steak at this moment, smoking hot and swimming in gravy, with a lump of fresh butter!"
"Hark!" cried Abelard, "the vibration of the air that strikes upon the tympanum of my ears, gives intimation of the approach of some tangible object."
"Alas! alas!" cried the priest, "it is certainly the spirits returned, that carried away poor Clara. Poor dear girl! that was certainly her pocket-handkerchief."
"I despair of finding her," said the butler.
"Despair is sinful, my son," replied the friar; "misfortunes are sent to try us, and we ought to bear them with resignation, and without uttering a single murmur."
"But I thought you were even now complaining of being hungry, father?" said Abelard with the utmost simplicity.
"True, true!" replied the priest, a little disconcerted by this remark; "but—but—"
"It is one thing to preach, and another to practise," resumed the butler, smiling; "is it not, father? However, I certainly heard a noise; and if any one finds us here, we shall be ruined."
