“But I do not wish to enter parliament,” said Tancred.

The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his face.

“Not enter parliament?” he exclaimed.  “Every Lord Montacute has gone into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords.  It is an excellent training.”

“I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either,” said Tancred.  “And I hope, my dear father,” he added, with a smile that lit up his young, grave, beautiful face, “that it will be very, very long before I succeed to your place there.”

“What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?” said Bellamont, in intense perplexity.  “You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the state, and you have duties to perform.  How are you going to fit yourself for them?”

“That is what I have been thinking of for years,” said Tancred.  “Oh, my dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for guidance!  Yes, I have duties to perform!  But in this wild, confused, and aimless age of ours, what man can see what his duties are?  For my part, I cannot find that it is my duty to maintain the present order of things.  In nothing in our religion, our government, our manners, do I find faith.  And if there is no faith, how can there be any duty?  We have ceased to be a nation.  We are a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by the remains of an old system which we are daily destroying.”

“But what would you do, my dear boy?” said the duke, pale with anxiety.  “Have you found any remedy?”

“No,” said Tancred mournfully.  “There is no remedy to be found in England.  Oh, let me save myself, father!  Let me save our people from the corruption and ruin that threaten us!”

“But what do you want to do?  Where do you want to go?” said the duke.

“I want to go to God!” cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming with a strange light “How is it that the Almighty Power does not send down His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities?  Where is the Paraclete, the Comforter Who was promised us?  I must go and seek him.”

“You are a visionary, my boy,” said the duke, gazing at him in blank astonishment.

“Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy Land a visionary?” said Tancred.  “All I ask is to be allowed to follow in his footsteps.  For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at the tomb of his Redeemer.  Six centuries and more have gone by since then.  It is high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High in the country of His chosen people.  I, too, would kneel at that tomb.  I, too, surrounded by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift my voice to Heaven, and ask for inspiration.”

“But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in Palestine?”

“No,” said his son.  “He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint in this country.  If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land.”