“You are right, Father,” he said; “and to speak truth, I am weary enough.  If you promise me protection to-night, I will gladly rest my head wherever you place the pillow.”

“Those who sleep with me,” whispered his venerable adviser, “must content themselves without a pillow.  But I will promise you a safe couch, though it is a hard one; the softest beds are not always the freest from danger.  In the mean time, tarry here until I have said some prayers.”

“But my horse,” interposed Gilbert.

His companion rang a small bell.  A benevolent-looking man, somewhat past the prime of life, plainly dressed in a black cassock, answered the call.  The priest conversed awhile with him, in an undertone, and then, ascertaining from Gilbert where his horse was, dismissed the attendant, remarking that the animal should not suffer.

Motioning Gilbert to a chair, the priest entered the sanctuary.  Instead of sitting down, the young noble leaned against a lancet window which commanded a view of the neighboring castle.  He stood there looking idly upon the darkening prospect, until the appearance of two persons riding rapidly along the main road to the castle, aroused his attention.  He followed them eagerly with his eyes until they were completely lost in the twilight.  One of the riders was evidently a woman; but it would be inquiring too minutely into Gilbert’s thoughts to determine whether that circumstance, or the proneness of youth to become interested in trifles, excited his curiosity.

Night was fast approaching, and a light from the altar made itself felt throughout the church.  Still the priest knelt before the sacred tabernacle, and Gilbert longed for his appearance.  He grew impatient of being alone, when a companion was so near at hand; the place was strange, and there were no well-known objects to stand in the place of friends, supplying by the thousand associations they conjure up, and their mute appeals to memory, the absence of language.

The minutes wore heavily on; but at length the priest entered the sacristy.  Gilbert followed him out of the church to a very small house a few paces off, within the shadow of the wood.  The house, which was but one story high, was divided into two rooms by a stone partition.  In the back room slept the pastor of the church, Father Omehr.  The front room contained a table and a bench.  Father Omehr, for this was the name of Gilbert’s companion, struck a light and made the young man sit down upon the bench, while he spread out upon the table some fruit and bread and wine.

“Eat, my son,” said the old man; “the wine is good and the bread is quite fresh.  These grapes are better than any in Hers.”

Gilbert seemed inclined to dispute the last assertion; but the length and vigor of his repast strongly confirmed the opinion expressed by his host.  The latter remained standing with his arms folded on his breast, and regarded the youth with a smile, as he indulged the keen appetite sharpened by the severe exercise of the day.  The meal was eaten in silence, save an occasional entreaty from Gilbert to his entertainer to partake of his own cheer, and the refusal.  The little lamp between them shone upon two noble faces:  in spite of the great disparity between their ages, they were alike; not so much in feature as in the character of the head.