Before the strain ceased the hues of sunset had begun to fade away, yet sufficient light remained for Ernest to perceive a man of ancient and venerable aspect seated at the mouth of a deep cavern, under the shade of an immense oak, whose massive limbs and dense foliage stood in dark relief against the sky. Every leaf and twig was dimly pencilled on the silvery blue, the outline of the trunk and larger branches alone being clearly visible. The stranger was clad in a long white robe and dark mantle which partly enveloped his person, and then, falling downwards, swept the ground in picturesque and magnificent folds. His robe was confined by a black girdle, down to which his snowy beard flowed in profusion, and formed a fine contrast to his mantle and belt. His right hand rested upon a harp, whose chords he now and then swept with his left, causing a few sweet transitory notes to issue therefrom, which rose and swelled in an uncertain cadence and then died away in the distance. As Ernest approached, the harper raised his head, and demanded his name. When Alembert had answered this question to the old man’s satisfaction, he requested permission to seat himself beside him for a few moments that he might rest. The harper instantly complied, and after a short pause asked him whence he came, and whither he went, and the reason of his being in so unfrequented and lonely a spot at such an unaccustomed hour. Ernest in reply related the whole of his adventures, and by the time he had completed their recital night had closed in, and the moon had risen. His host now arose and invited him to lodge for that night within his cave. Alembert gladly consented, and together they proceeded to enter. When they were seated at their frugal supper of fruits and herbs, Ernest in his turn begged the old man to recount the circumstances of his own life. To this request he gave a ready assent, and proceeded to unfold the following story:—