"And who is that?" asked Gilbert.

"A Frenchman," answered the abbot--"Bernard of Clairvaux, the greatest
man, the greatest thinker, the greatest preacher, and the greatest
saint of these late days."

"I have heard of him," Gilbert answered, with a sick man's
disappointment at not learning anything new. Then he smiled faintly.
"If he is a miracle-worker, he might find me a good subject."

"You have a home here, Gilbert Warde, and friends," said the abbot,
gravely. "Stay while you will, and when you are ready for the world
again you shall not lack for a coat of mail, a spare mount, and a purse
of gold with which to begin your life."

"I thank you," said Gilbert, feebly, but very gratefully. "I feel as if
my life were not beginning, but ending. I have lost my inheritance, my
home, and my mother in one hour. It is enough, for it is all, and with
it is taken love also."

"Love?" The abbot seemed surprised.

"Can a man marry his mother's husband's child?" asked Gilbert bitterly,
almost contemptuously.

"No," answered the abbot; "that would be within the forbidden degrees
of affinity."

For a long time Gilbert sat still in mournful silence. Then, seeing
that he was very tired, the abbot beckoned to the brothers, who came