Else well I wot that I were lorn
(High above all lords be he blest!)
All that thou dost is for the best;
By fault of Thee was no man lost,
That is here of woman born.'"
And then she read some of Rolle's verses to Jesus, the "friend of all
sick and sorrowful souls," and a meditation of his on the Passion, and
the tranquil thoughts and tender fragrant sorrows soothed the torn
throbbing soul; and Isabel saw the old wrinkled hand rise to her
forehead, and the embroidery, with the needle still in it slipped to the
ground; as the holy Name "like ointment poured forth" gradually brought
its endless miracle and made all sweet and healthful again.
Outside the daylight was fading; the luminous vault overhead was
deepening to a glowing blue as the sunset contracted on the western
horizon to a few vivid streaks of glory; the room was growing darker
every moment; and Mistress Margaret's voice began to stumble over words.
The great gilt harp in the corner only gleamed here and there now in
single lines of clear gold where the dying daylight fell on the strings.
The room was full of shadows and the image of the Holy Mother and Child
had darkened into obscurity in their niche. The world was silent now too;
the rooks were gone home and the stir of the household below had ceased;
and in a moment more Mistress Margaret's voice had ceased too, as she
laid the book down.
Then, as if the world outside had waited for silence before speaking,
there came a murmur of sound from the further side of the house.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150