By What Authority?

by Robert Hugh Benson

  CHAPTER XIV

  EASTER DAY

  Holy Week passed for Anthony like one of those strange dreams in whichthe sleeper awakes to find tears on his face, and does not know whetherthey are for joy or sorrow. At the end of the Retreat that closed on PalmSunday evening, Anthony had made his choice, and told Father Robert.

  It was not the Exercises themselves that were the direct agent, any morethan were the books he had read: the books had cleared away intellectualdifficulties, and the Retreat moral obstacles, and left his soul desiringthe highest, keen to see it, and free to embrace it. The thought that hewould have to tell Isabel appeared to him of course painful anddifficult; but it was swallowed up in the joy of his conversion. He madean arrangement with Father Robert to be received at Cuckfield on EasterEve; so that he might have an opportunity of telling Isabel before hetook the actual step. The priest told him he would give him a letter toMr. Barnes, so that he might be received immediately upon his arrival.

  Holy Week, then, was occupied for Anthony in receiving instruction eachmorning in the little oak parlour from Father Robert; and in attendingthe devotions in the evening with the rest of the household. He alsoheard mass each day.

  It was impossible, of course, to carry out the special devotions of theseason with the splendour and elaboration that belonged to them; butAnthony was greatly impressed by what he saw. The tender reverence withwhich the Catholics loved to linger over the details of the Passion, andto set them like precious jewels in magnificent liturgical settings, andthen to perform these stately heart-broken approaches to God with all thedignity and solemnity possible, appealed to him in strong contrast to thecold and loveless services, as he now thought them, of the EstablishedChurch that he had left.

  On the Good Friday evening he was long in the parlour with Father Robert.

  "I am deeply thankful, my son," he said kindly, "that you have been ableto come to a decision. Of course I could have wished you to enter theSociety; but God has not given you a vocation to that apparently.However, you can do great work for Him as a seminary priest; and I amexceedingly glad that you will be going to Douai so soon."

  "I must just put my affairs in order at home," he said, "and see whatarrangements my sister will wish to make; and by Midsummer at the latestI shall hope to be gone."

  "I must be off early to-morrow," said the priest. "I have to be far fromhere by to-morrow night, in a house where I shall hope to stay until I,too, go abroad again. Possibly we may meet at Douai in the autumn. Well,my son, pray for me."

  Anthony knelt for his blessing, and the priest was gone.

  Presently Mr. Buxton came in and sat down. He was full of delight at theresult of his scheme; and said so again and again.

  "Who could have predicted it?" he cried. "To think that you were visitingme in prison fifteen months ago; and now this has come about in my house!Truly the Gospel blessing on your action has not been long on the way!And that you will be a priest, too! You must come and be my chaplain someday; if we are both alive and escape the gallows so long. Old Mr. Blakeis sore displeased with me. I am a trial to him, I know. He will hardlyspeak to me in my own house; I declare I tremble when I meet him in thegallery; for fear he will rate me before my servants. I forget what hislast grievance is; but I think it is something to do with a saint that hewishes me to be devout to; and I do not like her. Of course I do notdoubt her sanctity; but Mr. Blake always confuses veneration and liking.I yield to none in my veneration for Saint What's-her-name; but I do notlike her; and that is an end of the matter."

  After a little more talk, Mr. Buxton looked at Anthony curiously a momentor two; and then said:

  "I wonder you have not guessed yet who Father Robert is; for I am sureyou know that that cannot be his real name."

  Anthony looked at him wonderingly.

  "Well, he is in bed now; and will be off early to-morrow; and I have hisleave to tell you. He is Father Persons, of whom you may have heard."

  Anthony stared.

  "Yes," said his host, "the companion of Campion. All the world supposeshim to be in Rome; and I think that not half-a-dozen persons besidesourselves know where he is; but at this moment, I assure you, FatherRobert Persons, of the Society of Jesus, is asleep (or awake, as the casemay be) in the little tapestry chamber overhead."

