He paused where Helen had stood between the coffin and the altar. He gazed from the one to the other; and, as he did so, each seemed to find a voice mournful, solemn, reproachful. They gradually wrought a change in his feelings, they calmed in some degree the stormy passion, they awakened higher, grander thoughts. They roused remorse, they called to repentance. As he looked upon the bier of the good old man so lately passed away, it was not alone the image of death, and all the train of sad but chastening impressions--which spring from the contemplation of mortality as from a well overflowing with admonition--that pressed upon his attention; but the memory of that old man's plain, straight-forward truth,--of the resistance he had offered to the very schemes which he, Walter de la Tremblade, had promoted to his own grief and regret, brought the lesson home to his heart, and showed him the excellence of high, single-minded truth, more strongly than the most laboured essay of preacher or of moralist. Then again, when he turned towards the altar, and looked towards the cross of Christ, and remembered the grand simplicity displayed, as an example, by the Saviour of mankind, oh! how poor and vain, how sullied and impure, how dark and criminal, seemed the highest effort of the human intellect when used to mislead and to deceive! Truth, truth, almighty, everlasting truth, seemed before him in all its God-like radiance, and it overwhelmed him with shame and confusion. We have seen him before, stand there and feel sensations somewhat similar; but it was then merely as the glimmering streak of dawn, showing where the day will be: and now it was the risen sun.--The chastening hand of grief had swept away the darkness from his mind, and all was terrible light. As such thoughts rushed upon him: as the eye of heaven seemed to look into his soul, detecting there vanity, pride, ambition, selfishness, deceit, the higher qualities that were within him, bowed down his heart in humiliation at the discovery of so much which he had never dreamt of; and, kneeling before the altar, he poured out the anguish of his soul in prayer. He was still kneeling, when he heard steps in the chapel; but he heeded not; and still he went on murmuring in a low tone the words of penitence and supplication. The steps came nearer, and then paused; but still, for several minutes, he remained bowed before the cross. When he rose, however, he saw three of the servants of Madame de Chazeul standing close to him; and he asked, "What do you seek, my children?" They all hesitated; but at length the man Martin, putting out his hand, grasped the priest by the arm, saying, "We have orders, father Walter, to put you in confinement for a time." "Ha!" said father Walter, surprised, but calm. "By whose orders, my son? I did not know that there was either bishop, cardinal, or inquisitor here." "No, nor is there," answered the man; "but our orders are from our mistress; and we must obey them."