He had acted as he had felt bound in honour to act. Gain or loss to
himself had not been the point at issue. Even as, in the hot fights
with the Saracens, slaying or being slain might incidentally result
from the action of the moment, but the possession of the Holy Sepulchre
was the true object for which each warrior who had taken the cross,
drew his sword or swung his battle-axe.
Was honour, held unsullied, to prove in this case, the tomb of his
life's happiness? Three days of suspense, during which Mora
considered, and he and the Bishop waited. On the third day, would Love
arise victorious, purified by suffering, clad in raiment of dazzling
whiteness? Would there be Easter in his heart, and deep peace in his
home? Or would his beloved wind herself once more 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.
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