  "Now," went on Mr. Buxton, "that you are one of us, I will tell you quiteplainly that Father Robert, as we will continue to call him, is in myopinion one of the most devout priests that ever said mass; and also oneof the most shrewd men that ever drew breath; but I cannot follow himeverywhere. You will find, Mr. Anthony, that the Catholics in England areof two kinds: those who seem to have as their motto the text I quoted toyou in Lambeth prison; and who count their duty to Caesar as scarcely lessimportant than their direct duty to God. I am one of these: I sincerelydesire above all things to serve her Grace, and I would not, for all theworld, join in any confederacy to dethrone her, for I hold she is mylawful and true Prince. Then there is another party who would nothesitate for a moment to take part against their Prince, though I do notsay to the slaying of her, if thereby the Catholic Religion could beestablished again in these realms. It is an exceedingly difficult point;and I understand well how honest and good men can hold that view: forthey say, and rightly, that the Kingdom of God is the first thing in theworld, and while they may not commit sin of course to further it, yet inthings indifferent they must sacrifice all for it; and, they add, it isindifferent as to who sits on the throne of England; therefore one Princemay be pushed off it, so long as no crime is committed in the doing ofit, and another seated there; if thereby the Religion may be soestablished again. You see the point, Mr. Anthony, no doubt; and how fineand delicate it is. Well, Father Robert is, I think, of that party; andso are many of the authorities abroad. Now I tell you all this, and onthis sacred day too, because I may have no other opportunity; and I donot wish you to be startled or offended after you have become a Catholic.And I entreat you to be warm and kindly to those who take other viewsthan your own; for I fear that many troubles lie in front of us of ourown causing: for there are divisions amongst us already: although not atall of course (for which I thank God) on any of the saving truths of theFaith."

  Anthony's excitement on hearing Father Robert's real name was very great.As he lay in bed that night the thought of it all would hardly let himsleep. He turned to and fro, trying to realise that there, within a dozenyards of him, lay the famous Jesuit for whose blood all ProtestantEngland was clamouring. The name of Persons was still sinister andterrible even to this convert; and he could scarcely associate in histhoughts all its suggestiveness with that kindly fervent lover of JesusChrist who had led him with such skill and tenderness along the way ofthe Gospel. Others in England were similarly astonished in later years tolearn that a famous Puritan book of devotions was scarcely other than areprint of Father Persons' "Christian Directory."

  The following day about noon, after an affectionate good-bye to his hostand Mr. Blake, Anthony rode out of the iron-wrought gates and down thevillage street in the direction of Great Keynes.

  It was a perfect spring-day. Overhead there was a soft blue sky withtranslucent clouds floating in it; underfoot and on all sides the mysteryof life was beginning to stir and manifest itself. The last touch ofbitterness had passed from the breeze, and all living growth was makinghaste out into the air. The hedges were green with open buds, andbubbling with the laughter and ecstasy of the birds; the high slopingoverhung Sussex lanes were sweet with violets and primroses; and here andthere under the boughs Anthony saw the blue carpet of bell-flowersspread. Rabbits whisked in and out of the roots, superintending andprovisioning the crowded nurseries underground; and as Anthony came out,now and again on the higher and open spaces larks vanished up their airyspirals of song into the illimitable blue; or hung, visible musicalspecks against a fleecy cloud, pouring down their thin cataract ofmelody. And as he rode, for every note of music and every glimpse ofco
lour round him, his own heart poured out pulse after pulse of thatspiritual essence that lies beneath all beauty, and from which all beautyis formed, to the Maker of all this and the Saviour of himself. Therewere set wide before him now the gates of a kingdom, compared to whichthis realm of material life round about was but a cramped and wintryprison after all.

  How long he had lived in the cold and the dark! he thought; kept alive bythe refracted light that stole down the steps to where he sat in theshadow of death; saved from freezing by the warmth of grace that managedto survive the chill about him; and all the while the Catholic Church wasglowing and pulsating with grace, close to him and yet unseen; that greatrealm full of heavenly sunlight, that was the life of all itsmembers--that sunlight that had poured down so steadily ever since thewinter had rolled away on Calvary; and that ever since then had beenelaborating and developing into a thousand intricate forms all that wascapable of absorbing it. One by one the great arts had been drawn intothat Kingdom, transformed and immortalised by the vital and miraculoussap of grace; philosophies, languages, sciences, all in turn were takenup and sanctified; and now this Puritan soul, thirsty for knowledge andgrace, and so long starved and imprisoned, was entering at last into herheritage.

  All this was of course but dimly felt in the direct perceptions ofAnthony; but Father Robert had said enough to open something of thevision, and he himself had sufficient apprehension to make him feel thatthe old meagre life was passing away, and a new life of unfathomedpossibilities beginning. As he rode the wilderness appeared to rejoiceand blossom like the rose, as the spring of nature and grace stirredabout and within him; and only an hour or two's ride away lay the veryhills and streams of the Promised Land.

  * * * *

  About half-past three he crossed the London road, and before four o'clockhe rode round to the door of the Dower House, dismounted, telling thegroom to keep his horse saddled.

