Again his eyes were for Richard Englefield. To have believed that Heaven had singled you out--to have had vast raptures of mind and heart, all fragrance, all flavour, all light, all music, all warmth, all lifting--to have fallen at the feet of the Brightest Star, to have had the honey of touch and the honey of word and the honey of smile, and knowledge that all was immortal and holy, all was heavenly true!--to have had that and believed it eternal--and then to have fallen, fallen, gulf upon gulf, dreary world by dreary world, to last mire and stubble, nay, past that into caverns of hell-- Abbot Mark came into the hall, he and Prior Matthew, and behind them Brothers Anselm and Norbert with Walter the leech and six besides. Out of these monks five at least knew only that the fiend had made sortie against and taken and poured madness upon the holy man, yesterday the pride, the boast, of Silver Cross. Abbot Mark--large, authoritative, stately--showed pallor indeed, but also concern and innocency and high unawareness that Silver Cross did or could stand in any danger. As for Prior Matthew, he stood and moved, red, dry, cool, collected, always a man with a head. Abbey monks, drawing together, looked trustingly upon their Superiors and pityingly, it was seen, upon Brother Richard, standing very gaunt and ghastly white, with blazing eyes. Montjoy faced that entry. All Silver Cross with long venerableness and power, great church of Silver Cross, the jewel windows, the picture, the sculptured Isabel upon her tomb entered also castle hall and drowned it into vaster space and into significances otherwise and potent. Something of rigidity went out of the lord of Montjoy. Trust--trust! Friar Martin, the Black Friar, saw it go--clouds again mounting against Saint Leofric. And all the hall full of people, hanging divided in wish and thought! He felt it running through, “Was it not monstrous, unthinkable--were there not explanations--was it reasonable now--and if it was all a cheating show, where was Middle Forest? Why, left holding a great bag of Loss!” The Black Friar felt, as though he were Leofric’s Hugh, stricture about the heart. Good Chance was quitting, the fickle jade! Yet when Montjoy stepped toward the Abbot, pale Accusation stepped with him. “Lord Abbot--Lord Abbot, you are in time! You have fouled Christendom--oh, if you have fouled Christendom!”