“Mother, dear mother,” said the child, as he heard Felicia commend Sir Guido to the prayers of the poor men, “is it not my father for whom you ask these poor people to pray?”
“Yes, my child; seven years have passed since he left me; but a few months had we been married before God summoned him to the Holy Land, and he took the cross and went against the infidel.”
As she thus spoke to her son, Felicia drew nigh to a tall pilgrim who stood apart from the rest of the poor people. She gave him the alms, and asked of him his prayers for her husband’s return. Low bowed the pilgrim his head, but not a word did he speak as the lady passed onwards. Her son followed after Felicia; as he passed the pilgrim, he bowed himself forward and embraced the youth.
“God give thee grace,” said he with a trembling voice, “God give thee grace to do his will.”
“Thanks, father, for thy blessing,” said Felicia; “can I do aught to reward thy good wishes?”
“Lady,” said the pilgrim in a low, stifled voice, “I crave the small hermitage below the eagle’s rock; there let me live and die.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Felicia, “the eagle’s rock; art thou of this place, good father, that thou knowest the name so well?”
“I was of thy people once, fair lady; now I am God’s poor servant.”
“Be it as thou desirest; go, father, and pray for this house and its long-lost master.”
Those who could see the pilgrim’s face saw the tears start in his eyes as he accepted Felicia’s gift and turned towards his lonely hermitage. Many years did he live there, many a time did he come to the castle yard, and his daily companion was Felicia’s child, Sir Guido’s son. Day after day did he talk to him of adventures of knights in the Holy Land, of those that had fallen fighting for the sepulchre, and those who had passed through the fiery ordeal of that expedition. At last death came upon him.
“Dear boy,” said he to Sir Guido’s son, “take this ring to thy mother, and bid her, if she would see me ere I die, come hither quickly.”
“Mother, dear mother,” said the youth when he entered Felicia’s chamber, “the good pilgrim is sorely ill; he sends you this ring, and bids you see him ere he die.”
Felicia cast one look upon the ring. “Haste, haste, my child!” she exclaimed, “it is my lord’s, your father’s ring; come, come to the forest!”