“I would I were an excellent divine That had the Bible at my fingers’ ends;
That men might hear out of this mouth of mine
How God doth make His enemies His friends;
Rather than with a thundering and long prayer
Be led into presumption, or despair.”
—Breton.
 
“Hear ye Him. Whatever He saith unto you, do it.”—Mary.
 
Chaplain Woelfkin heard of Miriamne’s reply from her mother. He was both glad and sorry thereat; sorry the heart he tenderly esteemed should have been so wounded, and glad that the wounding afforded him opportunity to show how gently and wisely he could comfort.
 
“Your trial came at a fortunate time, sister.”
 
“I can not see how such a rebuke can ever be timely, being unjust and cruel.”
 
“True enough; but if fate must assail, it is well to have its hardships fall on us when we are supported by dawning hopes. There are hopes near for Miriamne.”
 
“Let not my brother’s warm heart give me false comfort. I’ve no sight of hope.”
 
“Say not so; there is a surprise in store for you.”
 
“Now, pray, explain.”
 
[382]
 
“You will be permitted to meet your father at the chapel service to-night.”
 
“Oh, but—!” and Miriamne bowed her head and waved her hand as if to repel some unpleasant spectacle.
 
“Be not perturbed, sister. Let me explain: You came hither to seek your demented parent, hoping that love would find a way to compass his healing. The purpose and effort were alike noble and wise. You lost heart because the results were slow to appear; but the good seed was sown, and now for the fruit.”
 
“Has my father recovered?”
 
“He has improved, and to-night we’ll sit quietly while we apply the balm of Gilead.”
 
“Now am I in a mystery.”
 
“Miriamne’s ministries have touched a responsive chord in Sir Charleroy’s heart and fitted him to attend our mind-cure services. Love is the surest remedy for a mind gone down under the ruins of the crushed heart. Sir Charleroy calls his daughter ‘Naaman’s little maid,’ and but yesterday said: ‘Ah, she’ll take me to healing Jordan yet!’”
 
“Blessed be God,” devoutly exclaimed the maiden, glancing heavenward.
 
“To which I say ‘amen,’ assured that great things will come through our ‘Birth of Peace.’”
 
“And what is that, pray?”
 
“We are trying to soothe the tumultuous minds of our asylum patients by displaying sweet peace in picture garbs. To-night by the aid of a musical and illustrative service we shall depict, in the chapel, the Birth of Jesus. But I’ll not explain further now. Wait until the hour of service, sister.”
 
[383]
 
When the people were gathered, Miriamne, glowing with hope, yet silenced by anxiety, was in the midst of the assembly. The preliminary services moved slowly along with a studied absence of hurry. Miriamne could not give them her attention; she was disappointed because she did not see her father present, and the chaplain himself was not there. Presently the music of the occasion arrested her attention. She followed its movement and found it gaining control of her feelings. There was an organ in soft, quiet tones leading voices that murmured words of trust and rest. She followed the flowing tide of melody again and again, each time further, higher, more contentedly, until one strain, expressive of serene triumph, lifted her to a very third heaven of satisfaction. There it left her almost at a loss to say where the melody ceased and the remembering began.
 
At that instant, the chaplain passed by her side, robed in white, hurriedly whispering so she alone could hear: “Your father is behind the screen of Templar banners, quietly listening. Be hopeful and pray. God is good!” The words to her soul were as rain whisperings to spring flowers in a torrid noon.
 
Advancing to the raised platform, the young man told the story of Bethlehem, ending with a beautiful description of the angel song of “Peace on earth, good will to men.” The words of the speaker were quietly spoken, and his address mostly like that of one conversing with a few friends; but the words were very impressive. When all had bowed to receive the benediction, Miriamne, lifting her eyes, beheld her father sitting, with the flag screen thrown aside, full in view, but clad as a knight and without manacle or guard. For[384] a moment he sat thus, then arose and calmly moved out of the chapel toward his lodge. She obeyed a sudden impulse and rose to speed after him, but the restraining hand of the Grand Master was laid on her arm:
 
“Wait; not yet, daughter.”
 
Renewed hope made it easy for her to comply, and she sat down again filled with gratitude toward God. A series of similar services followed, each bringing new causes for hopefulness to the maiden.
 
“We are going to Cana to-day, sister,” remarked the young chaplain some weeks subsequent to the “Birth of Peace” service.
 
“To Cana?”
 
“To Cana, and for a purpose.”
 
“I can not fathom it, brother.”
 
Then the young man explained to his fair hearer the scripture event, and the method devised for presenting it at the chapel, as intended that day.
 
The patients and their friends were assembled in the chapel again. Sir Charleroy among them, but silent and absorbed with his own thoughts.
 
“We are going to try a device to gain his attention,” whispered the chaplain to Miriamne. Just then the Grand Master, dressed in the full regalia of a knight, ascended the platform and uncovered to view a huge earthen vessel, remarking: “Friends, we want to exhibit this evening a vessel, on its way now to France, but left for a time in our custody by some of our comrade Crusaders, who brought it from Cana in Galilee.”
 
“Knights,” “Crusaders,” “Cana!” murmured Sir Charleroy, as if in soliloquy. Miriamne observed her father’s eyes. They were no longer leaden; they[385] glowed with interest. “You all remember,” continued the Grand Master, “how Jesus turned the water into wine at Cana? Tradition informs us that this before us is one of the identical water-pots used that time by our Savior; but I’ll leave our chaplain to tell the rest.” The youth took his position at the pulpit and began informally to talk, as if in conversation, but he had anxiously, carefully prepared for the occasion.
 
