sudden, so short, and so successful. Yet the Abbot Berghersh was
a man of too firm a grain to allow one bold outbreak to imperil
the settled order of his great household. In a few hot and
bitter words, he compared their false brother's exit to the
expulsion of our first parents from the garden, and more than
hinted that unless a reformation occurred some others of the
community might find themselves in the same evil and perilous
case. Having thus pointed the moral and reduced his flock to a
fitting state of docility, he dismissed them once more to their
labors and withdrew himself to his own private chamber, there to
seek spiritual aid in the discharge of the duties of his high
office.

The Abbot was still on his knees, when a gentle tapping at the
door of his cell broke in upon his orisons.

Rising in no very good humor at the interruption, he gave the
word to enter; but his look of impatience softened down into a
pleasant and paternal smile as his eyes fell upon his visitor.

He was a thin-faced, yellow-haired youth, rather above the middle
size, comely and well shapen, with straight, lithe figure and
eager, boyish features. His clear, pensive gray eyes, and quick,
delicate expression, spoke of a nature which had unfolded far
from the boisterous joys and sorrows of the world. Yet there was
a set of the mouth and a prominence of the chin which relieved
him of any trace of effeminacy. Impulsive he might be,
enthusiastic, sensitive, with something sympathetic and adaptive
in his disposition; but an observer of nature's tokens would have
confidently pledged himself that there was native firmness and