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As he went on he looked attentively before him, fearing, and at

the same time hoping, to meet some one from whom he might obtain

information. He saw at last a man seated on the ground, leaning

against a hedge of jessamines, in the listless attitude of an

idiot. He thought it must be the poor simpleton Jervase, who had

been employed as a witness in his unsuccessful expedition to the

curate's house. But approaching nearer, he recognised it to be

Anthony. The disease had affected his mind, as well as his body,

so that in every act a slight resemblance to his weak brother

might be traced.

"Oh, Tony," said Renzo, stopping before him, "is it you?" Tony

raised his eyes, but not his head.

"Tony, do you not know me?"

"Is it my turn? Is it my turn?" replied he.

"Poor Tony! do you indeed not know me?"

"Is it my turn? Is it my turn?" replied he, with an idiotic

smile, and then stood with his mouth open.