He first pictured Cana, with its limestone houses, sitting on the side of the highlands, a few miles north-east of Nazareth. “This place,” he continued, “is the reminder of two instructive events. I have their history here.” Thereupon, Cornelius turned to an illuminated volume and began reading, with passing comments. As he read, Sir Charleroy closely watched the reader; the puzzled look of the listener faded into satisfied attention.
 
“Jesus was proclaimed the Lamb of God, near Cana, by that vehement, self-starving Baptist John. But in habits and manner of living John and Jesus were utterly dissimilar. There was harmony in the great things, faith and charity in all things.”
 
The mad knight nodded inquiringly.
 
The student continued:
 
“Jesus, the organizer of the new kingdom, at Cana, unfolded one part of His policy, for nigh here twain questioned: ‘Where dwellest thou?’ Jesus instantly invited them to His own abode. They dwelt with Him a day, and were won to be His loyal disciples, thus attesting the power of Christ in the home. And they got a home religion, for one of these, Andrew, at once sought to win his brother Peter to discipleship. On the eve of Cana’s wedding feast Jesus won Philip, saying, ‘Follow me,’ and Philip hasted to win Nathaniel, crying, ‘Come and see.’ To these He spoke of a hereafter home with open doors and a holy family. Each of Jesus’s true disciples was impelled[386] to haste and tell salvation’s story to his nearest kin. Christianity is a feast beginning in the home circle and spreading to all the earth.”
 
The mad knight, as he listened, cast a glance of inquiry over his shoulder at those near him.
 
“Sir Charleroy applies the lesson to himself,” whispered the Grand Master to Miriamne.
 
Cornelius went on:
 
“Cana was the home of Nathaniel. We see this poor man sitting in seclusion under a fig tree. Except his doubts, he was alone. To him Jesus went, and at the door of his own home the Master met him. Because Nathaniel believed, on little evidence, God gave him more, and promised him that he should see heaven open and the angels ascending and descending, as in Jacob’s vision. So are those winged messengers passing back and forth forever, to minister to and comfort needy man. One may be lost to the world, to friends, to himself, but never lost to the Good Shepherd, who is like the one in the parable leaving the ninety and nine to follow the lamb that was straying.”
 
Sir Charleroy’s head bowed, and Miriamne was glad, for she saw the tears falling thick and fast down his pallid cheeks.
 
A sign from the attending physicians brought the services quietly to a close. They had seen the emotion of the knight, and desired that the feelings aroused be permitted to quietly ebb.
 
A few days later, by their advice, the Grand Master summoned the chaplain of the Palestineans to hold another service like the last. “Sir Charleroy was blessed that last day. He evinces interest and natural reasonings. Since the former service he has repeated the story of Cana over and over, together with the substance of thy discourse thereon. Besides that, he never tires of inquiring about the ‘ruddy priest of the sweet words,’” said the physician.
 
[387]
 
“I obey, my Master, it’s God’s will. What shall be my theme?”
 
“Oh, Cana continued; De Griffin is constantly inquiring as to when the ruddy priest of the sweet words is to continue the tale of the Cana,” said the Grand Master.
 
“Praise the Day Spring that hath visited us!”
 
“You echo the thought of all our souls, Cornelius.”
 
And it was so that on the day following the chapel of the “House of Rest” was filled with much the same company that met there the last time.
 
Miriamne arrived early and eagerly questioned Cornelius as he passed her on his way to his robing-room:
 
“Oh, brother, hast thou a message of grace and hope for me, to-day?”
 
“The entrance of thy word giveth light,” was his quiet reply; and he passed on, not daring to tarry near the woman that so strangely moved him. He felt very serious, and hence avoided that which might distract his attention.
 
But Miriamne felt assured, while Cornelius was all faith in the efficacy of the Divine word in working the cure of minds perturbed.
 
Presently he stood behind his reading-desk and, waiting until the organ tone had died away, commenced by reading these words:
 
“And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother of Jesus was there:
 
“And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage.”
 
Sir Charleroy had entered the chapel, and was moving toward a lonely seat; his motions were languid; his action listless, except when at intervals he gazed[388] into the empty air and hissed some incoherent words at imaginary people. But the word “Cana” arrested his attention. He looked up, smiled, and then exclaimed: “Oh, the red-faced! That’s it; tell us more, more of Cana!”
 
Cornelius complied. “We have here a story of two lives in the most precious tie on earth, marriage.”
 
Then the chaplain read:
 
“We see Christ at a Jewish wedding, and the Hebrew marriage was ever an occasion of great joy. Not only so, but the weddings of that people were characterized by very instructive and impressive ceremonies. Let me explain. The day before the wedding both bride and groom fasted, confessed their sins and made ceremonial atonement for the errors of their past lives. They were to be part of each other, and felt that each owed it to the other to be free from burden or taint of the past. Both bride and groom at the wedding wore wreaths of myrtle, the emblem of justice, constantly to typify that virtue as supreme in wedlock.”
 
“Oh, young priest, thou art an angel!”
 
The voice startled all but Sir Charleroy. He had spoken, yet his face indicated only placidity and interest. Cornelius proceeded:
 
“The bride, veiled from head to foot to show that her beauty was to be seen only by him to whom she gave herself............