The priest must have been near seventy.  The top of his head was entirely bald; yet the little hair left him, which grew behind in a semicircle, from ear to ear, was only sprinkled with gray.  He was tall and admirably formed for strength and agility; and though his cheek was pale and sunken, and his high broad forehead ploughed by many a heavy line, still in his eye and lips and nose were visible the relics of a splendid creation.  There was an expression of great energy about his mouth; his whole face indicated intelligence and benevolence; and it was the actual possession of this energy, intellect, and virtue that made Father Omehr a worthy descendant of the noble emissaries of Adrian, who, ever in the rear of Charlemagne’s armies, healed by the Cross the wounds inflicted by the sword, and drove forever from the forests of Germany the gloomy and accursed rites of Hesus and Taranis.

Gilbert de Hers was more than a fearless hunter and skilful soldier.  He had been carefully instructed by his confessor in the writings of the Fathers—­in logic, philosophy, and the classics; he had read the death of Patroclus, and the episode of Nisus and Euryalus; he knew by heart many of those beautiful hymns whose authors, in the spirit of Catholic humility, had concealed their names.  He was much beloved by all who knew him and were permitted to love him.  His charities were numerous and unostentatious.  Though scarcely twenty-one, his bearing, was bold and manly; there was no disguise about his large black eyes; they spoke out all his thoughts before his tongue could tell them.  Apart from the great beauty of his features, high thoughts had printed a language on his face much more fascinating than mere regularity of feature.  His very elegant form did not promise extraordinary strength, yet he was as formidable to his foes as welcome to his friends.

Gilbert rose at the conclusion of his rather protracted meal, and declared he would remain seated no longer while his companion stood.  The priest carefully removed the remnants, after which he sat down upon the bench, and obliged the youth to sit beside him.

“Now, my son,” he said, “tell me what in the world has brought you here alone?”

“No inclination of mine, my dear Father,” replied Gilbert.

“Who has sent you then?”

“I am sent by chance,” answered Gilbert, laughing.  “Early this morning I set out, with some twenty companions, in pursuit of a boar.  I was better mounted than they, and so was the boar, for he distanced them.  When the chase was at an end I found myself entirely alone, and could hear nothing of my men.  I did not know where I was; so I permitted my horse to choose his own course, and by some accident he has brought me here.”

Father Omehr listened attentively, and added, after a pause: 

“It is well you came not yesterday.  Did you meet any one in the wood?”

Gilbert felt the searching eye of his companion upon him, and related with much embarrassment all that had happened at the spring.