"Well, let us talk of it no more," answered Herbert, "the book of fate has so many pages unopened that who can tell what may be written on the next? That casque which you see there, crowning the arms on this side of the pillar, was worn by the good and great Coligni. Did he think when he last carried it, that the day of St. Bartholomew, then so nigh, would see his massacre and that of his companions? Did he think that the king, who then leaned upon his shoulder, promising to act by his counsel in all things, would command his assassination? or that the gallant young prince, whom he appreciated in most things so justly, would abandon the faith for which they had both shed their blood, and be murdered by one of the base instruments of the religion he adopted? He must be a madman or inspired who ventures to prophesy even the deeds or events of to-morrow."
"And this, then, was the casque of Coligni?" said Algernon Grey, rising and approaching the pillar; "one of the greatest men, undoubtedly, that ever lived, whose spirit seemed to revel in misfortunes, and whose genius appeared, even to his enemies, but the more bright for defeat."
"Ay, fortune was only constant against him," answered Herbert, following with Agnes, "he went on with still increasing renown and disaster, till his glory and his reverses were closed by his assassination."
"The body perished," said Agnes in a sweet low tone, "and with it all that was perishable. The immortal remained, the fame that calumny could never sully, to this earth; the spirit that triumphed over every reverse, to heaven, from whence it came."
Herbert laid his hand upon her shoulder, gazing at her with a well-pleased smile. "You may well speak proudly of him, my child," he said, "for your noble kinsman has left a name which the world cannot match. There are some strange things here," he continued abruptly, turning to Algernon Grey. "Do you see this ancient cuirass shaped almost like a globe?"
"Ay, and that ghastly hole in the left breast," cried Agnes, "what a tale that tells! Without a word one reads there that by the wound then given when the lance pierced through the strong iron, a gallant spirit was sent from earth on the long dark journey. What tears were then shed! How the bride or the young widow wept in inconsolable grief! How brethren or parents mourned! What ties were broken, what long cherished hopes all blasted, what bright schemes and glad purposes then all passed away like a dream!"
Algernon Grey fixed his eyes upon her, while she spoke with a look of sad and solemn earnestness. It was intense and thoughtful, yet full of admiration, and lasted till she ceased; but Agnes saw it not, for her eyes were raised to her uncle's face, and her whole spirit was in the words she uttered.
"It is the pleasant part of life, I fear," he said at length, "which thus passes like a dream. The painful things remain--ay, and grow too. With the bright days pass the bright thoughts; with the light season flies the light heart. Man has but one summer; if it be clouded, let him not look for sunshine. Winter will surely come."
"Ay, on this earth," answered Herbert, "there is another climate hereafter, where winter is not. Still you are in some sense wrong. Each season has its sunny hours for those who seek them. Youth looks forward to age with apprehension, age to the state beyond. Neither know rightly what is in store. All they are sure of is, that there are deprivations coming of things which they fancy treasures; but still each step of life shows that the most prized jewels of the former were but tinsel and false stones. What will the last stage show of all the rest? That cuirass was young Talbot's, slain in the wars in France; that gap let in his death-wound. A noble spirit passed away to a nobler world; a kind young heart mourned, and went to join him. These are brief tales, soon told. Why should we think more of man's life and death than of the opening and the fading of a flower? His immortality itself makes his life the less worth thought, but as he uses it."
"These gauntlets, too," said Algernon Grey, "they seem less ancient than the cuirass, but yet are not of our own times."