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