“And there be the cruel, rampant, remorseless devils with their claws, hoofs, and horns. They be terrible, but their hearts of fire are the worst, those evil hearts burning with hatred to the sons of men. Now, on my way I saw a vision: we rested at a holy house of God, where be many brethren who strive to glorify Him, according to the rule of Saint Benedict. And as we were all at prayers in the chapel, methought it was full of devils whispering all sorts of temptations, as they did to Saint Antony, trying to keep the monks from their prayers and meditations. And lo, I came to Lewes, and methought one devil only sat on the gate, and swayed the hearts of all the men in the town. He had little to do. The world and the flesh were helping him, and just now it was the devil of cruelty.” The men looked down. “‘A Jew! only a Jew!’ you say; ‘the wicked Jews crucified our Lord.’ “And ye, what do ye do? Why, ye crucify Him daily. Nay, look not so amazed. Saint Paul says it, not I. He says the sins of Christians crucify our Lord afresh.” And here he spoke so piteously of the Passion of the Lord and His thirst for the souls of men, that women, yea and many men, wept aloud. In short, when the sermon was over, the crowd escorted Martin to the priory, where he was to lodge, with tears and cries of joy. “Thou hast begun well, brother Martin,” said Ginepro, when they could first speak to each other in the hospitium. “I! No, not I. God gave me strength,” and he sank on the bench exhausted and pale. “It is too much for thee.” “No, not too much. I love the good work. God give the increase.” “What Martin, my Martin, thou here? I have followed thee. I heard thee, but couldn’t get near thee for the press,” cried an exultant voice. “My Hubert, so thou art a knight at last?” “Yes, and tomorrow I go to Walderne to say goodbye to the people there, and the next day take ship from Pevensey for Harfleur, on my road to the Holy Land. “But how pale thou art! Come, tell me all. Art thou a brother yet? Hast thou earned it by some pious deed, as I earned my knighthood by a warlike one? Come, tell me all, dear Martin.” “You tell your story first. I have only heard that you have won your spurs.” Hubert, nothing loth, told the story with which our readers are acquainted. Then Martin told his story very simply and modestly, but Hubert could not help feeling that he would sooner have defended a ford twenty times over, than have spent one hour in that plague-infected house. They were very happy in their mutual love, and this last meeting was made the most of. Old remembrances were recalled, scenes of the past brought to recollection; until the compline hour, after which all, monks and guests alike, retired to rest, and silence reigned through the vast pile. Save in one narrow cell, where the sire and son were dispensed from the rule—where the old father rejoiced in his boy, devouring him with those aged eyes.