“Bless God, young sir,” said a deep, solemn voice at the other side of the bed on which he was lying, “that your life is spared. May it be unto good ends! Yours was a daring venture, and for a trivial object against which to stake an immortal soul. But, thanks to Him! you are preserved, snatched as it were from the gates of death; and, though you feel faint now, I doubt not, and your soul trembles as if on the verge of another world, you will be well anon, and in a little while as strong as ever in that youthful strength on which you have so prided you. Drink this, and sleep awhile, and you shall wake refreshed, and as a new man, from the dreamless slumber which the draught shall give you. And you, silly child,” he continued, turning toward the lovely girl, who had sunk forward on the bed, so that her fair tresses rested on the same pillow which supported Jasper’s head, with the big tears trickling silently between her slender fingers, “dry up your tears; for the youth shall live, and not die.” The boy’s eyes had turned immediately to the sound of the speaker’s accents, and in his weak state remained fixed on his face so long as the sound continued, although his senses followed the meaning but imperfectly. It was a tall, venerable looking old man who spoke, with long locks, as white as snow, falling down over the straight cut collar of his plain black doublet, and an expression of the highest intellect, combined with something which was not melancholy, much less sadness, but which told volumes of hardships borne, and sorrows endured, the fruits of which were piety, and gentleness, and that wisdom which cometh not of this world. He smiled thoughtfully, as he saw that his words were hardly comprehended, and his mild glance wandered from the pale face of the handsome boy to the fair head of the young girl bending over him, like a white lily overcharged with rain. “Poor things,” he whispered softly, as if speaking to himself, “to both it is the first experience of the mixed pain and pleasure of this world’s daily trials. God save them scathless to the end!” Then, recovering himself, as if by a little effort, from his brief fit of musing, he held forth a large glass goblet, which was in his right hand, full of some bright ruby-colored liquid, to the lips of Jasper, saying— “Drink, youth, it will give thee strength. Drink, and fear nothing.” The young man grasped the bright bowl with both hands, but even then he had lacked strength to guide it to his lips, had not his host still supported it. The flavor was agreeable, and the coolness of the draught was so delicious to the feverish palate and parched tongue of Jasper, that he drained it to the very bottom, and then, as if exhausted by the effort, relaxed his hold, and sunk back on his pillow in a state of conscious languor, exquisitely soft and entrancing.