in cerements, would
the seal of the Vatican be set upon the stone of monastic rules and
regulations, making it fast, secure, inviolable? Would he, turning
sadly from the Zion of hopes fulfilled, be walking in dull despair to
the Emmaus of an empty home, of a day far spent, holding no promise of
a brighter dawn?

But, even as his mind dwelt on the symbolism of that sacred scene, the
Knight remembered that the two who walked in sadness did not long walk
alone. One, stepping silently, came up with them; knowing all, yet
asking tenderest question; the Master, Whom they mourned, Himself drew
near and went with them.

It seemed to Hugh d'Argent that if so real a Presence as that, could
draw near to him and to Mora at this sad parting of the ways, if their
religion did but hold a thing so vital, then might they have a true
vision of Life, which should make clear the reason for the long years
of suffering, and point the way to the glory which should follow.
Then, being blessed, not merely by the Church and the Bishop but by the
Christ Himself--He Who at Cana granted the best wine when the earthly
vintage failed the wedding feast--they might leave behind forever the
empty tomb of hopes frustrated, and return together, with exceeding
joy, to the Jerusalem of joys fulfilled.

Hugh laid down his sword, rose, stretched himself, and stood looking
full into the golden sunset.

He could not account for it, but somehow the darkness had lifted. The
sense of loneliness was gone. An Unseen Presence seemed with him. The
thought of prayer throbbed through his helpless spirit, like the
uplifting beat of strong white wings.

"O God," he said, "Thou seemest to me as a stranger, when I meet Thee
on mine own life's way. I know Thee as Babe divine; I know Thee,
crucified; I know Thee risen, and ascending in such clouds of glory as
hide Thee from mine earthbound sight. But, if Thou hast drawn near
along the rocky footpath of each day's common happenings, then have
mine eyes indeed been holden, and I knew Thee not."

Hugh stood motionless, his eyes on the glory of the sunset battlements.
And into his mind there came, as clearly as if that moment uttered, the
words of Father Gervaise: "He ever liveth to make intercession for us."

The Knight raised his right arm. "Oh, if Thou livest," he said, "and
living, knowest; and knowing, carest; grant me a sign of Thy
nearness--a Vision of Life and of Love, which shall make clear this
mist of