keeping him in his seat and making him feel that he must stay there.

"What is it?" asked Gilbert, nervously, with half closed eyes. "Tell me
quickly."

"An evil thing," answered the churchman, "--a sad thing, and one of
those that change men's lives."

Again Gilbert started in his seat, more violently this time than
before, and there was the broken ring of genuine fear in his voice.

"My mother is dead!" he cried.

"No, not that. She is in no danger. She is well. She is more than well;
she is happy."

Gilbert was staring almost stupidly at his companion, not in the least
understanding that there could be any evil news about his mother if all
these things were true.

And yet it seemed strange that the abbot should lay stress upon the
Lady Goda's happiness, when Gilbert had been at death's door for many
weeks, and when, as he well knew, she was without news of him.

"Happy!" he echoed, half dazed.

"Too happy," answered the prelate. "Your mother was married when you
had been scarcely a month here with us."

Gilbert stared into the older man's face for one moment after he had