  He went straight through the hall, calling Isabel as he went, and intothe garden, carrying his flat cap and whip and gloves: and as he came outbeneath the holly tree, there she stood before him on the top of the oldstone garden steps, that rose up between earthen flower-jars to theyew-walk on the north of the house. He went across the grass smiling, andas he came saw her face grow whiter and whiter. She was in a dark sergedress with a plain ruff, and a hood behind it, and her hair was coiled ingreat masses on her head. She stood trembling, and he came up and tookher in his arms tenderly and kissed her, for his news would be heavypresently.

  "Why, Isabel," he said, "you look astonished to see me. But I could notwell send a man, as I had only Geoffrey with me."

  She tried to speak, but could not; and looked so overwhelmed andterrified that Anthony grew frightened; he saw he must be very gentle.

  "Sit down," he said, drawing her to a seat beside the path at the head ofthe steps: "and tell me the news."

  By a great effort she regained her self-control.

  "I did not know when you were coming," she said tremulously. "I wasstartled."

  He talked of his journey for a few minutes; and of the kindness of thefriend with whom he had been staying, and the beauty of the house andgrounds, and so on; until she seemed herself again; and the piteousstartled look had died out of her eyes: and then he forced himself toapproach his point; for the horse was waiting saddled; and he must get toCuckfield and back by supper if possible.

  He took her hand and played with it gently as he spoke, turning over herrings.

  "Isabel," he said, "I have news to tell you. It is not bad news--at leastI think not--it is the best thing that has ever come to me yet, by thegrace of God, and so you need not be anxious or frightened. But I amafraid you may think it bad news. It--it is about religion, Isabel."

  He glanced at her, and saw that terrified look again in her face: she wasstaring at him, and her hand in his began to twitch and tremble.

  "Nay, nay," he said, "there is no need to look like that. I have not lostmy faith in God. Rather, I have gained it. Isabel, I am going to be aCatholic."

  A curious sound broke from her lips; and a look so strange came into herface that he threw his arm round her, thinking she was going to faint:and he spoke sharply.

  "Isabel, Isabel, what is there to fear? Look at me!"

  Then a cry broke from her white lips, and she struggled to stand up.

  "No, no, no! you are mocking me. Oh! Anthony, what have I done, that youshould treat me like this?"

  "Mocking!" he said, "before God I am not. My horse is waiting to take meto the priest."

  "But--but--" she began again. "Oh! then what have you done to JamesMaxwell?"

  "James Maxwell! Why? What do you mean? You got my note!"

  "No--no. There was no answer, he said."

  Anthony stared.

  "Why, I wrote--and then Lady Maxwell! Does she not know, and Jameshimself?"

  Isabel shook her head and looked at him wildly.

  "Well, well, that must wait; one thing at a time," he said. "I _cannot_wait now. I must go to Cuckfield. Ah! Isabel, say you understand."

  Once or twice she began to speak, but failed; and sat panting and staringat him.

  "My darling," he said, "do not look like that: we are both Christiansstill: we at least serve the same God. Surely you will not cast me offfor this?"

  "Cast you off?" she said; and she laughed piteously and sharply; and thenwas grave again. Then she suddenly cried,

  "Oh, Anthony, swear to me you are not mocking me."

  "My darling," he said, "why should I mock you? I have made the Exercises,and have been instructed; and I have here a letter to Mr. Barnes from thepriest who has taught me; so that I may be received to-night, and make myEaster duties: and Geoffrey is still at the door holding Roland to takeme to Cuckfield to-night."

  "To Cuckfield!" she said. "You will not find Mr. Barnes there."

  "Not there! why not? Where shall I find him? How do you know?"

  "Because he is here," she went on in the same strange voice, "at theHall."

  "Well," said Anthony, "that saves me a journey. Why is he here?"

  "He is here to say mass to-morrow."

  "Ah!"

  "And--and----"

  "What is it, Isabel?"

  "And--to receive me into the Church to-night."

  * * * *

  The brother and sister walked up and down that soft spring evening aftersupper, on the yew-walk; with the whispers and caresses of the scentedbreeze about them, the shy dewy eyes of the stars looking down at thembetween the tall spires of the evergreens overhead; and in their heartsthe joy of lovers on a wedding-night.

