Light washed Silver Cross that was five hundred years old and might have five hundred more to live. In a thousand years there was good and evil, but more good than evil. Even had that strange tale of five years agone been found to have in it some truth--had there been canker--still, still, not always had there been canker, nor would there be always! Canker was never the last word. If there had been canker there at Silver Cross, or more or less? He did not know, he could not tell if it were so. His mind, pondering long, had seen certain things--but he did not know. He must let it alone and, anyhow, go a pilgrimage. Almost five years. The palmer had grown. He saw them now in a pattern, Silver Cross and Saint Leofric and Westforest. Then light came through the pattern and melted all into a stronger and finer thing. Just as Isabel moved more golden, finer, more real, for all that when he put forth hand, hand did not touch. Spirit touched. Just as in Bethlehem of Judea, one starlight night, he had become aware that if the kingdom of Heaven was within, then was within also the Supernal Mother and Bride, within also the Christ. Montjoy, a grey figure, walked the grey road and thought he heard the sea. It was early morn, and a rose stole into the world. As he walked the pictures lifted, stood and passed. He had grown so that without any conscience pang at all he was glad that Morgen Fay had not been burned there by town cross. They had lighted the fagot pile, anyhow, for perchance it might make her suffer, the witch flown away with the demon! It had burned away in smoke and flame, but now for long he knew it had not harmed her. Harming and healing were not just as men thought them! Morgen Fay. Where was she? He saw her behind circumstance, like Isabel, like the great picture, like herself, like Morgen Fay. And Morgen Fay, neither, had been just as he thought her. Seeing further he might see her still more really, as he now saw Montjoy and Silver Cross and all things else more really. The sea sounded, and he came over white road to sight of it. Below lay a fishing village; he saw the nets and the boats. A small, poor place it was, but it had the salt of the sea and the rose of the morning. Montjoy, coming down to it, found himself on clean sand and the tide coming in. Certain boats were up and away, he saw their deep-coloured sails standing out between sand and horizon. Others for reasons bided this day in haven. Two or three were drawn upon the beach, and here, too, above the tide a new boat was making. About this was gathered a small crowd of folk, perhaps a score in all. As Montjoy came near he saw that they were listening to one who spoke, standing upon the sand among the shavings and chips, underneath the clean bowsprit. Some were from other boat or from work upon the nets or from the line of houses. A score, perhaps, seated and standing, eyes turned to the speaker.