He gazed down the knoll and saw, as clear as noon-day, the old camp of the monks and the troopers. He saw the extent of the farm, its house and buildings, its fields and vineyards and orchards. He saw the Atlantic, firm and shining, like a field of ice. He saw his horse, tethered to a tree and grazing softly. He saw the swirling brook, like liquid jet, bearing curds and suds and bergs of snow. He saw the straight pines, the jeweled orange-grove, the white road, the violet heavens. Then, with the Name upon his lips, he turned round. High on her holy hill, with a rich curtain of pine-woods drawn out behind her throne, the abbey chapel looked down upon Antonio all white and fair and inviolate. The rains which had burst around her and the suns which had burned upon her had only enhanced her whiteness, till she shone like her Lord, transfigured upon Mount Hermon. A cry burst from Antonio's lips. His heart sang _Tola pulchra es amica mea_: "Thou art altogether fair, my love." The chapel seemed a glorious ark, newly borne to rest upon her Ararat by the floods of silver moonlight. Like Saint John on Patmos Antonio could have cried: "I see the holy city, the new Jerusalem, descending from heaven, from God, arrayed like a Bride adorned for her Bridegroom." In Antonio's ears, as in John's, an angel seemed to say: "Come, and I will show thee the Bride, the spouse of the Lamb." Antonio had planned to wait until daybreak before he sought entrance to his old home. But the Spirit of God bade him re-enter the sacred place in the first ecstasy of his vision. "_Spiritus et sponsa dicunt, Veni_: The Spirit and the Bride say, Come,'" Antonio murmured; and he began to climb the hill. VII Antonio knew a spot where the brook, swollen with winter rains, had smashed down the arch through which it used to flow: and there he scrambled up into the abbey domain. The ever-mounting moon illuminated the familiar scenes with fairy radiance. _Emitte lucem tuam_, said Antonio in fervent prayer and thanksgiving, as he breasted the weed-grown slope. "Send forth thy light and thy truth: they shall lead me to thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles, and I will go unto the altar of God." And when an opening in the trees once more showed him the glistening chapel his mind swung from the Psalter to the Apocalypse, and he thought once more of Saint John's vision of the Bride _habentem claritatem Dei_: "having the clear-shining of God, and her light like a precious stone's, like a jasper's, like crystal." Grass was growing between the paving-stones in front of the chapel and lichens flourished on the north wall. The gardens were unkempt, and one had to break a way through alleys and avenues. On banks and terraces the fleshy-leaved ice-plant had secured firm holding. But, so far as outward appearances went, the abbey had suffered no irreparable harm.