  Anthony had soon told the tale of James Maxwell and Isabel had nearlyknelt to ask her brother's pardon for having ever allowed even the shadowof a suspicion to darken her heart. Lady Maxwell, too, who had come downwith her sister to see Isabel about some small arrangement, was told; andshe too had been nearly overwhelmed with the joy of knowing that the ladwas innocent, and the grief of having dreamed he could be otherwise, andat the wholly unexpected news of his conversion; but she had gone at lastback to the Hall to make all ready for the double ceremony of that night,and the Paschal Feast on the next day. Mistress Margaret was in Isabel'sroom, moving about with a candle, and every time that the two reached theturn at the top of the steps they saw her light glimmering.

  Then Anthony, as they walked under the stars, told Isabel of his greathope that he, too, one day would be a priest, and serve God and hiscountrymen that way.

  "Oh, Anthony," she whispered, and clung to that dear arm that held herown; terrified for the moment at the memory of what had been the price ofpriesthood to James Maxwell.

  "And where shall you be trained for it?" she asked.

  "At Douai: and--Isabel--I think I must go this summer."

  "This summer!" she said. "Why----" and she was silent.

  "Anthony," she went on, "I would like to tell you about Hubert."

 
And then the story of the past months came out; she turned away her faceas she talked; and at last she told him how Hubert had come for hisanswer, a week before his time.

  "It was on Monday," she said. "I heard him on the stairs, and stood up ashe came in; and he stopped at the door in silence, and I could not bearto look at him. I could hear him breathing quickly; and then I could notbear to--think of it all; and I dropped down into my chair again, and hidmy face in my arm and burst into crying. And still he said nothing, but Ifelt him come close up to me and kneel down by me; and he put his handover mine, and held them tight; and then he whispered in a kind of quickway:

  "'I will be what you please; Catholic or Protestant, or what you will';and I lifted my head and looked at him, because it was dreadful to hearhim--Hubert--say that: and he was whiter than I had ever seen him; andthen--then he began to wrinkle his mouth--you know the way he does whenhis horse is pulling or kicking: and then he began to say all kinds ofthings: and oh! I was so sorry; because he had behaved so well tillthen."

  "What did he say?" asked Anthony quickly.

  "Ah! I have tried to forget," said Isabel. "I do not want to think of himas he was when he was angry and disappointed. At last he flung out of theroom and down the stairs, and I have not seen him since. But Lady Maxwellsent for me the same evening an hour later; and told me that she couldnot live there any longer. She said that Hubert had ridden off to London;and would not be down again till Whitsuntide; but that she must be gonebefore then. So I am afraid that he said things he ought not; but ofcourse she did not tell me one word. And she asked me to go with her.And, and--Anthony, I did not know what to say; because I did not knowwhat you would do when you heard that I was a Catholic; I was waiting totell you when you came home--but now--but now----Oh, Anthony, mydarling!"

  At last the two came indoors. Mistress Margaret met them in the hall. Shelooked for a moment at the two; at Anthony in his satin and lace and hissmiling face over his ruff and his steady brown eyes; and Isabel on hisarm, with her clear pale face and bosom and black high-piled hair, andher velvet and lace, and a rope of pearls.

  "Why," said the old nun, smiling, "you look a pair of lovers."

  Then presently the three went together up to the Hall.

  * * * *

  An hour or two passed away; the Paschal moon was rising high over thetall yew hedge behind the Italian garden; and the Hall lay beneath itwith silver roofs and vane; and black shadows under the eaves and in theangles. The tall oriel window of the Hall looking on to the terrace shoneout with candlelight; and the armorial coats of the Maxwells and thefamilies they had married with glimmered in the upper panes. From thecloister wing there shone out above the curtains lines of light in LadyMaxwell's suite of rooms, and the little oak parlour beneath, as well asfrom one or two other rooms; but the rest of the house, with theexception of the great hall and the servants' quarters, was all dark. Itwas as if the interior life had shifted westwards, leaving the remainderdesolate. The gardens to the south were silent, for the night breeze haddropped; and the faint ripple of the fountain within the cloister-courtwas the only sound that broke the stillness. And once or twice the sleepychirp of a bird nestling by his mate in the deep shrubberies showed thatthe life of the spring was beating out of sight.

  And then at last the door in the west angle of the terrace, between thecloister wing and the front of the house, opened, and a flood of mellowlight poured out on to the flat pavement. A group stood within the littleoaken red-tiled lobby; Lady Maxwell and her sister, slender and dignifiedin their dark evening dresses and ruffs; Anthony holding his cap, andIsabel with a lace shawl over her head, and at the back the white hairand ruddy face of old Mr. Barnes in his cassock at the bottom of thestairs.

