Ardath | Page 4

reverently on his knees. All present followed his example,
with the exception of the stranger, who, as if in deliberate defiance,
drew himself resolutely up to his full height, and, folding his arms,
gazed at the scene before him with a perfectly unmoved demeanor,--he
expected to hear some long prayer, but none came. There was an
absolute stillness, unbroken save by the rattle of the rain-drops against
the high oriel window, and the whistling rush of the wind. And as he
looked, the fiery Cross began to grow dim and pale,--little by little, its
scintillating lustre decreased, till at last it disappeared altogether,
leaving no trace of its former brilliancy but a small bright flame that
gradually took the shape of a seven-pointed Star which sparkled
through the gloom like a suspended ruby. The chapel was left almost in
complete darkness--he could scarcely discern even the white figures of
the kneeling worshippers,--a haunting sense of the Supernatural seemed
to permeate that deep hush and dense shadow,--and notwithstanding his
habitual tendency to despise all religious ceremonies, there was

something novel and strange about this one which exercised a peculiar
influence upon his imagination. A sudden odd fancy possessed him that
there were others present besides himself and the brethren,--but who
these "others" were, he could not determine. It was an altogether
uncanny, uncomfortable impression--yet it was very strong upon
him--and he breathed a sigh of intense relief when he heard the soft
melody of the organ once more, and saw the oaken doors of the grotto
swing wide open to admit a flood of cheerful light from the outer
passage. The vespers were over,--the monks rose and paced forth two
by two, not with bent heads and downcast eyes as though affecting an
abased humility, but with the free and stately bearing of kings returning
from some high conquest. Drawing a little further back into his retired
corner, he watched them pass, and was forced to admit to himself that
he had seldom or never seen finer types of splendid, healthful, and
vigorous manhood at its best and brightest. As noble specimens of the
human race alone they were well worth looking at,--they might have
been warriors, princes, emperors, he thought--anything but monks. Yet
monks they were, and followers of that Christian creed he so specially
condemned,--for each one wore on his breast a massive golden crucifix,
hung to a chain and fastened with a jewelled star.
"Cross and Star!" he mused, as he noticed this brilliant and singular
decoration, "an emblem of the fraternity, I suppose, meaning ... what?
Salvation and Immortality? Alas, they are poor, witless builders on
shifting sand if they place any hope or reliance on those two empty
words, signifying nothing! Do they, can they honestly believe in God, I
wonder? or are they only acting the usual worn-out comedy of a
feigned faith?"
And he eyed them somewhat wistfully as their white apparelled figures
went by--ten had already left the chapel. Two more passed, then other
two, and last of all came one alone--one who walked slowly, with a
dreamy, meditative air, as though he were deeply absorbed in thought.
The light from the open door streamed fully upon him as he
advanced--it was the monk who had recited the Seven Glorias. The
stranger no sooner beheld him than he instantly stepped forward and
touched him on the arm.

"Pardon!" he said hastily in English, "I think I am not mistaken-- your
name is, or used to be Heliobas?"
The monk bent his handsome head in a slight yet graceful salutation,
and smiled.
"I have not changed it," he replied, "I am Heliobas still." And his keen,
steadfast, blue eyes rested half inquiringly, half compassionately, on
the dark, weary, troubled face of his questioner who, avoiding his direct
gaze, continued:
"I should like to speak to you in private. Can I do so now--to- night--at
once?"
"By all means!" assented the monk, showing no surprise at the request.
"Follow me to the library, we shall be quite alone there."
He led the way immediately out of the chapel, and through a stone-
paved vestibule, where they were met by the two brethren who had first
received and entertained the unknown guest, and who, not finding him
in the refectory where they had left him, were now coming in search of
him. On seeing in whose company he was, however, they drew aside
with a deep and reverential obeisance to the personage called
Heliobas--he, silently acknowledging it, passed on, closely attended by
the stranger, till he reached a spacious, well-lighted apartment, the
walls of which were entirely lined with books. Here, entering and
closing the door, he turned and confronted his visitor--his tall, imposing
figure in its trailing white garments calling to mind the picture of some
saint