“Furl we the sail and pass with tardy oar Through these bright regions, casting many a glance
Upon the dream like issues and romance
Of many-colored life that Fortune pours
Round the Crusaders till, on distant shores,
Their labors end.”
—Wordsworth.
 
Miriamne’s welcome at the “Retreat of the Palestineans,” at London, was most cordial. The Grand Master of the returned knights and his wife received her as a daughter; the companion knights vied with each other in efforts to serve the child of their once honored comrade, Sir Charleroy de Griffin. But the maiden never for a moment lost sight of her mission. No sooner had she been bidden to rest than she questioned as to her father’s welfare. The Grand Master attempted to assure her that she might recuperate after her journey, but she only the more urged her desire to be taken to her parent at once.
 
“Worthy Master, dalliance would not be rest, but torture, to me. Being now so near my father, I’m filled with a ruling, all-exciting longing to see him, at once!”
 
“Be patient, daughter, for a little season; all is done for him that can be. The princely revenues of the[368] knights of Europe are at the behest of each of our veterans, as he hath need.”
 
“Ah! but your wealth can not provide him what I bring—a daughter’s love!”
 
“And yet, daughter, since you press me, I must explain that he is under a cloud which would make thy offering vain at present.”
 
“There is no need, kind commander, to make evasive explanations. I have been forewarned of my father’s troubles of mind.”
 
“But he is violent at times, and we are compelled to keep him secluded in the asylum of our brotherhood.”
 
“Good Master, that but the more increases my ardor to hasten a meeting with him. I want to try the cure of love upon him; I’ve all faith in its efficacy. When may I go?”
 
The foregoing was a sample of Miriamne’s words each day. Her appeals touched all hearts and finally over-persuaded the medical attendants, who, in fact, began to fear lest refusal would unsettle the maiden’s mind. She was all vehemence and urgency on this subject.
 
The meeting was a sorrowful and brief one.
 
She was not prepared for such a spectacle as her father presented, and her cry, “Take me to him,” was changed to one more vehement now:
 
“Take me away!”
 
Terror supplemented her utter disappointment. To both feelings there was added a sense of humiliation. She imagined her return to Bozrah, empty-handed; the possible gibes of her mother and others. Her great faith seemed fruitless and her enthusiasm ebbed. Then she began to question within herself whether or[369] not, after all, the new faith she had embraced was not a splendid illusion! She was in “Doubting Castle,” with “Giant Despair,” and the mighty, impelling question, “What wilt Thou have me to do?” little by little lost its grip on her will. It had seemed to her the voice of God; now it seemed little more than the echo of words heard in a dream. She was moved now by a desire to get away from something, but she could not define the thing. Certainly she desired to escape her disappointment, but not knowing how, she sought to get away from its scene. If she could have run away from herself she would have been glad to have done so. She fled from the asylum, as soon as night came to hide her flight. She had not strength to go far, and the Asylum park of many acres of lawns and groves, afforded her solitude; that that she now chiefly desired. The night the desolate girl thus went forth was a lovely one; a reflection of that other night of sorrow when she fled from the old stone-house home to the chapel of Adolphus at Bozrah. And the memory of that night returned to the girl with some consoling. Again she looked up to the firmament and was calmed by the eternal rest that seemed on all above, and again she yearned to go up further to the only seeming haven of righteousness and peace.
 
Then came the reaction; the prolonged tension had done its work, and the young woman dropped down on the earth. How long she lay in her blank dream she knew not. If during its continuance she in part recovered consciousness, she had no desire nor strength to rise or throw off her weakness.
 
Ere long her absence was known at the Grand Master’s and an eager search was instituted. Foremost[370] in the quest was the young chaplain of the knights and his quest brought him first to the object of search.
 
“Can I aid my lady?” said the chaplain, in kindly tones, standing a little distance away from her, in part through a feeling of delicacy akin to bashfulness, and in part fearing lest by any means he should affright her.
 
The young woman lay motionless; her eyes closed; her face as the face of the lifeless. Receiving no answer, the man questioned within himself: “Is she dead?” Fear emboldened him, and he essayed active assistance. Delicately, gently, firmly he raised up the prostrate woman. She seemed to realize that some one was assisting her, but she was very passive. Her head, drooping, rested on the young man’s shoulder, and she sighed a weary, broken sentence:
 
“I’m so glad you came, Father Adolphus!”
 
“Not Father Adolphus, but one rejoiced to serve a friend of his.”
 
