She leaned against the wall, clasping her hands above her forehead. “Through wickedness and mire and hell and silly paradises I could come at times to her garden gate and feel her within, though ever was a fence between us! Her the Blessed, Her the Mother, Mother of All! A sweet song of her, a bright picture of her is that one who moved in Bethlehem and went down into Egypt and came back to Nazareth! A little song, a little story of her is the great picture in Silver Cross. All songs and all stories have her in them! But what _I_ did, because I thought I was in danger and because there was mire in me, was to choose to clip the gold coin and take it from where it was needed and buy perdition with it! I chose to lie and cheat, to mock and perjure, to make her small and ugly--Her the Blissful, Her the Wholly Pure, Her the Strong and Beautiful!” Richard Englefield turned to the window. Fiery light! The moon on the coasts of Italy! Fiery light! Moments dropped, far apart, slowly, one after the other. Morgen Fay spoke again, in a changed tone. “I am not going back to the old life. To please myself I learned to make lace and I can make it rarely. There is here a guild of sewing women and lace-makers. A sailor’s wife told me.” “Work if you will, Morgen. But do you lodge here!” “Why--why?” They moved. Light seemed to pour over them, red light. A horn was blown in the street. Again she cried out. “It is heaven that you love and seek, far above this and all sinning! When I was ape I saw that, the light falling on your face!” “Heaven, yes--heaven grown small maybe, but heaven that man understands! Give me heaven!” She cried, “Oh, the ape has done murder!” “No! No murder was done. I thought so at first, and indeed it might seem so, but it was not. _Diccon and Alice Dawn._ Lodge here, Morgen, lodge here!” The fiery light, the music in the street. The brown-gold figure, the smith in gold and silver, tall, like King David in the window of Saint Ethelred. “Decide! It is for you to decide!” All her life seemed to come around her. All her life up to the ruined farm and Wander forest, and then and for a long time Wander forest, ruined farm. And then in full, sounding and lighted, Silver Cross. Four times in all. Prison, the _Vineyard_ ship and the Old Anchor. Fire-red and brown-gold and shreds and lines of blue. Horns in the street, but somewhere a lute and a viol. _Build as build you can!_ _Vineyard_ ship, Old Anchor, fiery street, house of the smith, colour and odour of roses, viol, lute. She moved, she sat down by the table and buried her face in her arms. Presently he lighted the candles. “Come, Morgen, come and see the whole of it!” “No!” said Morgen Fay and rose to her height. She stood up. “No! It is not little me thou art seeking--little me, little thee. Perhaps--it is great daring to say it--perhaps I also who have been ape am seeker! At any rate, I’ll not give thee tinsel who needeth gold! And now I am going back to Old Anchor.”