The brothers received him affectionately and bade him join their frugal
meal. The monks were five in number: they had been six, but one had
recently been drowned while returning from a pious mission to Herm. Jean
knew them all; they were honest, God-fearing men, trustful and truthful.
If their reasoning powers were not great, their faith was unswerving.
Their life was a prolonged asceticism, and they had fair reason to
expect that martyrdom would be their earthly crown.

The only exceptional feature of the repast was the appearance of one who
had never yet been seated there in Jean's presence; this guest was the
hermit who dwelt on the extreme point, against which the Atlantic waves
dashed in their fiercest fury. The recluse did not seem to cultivate the
duty of abstemiousness, but he maintained silence. Jean could not
forbear furtively scanning his appearance, which was indeed remarkable.
He would have been of large stature in any country; compared with the
natives his proportions were gigantic. His broad shoulders and muscular
arms betokened enormous strength; his hair and beard were fair; his blue
eyes had a clear, frank, expression; there was firmness of purpose in
his massive jaw; he seemed between forty and fifty, and would have been
strikingly handsome but for three deep scars which totally marred the
expression of his features. As Jean eyed him he returned the compliment,
but the meal was soon over and the youth accompanied Father Austin to
his cell.

There a long and sleepless night was passed by both. The monk in vain
endeavoured to combat Jean's resolution; he argued, prayed, indeed
threatened, but without effect. Finding his efforts hopeless he
abandoned them, and endeavoured to fortify his charge against the
influence of the spell under which he believed him to have fallen. Then