even had I wished to lie.

"Yes, holy father," I answered.

"And thou wouldst stay here ever?" The eyes were still upon me, and they
searched my soul as a bright flush, I knew, rose to my cheek, and I
hesitated how to answer. Then suddenly, as I stood in doubt, they seemed
to change, and it was as if sunlight gleamed over a landscape that
before lay dark and grim, for the abbot smiled upon me with the kindest
of all smiles. "Thou feelest no calling to the cloister and the cowl,
the book and the pen, the priesthood, and the life of prayer?"

"Ah, no, holy Father." I had gained my tongue, and spoke boldly, if
reverently. "Books and prayer are good; but I am young, and there is a
world beyond these grey walls, and my kinsmen fight and do rather than
pray or read."

"The eaglet beats his wings against his cage already," said the abbot,
kindly; "it is indeed a shapely bird. Thou art right, lad. There is a
world outside, where men strive and fight and do--how blindly and how
wildly thou knowest not. But the battle is not to the strong or the race
to the swift, though so it seem. Go, then, out into the world boldly but
warily, and be thou a good soldier, as thou art a good scholar. Thine
uncle shall know of these words between us."

I knelt again and kissed his hand, and left his broad and pleasant
chamber.

And outside I strolled upon the green, dim vague thoughts surging up
swift into my mind, as I went striding on swifter than I knew. Ere long