The maiden was silent a few moments, as if listening to words coming to her from a distance, through confusions. Memory was struggling to re-enforce semi-consciousness. Then came comprehension; she realized the presence of a stranger, and, with an effort, stood erect. Her eyes turned on the chaplain’s face with questionings, having in them mingled surprise, timidity and rebuke. The man interpreted her glance and made quick reply:
 
“At my lady’s services, the Chaplain of the Palestineans. We are all anxious at the Grand Master’s concerning yourself.”
 
“Anxious for me!” She found words to say that much, and hearing her own words she recalled her recent thoughts of herself, as one being very miserable[371] and very worthless. She turned her eyes from the young man toward the woodland, in the darkness appearing like a gateway to black oblivion. She yearned to bury herself in the oblivion utterly, and her looks betrayed the thought. The youth gently touched her arm, saying:
 
“Despair has no place here; the Palestineans vanquish it.”
 
She then looked down toward where she had been lying, both nerves and will weakening. It seemed to her a bed, even on the earth, were inviting, especially so if she could take there a sleep that knew no waking.
 
The young man had ministered to his fellow-beings long enough to have become a good interpreter of hearts. He discerned the thoughts of the one before him, and offered prompt remedies, words wisely spoken:
 
“Our faith makes us all hope to see our guest happy ere long.”
 
Then she gave way to a flood of tears. The tears moved the man to exercise His professional function, and forgetting all else he spoke as a comforter to a sorrowing woman. She listened, but, except for her sobs, was silent until he questioned: “Shall I stay to guide back to the ‘Refuge,’ or return to send help?”
 
She answered by turning toward him a face pale and blank, lighted alone by eyes all appealing. He interpreted the look and continued: “I’ll tarry to aid. Shall we now seek the ‘Refuge?’”
 
Then she exclaimed, “Alas, there seems no refuge for me!”
 
“The troubles of Miriamne de Griffin enlist all hearts at this place, I assure you.”
 
[372]
 
“And this, your kindness, with your happiness ever before me, but makes to myself my own desolation more manifest! Ah, I’m but a hulk in a dark tide!”
 
“Lady, say not so, I beseech you. Look, there!” Languidly, mechanically, she turned her eyes in the direction the speaker pointed; then suddenly drew back from sight of a white apparition, standing out boldly from a background of dark shrubbery. Her nerves all unstrung were for the moment victimized by superstitious dreads.
 
“Only, calm, pure marble; a fear-slayer; not fear-invoker! Look at its pedestal!” assuringly spoke the chaplain. The maiden did as bidden and slowly read, repeating each word aloud: “Sancta-Maria-Consolatrix-Afflictorum.”
 
“By easy interpretation: ‘Mother of Jesus, consoler of the sorrowing!’” responded the young man.
 
“Ah, like all consolations nigh to me, this is only stone and set in deep shadows! It can not come to me!”
 
“True, yon form is passionless stone; but the truth eternal, which it emblemizes, is living and fervent.”
 
“Life and fervor? Death and sorrow submerge both!”
 
“There is mother-love in the heart of God; to one so nearly orphan as my friend, it must be comforting to look up believing that in heaven there are fatherhood, motherhood and home! This is the sermon in yon stone.”
 
Then the chaplain gently, reverently drew the sorrow stricken maiden toward the “Refuge” and she followed, unresisting. As they moved along, she essayed to seek further acquaintance with her guide.
 
[373]
 
“May I know the chaplain’s name?”
 
“Certainly; to those that are intimates, ‘Brother’ or ‘Friend;’ for such I’ve renounced my former self and name.”
 
“But if I should need and wish to send for you? I might. I could not call for ‘Brother.’”
 
“Ah, I’m by right, ‘Cornelius Woelfkin;’ yet the names are misnomers, since I’m not kin to the wolf, nor am I ‘a heart-giving light’ as my name implies; at least if I give light it is but dim.”
 
The meeting of the young people, apparently accidental, was in fact an incident in a far-reaching train of Providences. The young woman was in trouble and needing such sympathy as one who was both young and wise could give; the young man was courteous, pure-minded, wise beyond his years, free from the conceits common to young men of capacity, and being a natural philanthropist, naturally sympathetic. The young woman was at the age that yearns for a girl friend, and needs a mother’s counsel; the young man had much of his mother in his make-up; enough to fit him to win his way into the confidence and fine esteem of a refined and trusting young woman; but not enough to make him effeminate. Somehow he exactly met the needs of Miriamne’s life. He could advise her as sincerely and wisely as a mother and companion her as affectionately as a girl friend. Having neither girl friend nor mother, the young chaplain became both to her.
 
They were both impressible and inexperienced in the matters that belong to the realms of the heart, in its grander emotions; therefore with a charming simplicity they outlined their intentions and the limitations[374] of their relations. They assured each other, again and again, probably in pa............