“He would have made thee an outlaw, too.”
“It might well have been, but my poor mother would have been happy then.”
“But I think Martin has a scheme in his head,” said Hubert shyly.
“What is it, my son?” said the earl.
“The chaplain knows.”
“He thinks that when he has put on the cord of Saint Francis he will go and preach the Gospel to them that are afar off in the woods.”
“But they are Christians, I hope.”
“Nominally, but they know nought of the Gospel of love and peace. Their religion is limited to a few outward observances,” said the chaplain, “which, separated from the living Spirit, only fulfil the words: ‘The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life.’”
“Ah, well, my boy, God speed thee on thy path, and preserve thee for that day when thou shalt come as a messenger of peace to them that sit in darkness,” said the earl.
“Thine,” he continued, “is a far nobler ambition than that of the warrior, thine the task to save, his to destroy.