On the same evening, when the soldiers were scattered through the town, and the nobles had retired to such quarters as they could procure, Gilbert de Hers sought out Father Omehr, and found him in an apartment which the Archbishop of Mayence had obtained for the missionary.

Up to the day of his interview with Rodolph at Mayence, Gilbert’s mind had been wholly engrossed with the bright pictures which a vivid and worldly fancy and a keen ambition to excel can always unfold to the eye of youth.  At times he remembered the night passed in the missionary’s humble dwelling, when Bertha’s knife had confined him there, and he saw again the crucifix and the sacristan.  But this was only for a moment.  The image of the Lady Margaret was sure to enter and banish every other feeling than that of deep love for her.  But from the night of the coronation, a change had fallen upon the youth, which Father Omehr’s keen eye had not failed to remark.  He displayed no longer the same thoughtless gayety or the same dreamy abstraction.  He had reveries, it is true, proceeding from the fear of losing the Lady Margaret, or the hope of gaining her.  The missionary had refrained from questioning the young knight, nor did Gilbert reveal any secret to his venerable friend.  Whether he might have recovered his former levity can scarcely be answered, but the death of Rodolph seemed to have extinguished it forever.  So great a change had this last incident wrought in him, that it was not only evident to Father Omehr and Sir Albert, but all who knew him were struck with his altered manner.  They ascribed it to grief alone, for they knew him to have been the monarch’s favorite.

When the young noble and the old priest, whose love for each other had steadily increased, had sat awhile in silence, the latter took his companion by the hand, and, as the visit seemed to solicit the question, said, in a tone evincing the interest of a parent:  “My son, what ails you?”

Then, for the first time, the violent and various feelings which had been aroused in Gilbert’s breast found a vent in tears.  An hour almost passed away before he could compose himself, and then he only said:  “To witness him struck down by death just as he had gained all for which he lived—­to see the fruit of thirty years’ labor snatched from his lips before he could taste it!  O God, for what trifles are we toiling!”

It was difficult to recognize Gilbert de Hers in the pale, excited face and trembling figure which, with clasped hands and eyes upturned, uttered these meaning words.

Another hour passed, and the youth was kneeling at the missionary’s feet.

Midnight was tolled by the great bell of the cathedral, and Gilbert had risen.

“My son,” said Father Omehr, as they parted, “you have been taught to despise the world—­the next step is to love God!”