ve's the ambassador of loss."

Yet, even in his vague unrest, this prelate who through humility had
found the greater love, recalled his own words to Mark Griffin: "No one
has lost what he sincerely seeks to find." Was not the past merely a
preparation for the future? Peace might be found in any kind of duty.
He looked up into the face of the sculptured Christ, and a
swiftly-receding wave of agony swept across his mobile features, while
his hand clenched tightly. "A soldier of the Cross," he murmured, and
the hand was raised in quick salute. "Thy will be done." It was his
final renunciation of self.

Sinking into the chair before the desk, he sat there with bowed head.
At last he arose and, the book still in his hand, went back to his
chair by the fire. As he sat looking into the flames, his old dreams
of greater works rose up before him--those things that had been quite
forgotten in his days of sorrow. They were coming back to life, and he
began to be half afraid of these, his dream children. Already they
seemed too real.

Ann, all unconscious of his presence, opened the door; she paused,
hesitatingly silent.

"Well, Ann?" The voice was gentle, resigned.

"A telegram, Father."

He took the envelope which somehow reminded him of the yellow flames of
his fire and seemed reaching out to grasp him. With a murmured prayer
he tore it open. It was a message from the Bishop. The words were
few, but only too easily understood by the priest who sought obscurity:

"Forgive me, my friend. I had not the heart to tell you the truth. I
need you now, and then, perhaps, those greater than I. You may stay
but a very little while. Come to me immediately after Christmas."

The flame-colored message went to its kind amid the great logs of the
fireplace. Father Murray picked up his book again, turned its pages,
and read softly to himself:

"Ah! is Thy love indeed
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
Ah! must--
Designer Infinite--
Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?"

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Charred Wood, by Myles Muredach

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