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 imitations of chivalry that would pervert the loftiest impulses of true manhood from the defence of the pilgrim, and the protection of dames and children, to the distorted and evil energy of fanatics’ cruelty, against the inherent right of every man to cbey in his thoughts and actions those impulses of his own, constitution that are the necessary expression of the qualities his Maker has thought good to have him consist of. In obeying those impulses in thought, belief and action, he truly utters the voice that God has endowed him with.”

Absorbed in these reflections, Lord Zawis passed within. Pietro retired to the great hall, and here Eudocia sat, and two or three apparently aged women near her. As Pietro entered Eudocia wearily advanced to meet him. “We are indebted to you,” she said quietly, “for most timely and generous aid in great peril. Truly our good Father did not prepare sacrifice at the hands of those sons of Belial. He has, I trust, reserved us for some more signal act of conformity to his eternal purposes. My companions, who are exhausted by travel, have charged me to express their thanks and blessings.” Being reassured still further by the predestinarian tone of these words. Pietro relinquished all pretence of disguise. “Sister,” he replied courteously, “I am but a younger son in my father’s house. Called by his inward voice, I seek that full consolation that only the perfect can partake of.” A beaming eye, a graceful smile, and gently extended hand, on both sides revealed at once that unanimity of faith, that trust-