language of a new
day, his own religion of love, humility, and poverty. The new faith
springs from the very heart of Catholicism, banned and persecuted as new
faiths have always been; but every day it lives, it spreads! Knowledge
and science walk hand in hand with it; the future is before it. It
spreads in tales and poems, like the Franciscan message; it penetrates
the priesthood; it passes like the risen body of the Lord through the
walls of seminaries and episcopal palaces; through the bulwarks that
surround the Vatican itself. Tenderly, yet with an absolute courage, it
puts aside old abuses, old ignorances!--like St. Francis, it holds out
its hand to a spiritual bride--and the name of that bride is Truth! And
in his grave within the rock--on tiptoe--the Poverello listens--the
Poverello smiles!"

The poet raised his hand and pointed to the convent pile, towering under
the moonlight. Diana's eyes filled with tears. Sir James had come back
to the group, his face, with its dignified and strenuous lines,
bent--half perplexed, half frowning--on the speaker. And the magic of
the Umbrian night stole upon each quickened pulse.

But presently, when the group had broken up and Ferrier was once more
strolling beside Diana, he said to her:

"A fine prophecy! But I had a letter this morning from another Italian
writer. It contains the following passage: 'The soul of this nation is
dead. The old enthusiasms are gone. We have the most selfish, the most
cynical _bourgeoisie_ in Europe. Happy the men of 1860! They had some
illusions left--religion, monarchy, country. We too have men who _would
give themselves_--if they could. But to what? No one wants them any
more--_nessuno li vuole piu_!' Well, there are the two. Which will
you believe?"

"The poet!" said Diana, in a low faltering voice. But it was no cry of
triumphant faith. It was the typical cry of our generation before the
closed door that openeth not.

* * * * *

"That was good," said Marion Vincent, as the last of the party
disappeared through the terrace window, and she and Diana were left
alone--"but this is better."

She drew Diana toward her, kissed her, and smiled at her. But the smile
wrung Diana's heart.

"Why have you been so ill?--and I never knew!" She wrapped a shawl round
her friend, and, holding her hands, gazed into her face.

"It was all so hurried--there was so little time to think or remember.
But now there is time."