Not having come to monastery from indolence and softness, he found in this no especial difficulty. First artisan, then artist, he well enough knew hard and spare living, vigil, concentered action, swift, deep and still. He had that over many an one who would be saint, but must first develop muscle. He had will, he had mind, though both were restive beings, with wings that seemed between Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s. Richard Englefield’s problem was to draw all the Lucifer into Gabriel. As a detail in the achievement he conformed, with what absoluteness was possible at Silver Cross, to the first hard discipline of the Order. Where for long had been relaxation, his procedure here astonished and here rebuked, pleased and displeased. He went on, in a preoccupation too great to note that watching, hunting the Word. “Blessed among women, help me toward it!” The great picture was become integral to his life. “Beauty like that--Beauty with Holiness--I would Beauty and I would Holiness! I would Power to make my Beauty and Holiness come true!” He prayed to the Blessed among women. “Blessed among women, show me how! Bring me sunshine for my growth!” He worked in his stone room, with the precious metals that they gave him. The furnace glowed. His long, strong and skilful fingers moved with their old skill, as on a lute. But he worked scarce seeing the beauty of what he made, with the taller man in him gone elsewhere, gone out hunting, gone hawking for pure Wisdom, pure Beauty, pure Power. He prayed in the church and the monks watched him. When he turned toward the picture light seemed to pass from it to him. The Abbot noted him. The sub-prior brought the Abbot refectory talk, talk of the brethren’s common room. He brought comment of Brother Norbert whose cell was next Brother Richard’s. The Abbot heaved a sigh. “Well, we have need of a saintly monk!” He was not silent upon the growing saintliness of Brother Richard. Visitors of high degree, pausing at Silver Cross, heard him say, “Even as Friar Paul of Saint Leofric’s--”Visitors pursuing their road, going, it might well chance, straight to Saint Leofric’s, made mention of this monk. The vale of Wander spoke of him. The Prior of Westforest said in chapter house, “Had we one brother like Brother Richard of Silver Cross--” Not only to his monks, but he said it to the country around, “Brother Richard of Silver Cross--” Montjoy said “Brother Richard of Silver Cross,” but he said it very differently from the Abbot and the Prior. He said with a kind of passionate reverence and hope. He wished there to be true saints; he wished there to arise one out of Silver Cross. He wished a saint, a saint kneeling beside Isabel, kneeling with Isabel beneath the great picture, whose form, whose face in which God was dawning, was like Isabel. Isabel like Her, though maybe in that degree from Her--that was Morgen Fay from Isabel whom surely, too, she resembled. Middle Forest had rumour of the monk at Silver Cross.