Chapter 8

Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure,
Though fools are lavish on't--the fatal Fisher
Hooks souls, while we waste moments.
OLD PLAY.

A November mist overspread the little valley, up which slowly but
steadily rode the Monk Eustace. He was not insensible to the feeling
of melancholy inspired by the scene and by the season. The stream
seemed to murmur with a deep and oppressed note, as if bewailing the
departure of autumn. Among the scattered copses which here and there
fringed its banks, the oak-trees only retained that pallid green that
precedes their russet hue. The leaves of the willows were most of them
stripped from the branches, lay rustling at each breath, and disturbed
by every step of the mule; while the foliage of other trees, totally
withered, kept still precarious possession of the boughs, waiting the
first wind to scatter them.

The monk dropped into the natural train of pensive thought which these
autumnal emblems of mortal hopes are peculiarly calculated to inspire.
"There," he said, looking at the leaves which lay strewed around, "lie
the hopes of early youth, first formed that they may soonest wither,
and loveliest in spring to become most contemptible in winter; but
you, ye lingerers," he added, looking to a knot of beeches which still
bore their withered leaves, "you are the proud plans of adventurous
manhood, formed later, and still clinging to the mind of age, although
it acknowledges their inanity! None lasts--none endures, save the
foliage of the hardy oak, which only begins to show itself when that
of the rest of the forest has enjoyed half its existence. A pale and
decayed hue is all it possesses, but still it retains that symptom of
vitality to the last.--So be it with Father Eustace! The fairy hopes
of my youth I have trodden under foot like those neglected
rustlers--to the prouder dreams of my manhood I look back as to lofty
chimeras, of which the pith and essence have long since faded; but my
religious vows, the faithful profession which I have made in my
maturer age, shall retain life while aught of Eustace lives. Dangerous
it may be--feeble it must be--yet live it shall, the proud
determination to serve the Church of which I am a member, and to
combat the heresies by which she is assailed." Thus spoke, at least
thus thought, a man zealous according to his imperfect knowledge,
confounding the vital interests of Christianity with the extravagant
and usurped claims of the Church of Rome, and defending his cause with
an ardour worthy of a better.

While moving onward in this contemplative mood, he could not help
thinking more than once, that he saw in his path the form of a female
dressed in white, who