"'Tis a simple act I have now to perform," the priest said with solemn dignity, in a voice which reached to the farthest point of the assembly. "The emblem of cruelty and oppression is gone, and in its place I purpose to plant emblems of new life, pure and undefiled, which shall be to my people a sign of new hopes, new progress, and new joys."
Turning towards several young men and maidens clad in white near him, the priest spread his hands to heaven, and besought that a blessing might descend upon the act they were appointed to perform. Then he signed to the others to commence, and, with slow and subdued tread, the young men and maidens scattered over the ruins, bearing young shrubs, shoots, and climbing plants, and began to plant them everywhere.
"As these plants blot out the ugly blood-stained wreck of the stronghold of Eustace de Brin, so I trust will the memory and the injury of the wicked deeds this place has known grow dim and fade away. As the new shoots spring up to heaven so shall our faith in God and His goodness receive fresh life until we are a new people."
Reverently the priest spoke, and reverently his people listened and watched until the simple task was ended. Still the priest spoke to them, warning them that they let not slip the chance of fuller life and growth. Gently, too, he chided them that naught would be gained were the yoke of their oppressors but exchanged for an inward yoke of unrestrained selfishness or indulgence.
To Edgar the simple act, and the gentle, earnest words with which it was accompanied, seemed deeply impressive. The profession of arms, of which he had till then thought so highly, seemed to shrink and to become mean and transient when brought into contact with the healing powers of the good old priest. Almost he regretted that the future held out no hopes of his being able to relinquish the trade of arms, and to follow a profession more peaceful and more fraught with benefit to the world at large.
Presently Father Armand began to refer to their visitors' approaching departure.
"In the sudden appearance of Sir Squire here at the moment when our need was greatest I see the finger of God, and to God our thanks are firstly due. But we must yet tell our friend how much we owe him and his comrade for the dauntless courage with which they led us peasants, ignorant of the art of war, to the assault of the mighty castle upon whose dust we stand. How wisely they counselled us and how gallantly they led us, ever taking the foremost and heaviest tasks upon their own shoulders! Upon these maidens, whose misfortunes were the cause of our doughty friends' appearance, we bestow our blessing, and we trust that the memory of their sufferings may soon be blotted out in happiness and joy.
"Sir Squire hath refused to accept any presents from the contents of the castle, save only two mounts for the ladies from the best steeds the stables could provide. With those chargers and our thanks we must bid Godspeed to them, hoping that such a dread experience as the siege beneath the castle moat may never again be thrust upon them. Farewell, true friends, farewell!"
The priest advanced and embraced each of the party in turn, while the simple peasant folk crowded about, and, with many ejaculations of gratitude, signified in their own way their thanks for the strong and timely aid rendered them in their fight for freedom. As soon as he could, Edgar gave the signal for the party to mount, and with a last farewell they rode slowly and thoughtfully from the scene.
* * * * *