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There were some who were sad and mute amid the general rejoicings, and among them was Father Omehr. In vain had he implored Rodolph to postpone the session, at least until the appointed time would arrive: the King of Arles regarded the delay as suicidal.
The cottage of the missionary was spared on account of its insignificance; and Father Omehr led the Lord of Hers and the father and son into his humble apartments, which had been zealously tended by his pious penitents. All was arranged just as he had left it, to his own bed and the corner where Gilbert had slept.
She was now incapable of relishing revenge. The feudal antipathies so long nourished and so early instilled as to be almost a part of her existence, were entirely, eradicated. From the evening of her interview with Father Omehr, before the now ruined Church of the Nativity, she had dedicated her life to the extinguishment of the feud between the houses of Hers and Stramen.
These noble missionaries slowly but surely prepared the canvas on which were afterward laid, in colors of enduring brightness, the features of Christian civilization. When Father Omehr returned, Gilbert was asleep. The sacristan put in his hands a letter from a distinguished prelate, informing him of the nomination of Henry, canon of Verdun, by Henry IV.
He longed for the hour when the whole mass would be in motion against a body as beautiful and powerful as itself. With far different feelings did Father Omehr behold the formidable battalia. He knew that the pomp of war, if often sung by poets, is oftener chronicled in hell.
Gilbert followed him out of the church to a very small house a few paces off, within the shadow of the wood. The house, which was but one story high, was divided into two rooms by a stone partition. In the back room slept the pastor of the church, Father Omehr. The front room contained a table and a bench.
Between the chieftain and the motionless object of his wrath stood Father Omehr. The mace must crush that majestic forehead, that benevolent eye, must steep those venerable hairs in blood, before it can reach the unfortunate Gilbert. Calm, but stern, the missionary, stood, superior to the frenzy of the noble. "Forbear! In the name of God I command you forbear!"
"It resembles more the pavement of a cathedral than the simple floor of a chapel," said Father Omehr. "I wish we had such an one to our little church at Stramen." "Trust that to your successor," replied the duke; "you have given him the walls, the pillars, the windows, and the roof, and are well entitled to a pavement and alabaster altar at his hands."
It was in charge of Herman, a priest, who had studied at Monte Cassino under the Benedictines, with Father Omehr, whom he loved as a brother. They had spent their period of training and had been ordained together; and, for forty years they had labored in the same vineyard, side by side, yet seldom meeting.
Thus, in the minor Church of the Nativity in the lordship of Stramen, which had been designed by Father Omehr, and which had exhausted the revenues of the barony, the missionary had conceived it upon a scale to which his present means were insufficient, but to which the charity of another generation would be adequate. This was always the case with the cathedrals.
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