  As Mistress Margaret opened the door and looked out, Lady Maxwell tookIsabel in her arms and kissed her again and again. Then Anthony took theold lady's hand and kissed it, but she threw her other hand round him andkissed him too on the forehead. Then without another word the brother andsister came out into the moonlight, passed down the side of the cloisterwing, and turning once to salute the group who waited, framed and bathedin golden light, they turned the corner to the Dower House. Then the doorclosed; the oriel window suddenly darkened, and an hour after the lightsin the wing went out, and Maxwell Hall lay silver and grey again in themoonlight.

  The night passed on. Once Isabel awoke, and saw her windows blue andmystical and her room full of a dim radiance from the bright nightoutside. It was irresistible, and she sprang out of bed and went to thewindow across the cool polished oak floor, and leaned with her elbows onthe sill, looking out at the square of lawn and the low ivied wallbeneath, and the tall trees rising beyond ashen-grey and olive-black inthe brilliant glory that poured down from almost directly overhead, forthe Paschal moon was at its height above the house.

  And then suddenly the breathing silence was broken by a ripple of melody,and another joined and another; and Isabel looked and wondered andlistened, for she had never heard before the music of the mysteriousnight-flight of the larks all soaring and singing together when the restof the world is asleep. And she listened and wondered as the stream ofsong poured down from the wonderful spaces of the sky, rising to far-offecstasies as the wheeling world sank yet further with its sleepingmeadows and woods beneath the whirling singers; and then the earth for amoment turned in its sleep as Isabel listened, and the trees stirred asone deep breath came across the woods, and a thrush murmured a note ortwo beside the drive, and a rabbit suddenly awoke in the field and ran onto the lawn and sat up and looked at the white figure at the window; andfar away from the direction of Lindfield a stag brayed.

  "So longeth my soul," whispered Isabel to herself.

  Then all grew still again; the trees hushed; the torrent of music, moretumultuous as it neared the earth, suddenly ceased; and Isabel at thewindow leaned further out and held her hands in the bath of light; andspoke softly into the night:

  "Oh, Lord Jesus, how kind Thou art to me!"

  * * * *

  Then at last the morning came, and Christ was risen beyond a doubt.

  Just before the sun came up, when all the sky was luminous to meet him,the two again passed up and round the corner, and into the little door inthe angle. There was the same shaded candle or two, for the house was yetdark within; and they passed up and on together through the sitting-roominto the chapel where each had made a First Confession the night before,and had together been received into the Catholic Church. Now it was allfragrant with flowers and herbs; a pair of tall lilies leaned theirdelicate heads towards the altar, as if to listen for the soundlessComing in the Name of the Lord; underfoot all about the altar lay sprigsof sweet herbs, rosemary, thyme, lavender, bay-leaves; with whiteblossoms scattered over them--a soft carpet for the Pierced Feet; notlike those rustling palm-swords over which He rode to death last week.The black oak chest that supported the altar-stone was glorious in itsvesture of cloth-of-gold; and against the white-hung wall at the back,behind the silver candlesticks, leaned the gold plate of the house, to dohonour to the King. And presently there stood there the radiant rustlingfigure of the Priest, his personality sheathed and obliterated beneaththe splendid symbolism of his vestments, stiff and chinking with jewelsas he moved.

  The glorious Mass of Easter Day began.

  "_Immolatus est Christus. Itaque epulemur_," Saint Paul cried from thesouth corner of the altar to the two converts. "Christ our Passover issacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast, but not with the oldleaven."

  "_Quis revolvet nobis lapidem?_" wailed the women. "Who shall roll usaway the stone from the door of the sepulchre?"

  "And when they looked," cried the triumphant Evangelist, "they saw thatthe stone was rolled away; for it was very great"--"_erat quippe magnusvalde_."

  Here then they knelt at last, these two come home together, these who hadfollowed their several paths so resolutely in the dark, not kno
wing thatthe other was near, yet each seeking a hidden Lord, and finding both Himand one another now in the full and visible glory of His Face--_orto jamsole_--for the Sun of Righteousness had dawned, and there was healing forall sorrows in His Wings.

  "_Et credo in unam sanctam Catholicam et Apostolicam Ecclesiam_"--theirhearts cried all together. "I believe at last in a Catholic Church; one,for it is built on one and its faith is one; holy, for it is the Daughterof God and the Mother of Saints; Apostolic, for it is guided by thePrince of Apostles and very Vicar of Christ."

