He took into his hand a corner of his mantle. The stuff was simple, far from costly, but the colour was that blue, deep but not harsh, dark but silvery too, which had been worn by that form in the stone chair beneath the cedar tree, by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt. He had bought it because it was of that hue. Now the sunshine at his feet seemed of the very tissue of that day. He sat in a dream, his mind now a floating mist of colour and fragrance, now an aching vision of a woman’s form whose face he could not see. He drew and coloured the face, now this way and now that, but never to his satisfaction.... Would ever he meet her face to face? He knew not. Where did she live? He knew not. East, west, north, south—beyond the mountains or across the sea? He knew not. It would be in some court. There were many courts. His strong fancy was that she had come from far away. He knew not if in this world he would again enter her presence. An exaltation came upon Garin. And if he did not, still could he uphold to the stars that dreamy passion! Still could he serve, worship, sing! The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Music seemed to possess him and a loveliness of words, and of rich and lofty images. The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Garin stretched forth his arms. “O Love, my wingèd Lord! Let me never swerve from the love of that lady!” From the church behind him came a drift of music and chanting. A woman, mounting the steps, caught his words and paused to look at him. She was between youth and age, with a pale, ecstatic face. “Now all the violets bloom,” she said, “and the leaves shiver on the trees as the flowers come up between them! But earthly spring, fair brother, is but a fourth part of Time, and in Eternity a grain, a wind-blown petal! Choose thou Religion and find her the true love!” She passed into the church. Garin, rising from the steps, looked about him. While he sat there the space around had become peopled. Many folk were entering the doors. As he looked, there turned a corner eight or ten men walking in procession, behind and about them a throng. All mounted the steps, pressing toward the entrance. The most had pale faces of enthusiasm. Of the crowd some were weeping, some uttering exclamations of praise and ecstasy. Garin touched a bystander on the sleeve. “What takes place?” “Do you not see the crosses?” “I could not for the crowd,” said Garin. “I can now. They are going to the land over sea?” “Three ships with their companies sail from the nearest port. All the churches are singing mass and sewing crosses on those who will take them.” “But there is no great and general going preached to-day,” said Garin. “There has not been since Saint Bernard’s time.”