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.
"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.