“But, Sir Charleroy, was it not hard that the loving Immanuel should be forced to bide these pangs though ever pursuing true righteousness?” “Yea, Templar, but the glory of the Transfiguration came to all that group while Jesus prayed; as the angel hastened to minister when Gethsemane was darkest. These things teach that heaven watches its own, with succor according to want; great light at hand to baffle great darkness and royal answers for anxious prayers!” “You mean, Sir Charleroy, that we few, surrounded by a sea of enemies, in an inhospitable land, far from home, should despise each despairing thought?” “Good Templar, I am certain of this, anyway: Suffering for the right has full reward, for after passion as Christ’s, so to His followers there comes the ascension.” “Amen,” fervently ejaculated several surrounding knights, and Sir Charleroy felt the glow that he felt that time the English bishop blessed him. As they thus communed, the sun had quietly sunk down into the far-off Mediterranean, flooding the west with light like molten gold. Doubtless one thought came to each at the sight; for all smiled sadly when one remarked: “The _West_ is very beautiful to-night!” They thought with deep yearnings of home. But the darkness quickly drew over the scene and the song of the baleful nightingales began to start forth here and there from thickets which, in the darkness, appeared like plumes of mourning on acres of black velvet. One knight, for a while entranced by the grim, gloomy spectacle, shuddered; then looked up as if to say: “When will the moon rise? the darkness is oppressive!” Another tried to cheer his comrades by crying: “England’s songsters know us and come to sing us into hopefulness!” “Men, to rest; you’ll need it.” It was Sir Charleroy who spoke. Responsibility made him motherly. “Let us revel awhile in memories of better days,” replied the Templar. “But listen; do you not hear afar off something like the moaning of the winds before a storm?” “What of it? A storm could add little to our misery.” “The sound you hear is the cry of jackal and wolf; our omens. Forget now all unnerving thoughts of home and steel yourselves to meet hard fortune. For a while rest. Rest is now our wisdom; night, our mother; for a time in safety she will swaddle us within her black garments. And then——” “Even so, good Sir Charleroy, and I’m thinking this is her last visit to us. She has come, I guess, to lead us to the portals of eternal day.” “When I say good-night to you, comrades, it will be with the expectation of next saying good-morning where the wicked cease from troubling,” solemnly said the Golden Cross. “But,” interrupted the Hospitaler, “while the pulse beats we have a mortgage on time and a duty to plan to live.” “Bravely said; now tell us how to plan,” exclaimed several knights.