The Truce of God | Page 9

the murder, and, though he persisted in declaring his innocence, Henry's impetuous father, the Lord Sandrit de Stramen, swore over the dead body of his brother to take a bitter revenge on the Baron of Hers and all his line. Henry de Stramen had been nursed in the bitterest hostility to all who bore the name of Hers, and the unrelenting persecution of the Lord Sandrit had made Gilbert detest most cordially the house of Stramen. It was with mutual hatred, then, that the two young men had met at the spring. They knew each other well, for they had often fought hand to hand, with their kinsmen and serfs around them. Now they were alone, and what a triumph would be the victor's! but the bell, the Tell of peace, the silver-tongued herald of the truce of God, had sheathed their weapons.
It could not have been without a severe struggle that the two mortal foes rode quietly in the same direction, with but a few yards between them. They were not half an hour in the saddle when they discovered the spire of the church they were both in search of, rising gracefully above the trees. As they emerged from the forest, they could see stretching before them a broad expanse of hill and dale, wood and field. Scattered here and there were the humble dwellings of the forester and husbandman, and, from their midst, towering above them, like Jupiter among the demigods, stately and stern rose the old castle of the house of Stramen. The western sky was still bathed in light, and shared its glories with the earth; airy clouds, ever changing their hues, sported, like chameleons, on the horizon; the stream that wound around the castle seemed sheeted with polished silver: the herds and flocks were all still, and the voice of the birds was the only sound; and, amid this beauty and repose, how lovely and majestic was that finely moulded Gothic church!
Henry de Stramen tied his horse to a tree, and was soon lost in the elegantly carved doorway. Gilbert paused a moment, and gazed upon the open country before him with very mingled emotions. He had been there before at the head of his clan to disturb the serenity which, in spite of himself, was now softening his heart. He did not linger long, but led his horse a little within the woods, and entered the church. The gray-headed priest at the altar was solemnly chanting, from the beautiful liturgy of the Church, as he knelt down on the hard aisle, and the branching ceiling seemed to catch and repeat the notes. Through the stained window, where was pictured in unfading colors many a scene suggesting the goodness and mercy of God, and the blessed tidings of salvation, came the fading light of day, softened and beautiful. It was 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 that he could distinctly see their faces, left him alone. He