demand her in marriage of your sister?" said the
young man.

"My Lord, you are an excommunicated man, and she would have horror of
you. It is impossible; it would not be to edification to make the common
people judges in such matters. It is safest to let their faith rest
undisturbed, and that they be not taught to despise ecclesiastical
censures. This could not be explained to Elsie; she would drive you from
her doors with her distaff, and you would scarce wish to put your sword
against it. Besides, my Lord, if you were not excommunicated, you are of
noble blood, and this alone would be a fatal objection with my sister,
who hath sworn on the holy cross that Agnes shall never love one of your
race."

"What is the cause of this hatred?"

"Some foul wrong which a noble did her mother," said the monk; "for
Agnes is of gentle blood on her father's side."

"I might have known it," said the cavalier to himself; "her words and
ways are unlike anything in her class.--Father," he added, touching his
sword, "we soldiers are fond of cutting all Gordian knots, whether of
love or religion, with this. The sword, father, is the best theologian,
the best casuist. The sword rights wrongs and punishes evil-doers, and
some day the sword may cut the way out of this embarrass also."

"Gently, my son! gently!" said the monk; "nothing is lost by patience.
See how long it takes the good Lord to make a fair flower out of a
little seed; and He does all quietly, without bluster. Wait on Him a
little in peacefulness and prayer, and see what He will do for thee."

"Perhaps you are right, my father," said the cavalier, cordially. "Your
counsels have done me good, and I shall seek them further. But do
not let them terrify my poor Agnes with dreadful stories of the
excommunication that hath befallen me. The dear saint is breaking
her good little heart for my sins, and her confessor evidently hath
forbidden her to speak to me or look at me. If her heart were left to
itself, it would fly to me like a little tame bird, and I would
cherish it forever; but now she sees sin in every innocent, womanly
thought,--poor little dear child-angel that she is!"

"Her confessor is a Franciscan," said the monk, who, good as he was,
could not escape entirely from the ruling prejudice of his order,--"and,
from what I know of him, I should think might be unskilful in what
pertaineth to the nursing of so delicate a lamb. It is not every one to
whom is given the gif