“We had supposed him of thy kindred; he bears every sign of noblesse and does not disgrace it,” said the prior, himself of the kindred of the “lords of the eagle.” “He is the son of a brother crusader.” “The father is not living?” “No, he fell in Palestine, within sight of the earthly Jerusalem, and I trust has found admittance into the Jerusalem which is above; he committed the boy to my care— “But let them bring young Hubert hither.” The prior tinkled a silver bell, which lay upon the table, and a lay brother appeared, to whom he gave the necessary order. A knock at the door was soon heard, and a lad of some fourteen years entered in obedience to the prior’s summons, and stood at first abashed before the great earl. Yet he was not a lad wanting in self confidence; he was tall and slender, his features were regular, his hair and eyes light, his face a shapely oval; there was a winning expression on the features, and altogether it was a persuasive face. “Dost thou remember me, my son?” asked the earl, as the boy knelt on one knee, and kissed his hand gracefully. “It seems many years since thou didst leave me here, my lord.” “Ah! thy memory is good—hast thou been happy here? hast thou done thy duty?” “It is dull for an eaglet to be brought up in a cave.” “Art thou the eaglet then, and this the cave? fie! Hubert.” “My father was a soldier of the cross.” “And wouldst thou be a soldier too, my boy? the paths of glory often lead to the grave; thou art safer far as an acolyte here; thou wilt perhaps be prior some day.” “I covet not safety, my lord. If my father loved thee, and thou didst love him, take me to thy castle and let me be thy page. There are no chivalrous exercises here, no tilt yard, only the bell which booms all day long; matins and lauds; prime, terce and sext; vespers and compline; and masses between whiles.” “My son, be not irreverent.” The boy lowered his eyes at the reproof. “Thou shalt go with me. But, my boy, blame me not if some day thou grieve over the loss of this sweet peace.” “I love not peace—it is dull.” “How wonderful it is that the son should inherit the father’s tastes with his form,” said the earl to the prior. “When this lad’s sire and I were young together he had just the same ideas, the same restless craving for excitement, and it led him at last to a soldier’s grave. Well, what is bred in the bone will out in the flesh. “Hubert, thou shalt go with me to Kenilworth, but it will be a hard and stern school for thee; there are no idlers there.” “I am not an idler, my good lord.” “Only over his books,” said the prior. “That is because I prefer the lance and the bow to pot hooks and hangers on parchment.” The boy spoke out fearlessly, almost pertly, like a spoiled child. Yet he had a winning manner, which reconciled his elders to his freedom. “Now, go back to thy pot hooks and hangers, my boy, for the present,” said the earl; “and tomorrow, perchance, I may take thee with me, if the storm abate.