from the beautiful liturgy of the Church, as he knelt down on the hard aisle, and the branching ceiling seemed to catch and repeat the notes.  Through the stained window, where was pictured in unfading colors many a scene suggesting the goodness and mercy of God, and the blessed tidings of salvation, came the fading light of day, softened and beautiful.  It was not merely the superior genius of the age that made the chapels and cathedrals of the Ages of Faith so immensely superior to the creations of the present day, but its piety too; that generous and pure devotion which induced our ancestors to employ their best faculties and richest treasures in preparing an abode as worthy as earth could make it of the presence of the Son of God.  Then the house of the minister was not more splendid than his church, his sideboard not more valuable than the altar.

Gilbert saw around him the hard, sunburnt features, the stalwart forms he had marked in the desperate fray; he could touch the hands, now clasped in prayer, that had been so often raised against him in anger.  Beside him knelt the maiden, with her brow all smooth and unfurrowed by care, and the matron who, numbering more than double her years, had felt more than treble her sorrows.  The youth was deeply moved, as he gazed, and thought he might have robbed that mother of her son, that wife of her husband, that sister of a brother.  Those gentle, melancholy beings had never harmed him, and, perhaps, in a moment of passion, he had deprived their existence of half its sweetness, and turned their smiles to tears.  It was with an aching, an humbled heart that he bowed his head until it touched the cold floor, when the Lamb without spot was elevated for the adoration of the faithful.

A hymn, befitting the occasion, had been intoned, and the priest had left the altar, but those fervent men and women did not hurry from the church as if grateful for permission to retire, but lingered to meditate and pray.

Gilbert remained until all had gone save Henry de Stramen and a lady who knelt beside him.  They rose at length, and, passing so close to Gilbert that he could distinctly see their faces, left him alone.  He was in the act of rising when the priest appeared, and beckoned him into the sacristy.

“Remain here,” the old man said, taking the youth by the hand.

“I must hurry home, Father,” replied Gilbert; “my father will have no peace, thinking the boar has killed me.”

“Let him fret awhile; it is better he should lament you alive, than dead by the serfs of Stramen.”

“They dare not attack me!” exclaimed the youth; “they fear the Church and my own arm too much for that!”

“Nay, peace!” rejoined the priest; “it is better not to expose them to the temptation, or you to the danger.”

The practicability of spending the night in security in the very teeth of Stramen Castle had not occurred to Gilbert; he hesitated a second or two, and then, as if all his plans and ideas had undergone a thorough revolution, gracefully promised obedience.