And, when he again turned to speak to the young men, they were both conscious that some indefinable change had taken place in his manner. His face expressed unmistakably a great and exalted joy; and the eyes, that at all times had had so strange a charm in them, had taken on a new expression. For a little while Templemore strove in vain to ascertain in what the change consisted; but presently it seemed to him that they had lost that half-sad, half-wistful expression he had so constantly remarked; and that they now conveyed, instead, a sense of contentment and repose. "That which you have now told to me," said Monella, walking slowly up to Leonard, "is as sweet to me as water to the thirsty in the desert." With grave deliberation he placed both hands upon the young man's shoulders and looked into his eyes with fatherly affection. "Know, my son Leonard--or rather Ranelda, as you rightly should be called--know that in these words you bring to my soul the message it has been awaiting--sometimes in hope, too often, alas! in doubt and in despair--through the long ages. Yours is the hand--the hand of the son of Apalano--that bears to me the key of my fetters; and yours are the lips that announce my coming freedom! My work, then, nears its end, and soon--ay, _soon_--I--shall--be--_free_!" While uttering these last words Monella raised his hand, and with upturned face looked rapturously above him, as if his sight, piercing the marble ceiling overhead, perceived some far-off scene that, while invisible to his companions, filled him with the most intense delight. Presently, he turned away with a regretful sigh, as though the vision he had been gazing at had vanished, and added, with an absent manner, "Now, when I leave you, I shall feel----" He stopped; in his eyes there was a far-off look; and Leonard, who had been looking on with wide-open, wondering eyes that comprehended little, if anything, of his discourse, exclaimed in anxious tones, "Leave me--leave us! What mean you, my father? You surely do not think of leaving the people you so love, to become again a wanderer?" Monella shook his head; and, appearing to rouse himself, he replied in quite a different voice, "You misunderstand, my son; I speak of when I shall be called away--called from this earthly life." "But that will not be for a long, a very long time yet," urged Leonard, looking with confidence at the stalwart frame, and remembering the many feats of strength the other had performed. Monella turned his eyes on Templemore. "Do you remember," he asked, smiling, "a conversation we had one day in the museum; when I explained to you that no 'Plant of Life' or other specific--no power, indeed, of earth--can keep in its earthly cage the soul that feels its work is done, and that, therefore, frets itself against its prison bars?" "I remember," answered Templemore in a subdued tone, and avoiding Leonard's questioning eyes.