunk by the pressure of the falling boat-house. There was no fear, however, of any such intrusion. Men who looked upon the sacred edifice were too cautious to think of venturing over the waters, lest they should be buried under its walls. Conversation, however, was alive, and superstition not less active among the people, for many said they had seen the Hermit St. Ivan hastening over the drawbridge into the castle, and many had heard him say that when he did so the walls would fall down. Some had dreamed one thing, some another. Some prognosticated the fall of Bishop Goldwell and his proud niece. Some had seen a strange thing fly up the chimney the night before--and one had seen St. Ivan riding upon a black cloud over the hills to the river, and was sure some catastrophe would befal him. Innumerable ingenious speculations were started, and as is very often the case in calamities of any kind, it was attributed to all sorts of causes. 'I will not believe,' said butcher Stannard, 'that St. Ivan is dead, until I know his ceil is deserted; so, who will go with me to the Holy Wells? What, none willing to go? What a set of cowards you all are!' 'I saw him go across the drawbridge, and I have heard him say, he should never return alive!' 'And so have I,' replied the butcher, 'and I have heard that he is now beneath those ruins, and yet I have my doubts, and if no one will go to the cave with me, I will go alone.' The sturdy butcher started off for the deep dell of the Holy Wells, followed at a respectable distance by two or three of the townsmen, whose curiosity had been excited: but who gave him plenty of space to show his bravery by himself, not willing to interrupt him, or interfere with his ascent to the hermit's cell. A party stood at the foot of the stone steps by which Stannard ascended to the cave. He had indeed called aloud to the old man before he ventured to ascend--but of course received no answer. He entered the cave--he found a rustic table with a Latin Bible thereupon, a lamp suspended from the ceiling, two loaves of brown bread in a recess, and a jug of water. The cave was dry, and strewed with rushes; his bed was formed of the same material, placed upon a ledge of sandstone rock; a few boxes of salves, and bottles of medicine were ready to be given to the poor: but this strange habitation possessed no pretensions to comforts. Yet here Ivan had been for many years, the celebrated hermit of the Holy Wells. Butcher Stannard soon returned, convinced, and convincing others that the old man was only to be found under the ruins of the Bishop's Palace.