"
"I thank you," said Gilbert, smiling now, in spite of himself.
"The devils also believe and tremble," retorted Arnold, grimly quoting.
"The taking of the South proves my words; it is not half my meaning.
Men take the cross and give their lives for a name, a tradition, the
sacred memories of a holy place. They will not give a week of their
lives, a drop of their blood, for their fellow-men, nor for the beliefs
that alone can save the world."
"And what are those beliefs?" asked Gilbert.
Arnold paused before he replied, and then as he lifted his face, it was
full of light.
"Faith, Hope, Charity," he answered, and then, as his head drooped with
a sudden look of hopelessness, he turned away with slow steps toward
the great gate.
Gilbert did not change his position as he looked after him rather
sadly. The man's perfect simplicity, his eagerness for the most lofty
ideals, the spotless purity of his life, commanded Gilbert's most true
admiration. And yet to the Norman, Arnold of Brescia was but a dreamer,
a visionary, and a madman. Gilbert could listen to him for a while, but
then the terrible tension of the friar's thought and speech wearied
him. Just now he was almost glad that his companion should depart so
suddenly; but as he watched him he saw him stop, as if he had forgotten
something, and then turn back, searching for some object in the bosom
of his frock.
"I had forgotten what brought me here," said the friar, producing a
small roll of parchment tied and bound together with thin leathern
laces, and tied again with a string of scarlet silk to which was
fastened a heavy leaden seal.
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