isciples, and the old jugs were often filled
with new wine, which he, Benedictus, never tasted, and which the saint
rejected as poison. He was no longer young and strong enough to let his
grief and indignation rage like a purifying thunderstorm amidst these
abuses.

But Heinz Schorlin!

If this youth of noble blood, equally gifted in mind and person, whom
Heaven itself had summoned with lightning and thunder, devoted himself
from sincere conviction, with a heart full of youthful enthusiasm, to
his sacred cause--if Heinz, consecrated by him, and fully aware of
the real purposes of the saint, who, also untaught and rich only in
knowledge of the heart, had begun a career so momentous in consequences,
announced himself as a fearless champion of St. Francis's will, then the
St. George had been found who was summoned to slay the dragon, and with
his blood instil new life at last into the monasteries of Germany, then
perhaps the fresh prosperity which he desired for the order was at
hand. The larger number of its recruits came from the lower ranks of the
people. Sir Heinz Schorlin's example would perhaps bring it also, as an
elevating element, the sons of his peers.

So, bathed in perspiration, and often on the point of fainting, he
followed Heinz through the dust of the highway.

Often, when his strength failed, and he sat down by the roadside to take
breath, his soul-life gained a loftier aspiration.

After Heinz rode by without seeing him he continued his way until his
feet grew so heavy that he was forced to sit down beside the road. Then
he imagined that the Saviour Himself came towards him, gazed lovingly
into his face, and turned to beckon some one, Benedictus did not know
whom, heavenward. Suddenly the clouds that had covered the sky parted,
and the old man fancied he heard the song of the troubadour whose
soul had been subdued by love for God, which his friend and master had
addressed to his Redeemer. It must come from the lips of his angels on
high, but he longed to join in the strain. True, his aged lips, rapidly
as they moved, uttered no sound, but he fancied he was sharing in
this song of the soul, glowing with fervent, consuming flames of love,
dedicated to the Saviour, the source of all love:

"Love's flames my kindling heart control,
Love for my Bridegroom fair,
When on my hand he placed the ring,
The Lamb whose fervent love I share
Did pierce my inmost soul,"

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