How strange had been my
life--that was one of them. Within a few years I had risen to great
wealth, and won the woman I desired. And now where was the wealth and
where was the woman, and what was I? One flying his native land by night
with blood upon his hands, the blood of a King's favourite that, if he
were taken, would bring him to the noose. Oh! how great was the contrast
between the morn and the midnight of that day for me! "Vanity of
vanities. All is vanity!"
I think that my mind must have wandered, for when my soul was swallowed
in this deepest pit of hell, it seemed to me that he whom I had
worshipped as a heavenly patron, St. Hubert, appeared striding by my
horse with a shining countenance and said to me:
"Have good courage, Godson, and remember your mother's words--a wanderer
shall you be, but where'er you go the good bow and the good sword shall
keep you safe and I wander with you. Nor does all love die with one
woman's passing breath."
This phantasy, as it were, lanced the abscess of my pain and for a
while I was easier. Also something of hope came back to me.
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