e six wax torches. Perhaps the white
cross on his cloak was the answer, but the emblem was too far from
words for mere humanity to understand it. She wished they would take
him away, for he was not her father, and she would be far better able
to pray alone in her own room than in the stately presence of that one
master whom all living things fear, man and bird and beast, and
whatsoever has life in the sea.

To pray, yes; but for what? Rebellious against outward things, the
girl's prime intuition told her that her father was quite separated
from his mortal symbol now, having suddenly left that which could
change to become a part of the unknown truth, which must be
unchangeable if it is true; invisible, without form or dimension,
'being' not 'living,' 'conscious' not 'aware,' 'knowing' not 'seeing,'
'eternal' not 'immortal.' That might be the answer, but it meant too
much for a girl to grasp, and explained too little to be comforting.
The threads of thought broke short off again, and Angela's lips went
on making words, while she gazed unwinking on the Knight's
expressionless face.

Suddenly her mind awoke again in a sort of horror of darkness, and her
lips ceased from moving for a while, for she was terrified.

Was there anything beyond? Was it really God who had taken her father
from her in an instant, or was it a blind force that had killed him,
striking in the dark? If that was the answer, what was there left?

The sensitive girl shivered. Perhaps no bodily danger could have sent
that chill through her. It began in her head and crept quickly to her
hands and then to her feet, for it was not a fear of death that came
upon her, nor of anything outward. To lose life was nothing, if there
was heaven beyond; pain, torture, martyrdom would be nothing if God
the good was standing on the other side. All life was but one long
opportunity for sinning, and to lose it while in grace was to be safe
for ever; so much she had been taught and until now she had believed
it. But what loss could be compared with losing God? There were
unbelievers in the world, of course, but she could not understand how
they could still live on, and laugh, and seek pleasure and feel it
keenly. What had they to fill the void of their tremendous loss?
Surely, not to believe was not to hope, to be for ever without hope
was the punishment of the damned, and to live hopeless in the world
was to suffer the pains of hell on earth.

She felt them now. 'The