The March day was bright, sunny, still, not cold. Two Abbey men were pruning the fruit trees. Richard Englefield signed that he would help. He worked for hours and the work was welcome. He must steady himself in order to feel again and again and steadily--in order to know every strange flower and divine essential thread! Long day went slow-footed by, and yet were its moments gems and blossoms. He did not reason, he did not think; he only knew strange bliss and strange pain and expected both to continue. Vespers--the picture--the Magnificat. Exalted as he was he knew that there was exaltation about him, in the church. Did he care to bring it before his mind he would have agreed that by now tidings of so great import must have gone here, gone there. No more than incense or music or light could it be kept at the starting point! Presently it would be far and near. Prior Matthew of Westforest sat next the Abbot’s stall. That was to be expected, Silver Cross and Westforest being mother and daughter. The hollow of the church showed clusters of folk from Wander side. That, too, was to be looked for. The Lord of Montjoy stood beside the tomb of Isabel; often he came to Silver Cross, and it was not to be wondered at that he was here to-day, summoned doubtless by Abbot Mark. Montjoy’s dark face showed exaltation. It glowed; you would have said there was personal triumph. Richard Englefield felt for Montjoy sudden kinship and liking. What faces were turned to him, what looks were cast upon him, what watchings, what judgments, hopes, he knew not. After the first habitual sweep of the eye, after the first movement of spirit toward Montjoy, he was the picture’s. The church grew wide as earth. The chanting went up long coloured lanes to heaven’s gate. The setting sun sang, and the rising moon sang, and the stars, as through the dusk they strode nearer. It was night. He was alone in his cell. Again he slept. He waked and knew that he was in her presence. Softened glory, diminished that he might see her as he could see her. Her red and her blue, her form, her face, her voice--kneeling, he trembled with his joy as with a burden too great to bear. It was as ocean wave to a babe. Vast, crested, it curved above him. His life might go--he cared not for that, if on the other side of life he might still adore!