  "_Et exspecto vitam venturi saeculi._" "I look for the life of the worldto come; and I count all things but loss, houses and brethren and sistersand father and mother and wife and children and lands, when I look tothat everlasting life, and Him Who is the Way to it. _Amen._"

  So from step to step the liturgy moved on with its sonorous and exultanttramp, and the crowding thoughts forgot themselves, and watched as thesplendid heralds went by; the triumphant trumpets of _Gloria in excelsis_had long died away; the proclamation of the names and titles of the Princehad been made. _Unum Dominum Jesum Christum_; _Filium Dei Unigenitum_;_Ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula_; _Deum de Deo_; _Lumen de Lumine_;_Deum Verum de Deo Vero_; _Genitum non factum_; _Consubstantialem Patri._

  Then His first achievement had been declared; "_Per quem omnia factasunt._"

  Then his great and later triumphs; how He had ridden out alone from thePalace and come down the steep of heaven in quest of His Love; how He haddisguised Himself for her sake; and by the crowning miracle of love, themightiest work that Almighty God has ever wrought, He was made man; andthe herald hushed his voice in awe as he declared it, and the peoplethrew themselves prostrate in honour of this high and lowly Prince; thenwas recounted the tale of those victories that looked so bitterly likefailures, and the people held their breath and whispered it too; then inrising step after step His last conquests were told; how the Black Knightwas overthrown, his castle stormed and his prison burst; and the story ofthe triumph of the return and of the Coronation and the Enthronement atthe Father's Right Hand on high.

  The heralds passed on; and mysterious figures came next, bearingMelchisedech's gifts; shadowing the tremendous event that follows onbehind.

  After a space or two came the first lines of the bodyguard, the heavenlycreatures dimly seen moving through clouds of glory, Angels, Dominations,Powers, Heavens, Virtues, and blessed Seraphim, all crying out togetherto heaven and earth to welcome Him Who comes after in the bright shadowof the Name of the Lord; and the trumpets peal out for the last time,"Hosanna in the highest."

  Then a hush fell, and presently in the stillness came riding the greatPersonages who stand in heaven about the Throne; first, the Queen Motherherself, glorious within and without, moving in clothing of wrought gold,high above all others; then, the great Princes of the Blood Royal, whoare admitted to drink of the King's own Cup, and sit beside Him on theirthrones, Peter and Paul and the rest, with rugged faces and scarredhands; and with them great mitred figures, Linus, Cletus and Clement,with their companions.

  And then another space and a tingling silence; the crowds bow down likecorn before the wind, the far-off trumpets are silent; and He comes--Hecomes!

  On He moves, treading under foot the laws He has made, yet borne up bythem as on the Sea of Galilee; He Who inhabits eternity at an instant ismade present; He Who transcends space is immanent in material kind; HeWho never leaves the Father's side rests on His white linen carpet, heldyet unconfined; in the midst of the little gold things and embroidery andcandle-flames and lilies, while the fragrance of the herbs rises aboutHim. There rests the gracious King, before this bending group; the restof the pageant dies into silence and nothingness outside the radiantcircle of His Presence. There is His immediate priest-herald, who hasmarked out this halting-place for the Prince, bowing before Him, strivingby gestures to interpret and fulfil the silence that words must alwaysleave empty; here behind are the adoring human hearts, each looking withclosed eyes into the Face of the Fairest of the children of men, eachcrying silently words of adoration, welcome and utter love.

  The moments pass; the court ceremonies are performed. The Virgins thatfollow the Lamb, Felicitas, Perpetua, Agatha and the rest step forwardsmiling, and take their part; the Eternal Father is invoked again in theSon's own words; and at length the King, descending yet one further stepof infinite humility, flings back the last vesture of His outward Royaltyand casts Himself in a passion of haste and desire into the still andinvisible depths of these two quivering hearts, made in His own Image,that lift themselves in an agony of love to meet Him....

  * * * *

  Meanwhile the Easter morning is deepening outside; the sun is risingabove the yew hedge, and the dew flashes drop by drop into a diamond andvanishes; the thrush that stirred and murmured last night is pouring outhis song; and the larks that rose into the moonlight are running to andfro in the long meadow grass. The tall slender lilies that have not beenchosen to grace the sacramental Presence-Chamber, are at least in theKing's own garden, where He walks morning and evening in the cool of theday; and waiting for those who will have seen Him face to face....

  And presently they come, the tall lad and his sister, silent andtogether, out into the radiant sunlight; and the joy of the morning andthe singing thrush and the jewels of dew and the sweet swaying lilies areshamed and put to silence by the joy upon their faces and in theirhearts.

  PART III