“Mr. Orme, thou art a well-conditioned and, I think, a godly young man, and though it does not beseem one of my gray hairs and length of years to open his heart to one young and lacking in experience as thou art, yet the spirit within me prompts me to speak.” Gervase was silent. “There are times,” he continued, “when the Spirit of the Lord is upon me. Then I can hear the strains of a rich and heavenly minstrelsy, and my soul is possessed with the joy of everlasting hope. Alas! I do begin to fear it is but the snare of the fowler. This day the evil one took possession of me. I relapsed into the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity. I sware evil oaths; I rejoiced in the shedding of blood, nor was it the cause of the Lord that I followed this day, but the promptings of my own carnal heart. Can the Lord of Righteousness and the Prince of the powers of the air dwell in the same breast?” “I do not know how these things may be,” Gervase answered, “but I know that you have done your duty this day like a good and valiant soldier. It may be that old habits are strong upon you, and an old warhorse like yourself lifts his ears at the sound of the charge.” “The hearts of the elect are purified, and old habits cannot draw the soul from God.” He looked at Gervase with a look of profound sadness in his eyes, and there was an undertone of despair in his voice. It was impossible to doubt his sincerity. Spiritual despair had seized upon him, and his narrow creed had no word of consolation to offer him in his hour of doubt. He had drawn aside the veil that concealed the workings of his heart. “All the days of my youth were vanity,” he continued; “I squandered my substance in riotous living, and spent my strength in the lap of harlots. Then the Lord found me in the wilderness, and for ten years I have walked in the narrow way, till now mine enemy has found me this day; nay, not this day, but the hour I girt this sword on my side. I am the same man that fought at St. Gothard, and walked up the breach at Philisbourg.” “And may I never fight by the side of a better soldier,” cried Gervase with assumed gaiety. "The Protestant cause could ill afford to lose an arm like yours. But for you we had never charged this day. “Ah! it was a gallant onfall;” said the old soldier meditatively, “I have seldom seen a brisker, but it is vanity, vanity.” He sighed, and relapsed into silence, nor did Gervase venture to address him again till they rode into the village where they intended to pass the night. CHAPTER II. OF THE ENTERTAINMENT THEY HAD AT THE INN.