“Around thy starry crown are wreathed So many names divine!
Which is the dearest to my heart
And the most worthy thine?”
...
“‘Mother of sorrows,’ many a heart,
Half broken by despair,
Hath laid its burden by the cross,
And found a mother there.
‘Mary,’ the dearest name of all,
The holiest and the best,
The first low word that Jesus lisped
Laid on His mother’s breast.”
—A. A. Proctor.
 
There had come a great change to the home of the De Griffins at Bozrah, without and within. Shrubs and vines grew about the old stone house in profusion, birds sang contentedly at its casements, and kittens, undisturbed, played around its doors. These were tokens of the new inner life.
 
The queen of that domestic palace was happy; its king restored to his rights and duties; therefore there was abounding delight and peace within and without. Sir Charleroy and Rizpah, the two mature wed-lovers that abode there, had, out of all their estrangements[468] and tribulations, come to understand at last that love grows out of law and is more than a sentiment, free to go when lured or flee from that which burdens. It was to them like a revelation from heaven to find that love is the vassal of the will and can be made to go where it ought, as well as be reined back from lawless rovings. They found there was great satisfaction in their efforts to be very agreeable to each other. Sir Charleroy constantly assured Rizpah of his belief that they were now more really lovers than they had been in those fervent days at Gerash. She believed this new creed with the avidity of a heart sore with long waitings for its proclaiming.
 
The knight bethought himself of a graceful advance, and introduced the matter with a sort of parable. “I’ve been thinking to-day that the only man whom I ever felt like kissing, the man who loved me to the full of his great heart, is present with us in spirit these days to joy over our reconciliation. I’ve felt a strange thrill at times which made me think I was touched by the glowing heart of Ichabod.”
 
“Ichabod?”
 
“Yes; he that fell in our defense the day of that perilous battle with those Mamelukes, near Gerash. Ah, he had the heart of a mastiff, the soul of a martyr!”
 
“Thy love is constant. But what’s in thy hand?”
 
The knight had hoped for the question.
 
“A token I took from his corpse. It was given him by a Copt priest, whose life he saved in Egypt. See.”
 
“I see a stone in a gold setting; on the stone an image, I think of a woman? I’ve noticed it with thee before.”
 
[469]
 
“I knew it! Once I thought thou didst observe it askance, as if a trifle jealous. Well, no more secrets, no more jealousies. What says Rizpah?”
 
“I say amen; and yet I say tell all, or none; either way I shall be content. Love’s trust, when full, has few questions and no doubts.”
 
“Nobly spoken, but yet I must tell all. The image is of Neb-ta, from the country of Hamites.”
 
“What an odd figure! Her head-dress, a basket!”
 
“The basket on her head and the little house by her side betoken that she was the presiding spirit of domestic life. I love Neb-ta! She ever reminds me of woman at her best, as a mother brooding her chicks.”
 
“Praise be the Patriarchs; they left us testimonies which makes it needless to go to Egypt for precepts concerning home-love!” responded the wife.
 
“But, Rizpah, thou dost divert me! Wait; I’m coming around with the patriarchs, by way of Jerusalem, to Bozrah.”
 
“Now, that’s a fine parade; I await it,” the woman, with quick reply, answered.
 
“Tradition says this Neb-ta will stand before Osiris and Isis in the judgment ‘hall of truth,’ where another deity styled ‘divine wisdom’ opens the books of men’s earthly deeds. As the great Anubis weighs them, Neb-ta stands by ready to cut away the failings of those weighed. When the scale of their merit is lacking, she herself leaps into it, to weigh it down in their behalf.”
 
“A pretty myth for grim old Nile Land!”
 
“It proves man’s belief that at last he’ll need help.”
 
“It is strange those women degraders should have allotted one of that sex so fine a part in the hereafter.”
 
[470]
 
“It illustrates the constant conviction in men’s hearts that woman’s sympathy abides to the last.”
 
“In some men’s hearts, say. All are not equally just.”
 
“I’ll be direct, Rizpah, and sincere. I’ve felt an indescribable unworthiness of all I enjoy here in the house saved and brightened by my wife. I’ve been saying, ‘Oh, that some one like Neb-ta would cut off my failings and enrich my merit.’”
 
Sir Charleroy, after this long journey around about, felt relieved. He had made his confession and waited his absolution.
 
Rizpah’s eyes brightened up, and, though bedewed, shone with the luster of gleaming affection.
 
He knew full well how to interpret that look, and evinced the quality of the interpretation by quickly embracing her. There passed between them salutations having the purity of manna, the lusciousness of Escol’s grapes.
 
“Will Sir Charleroy need to go to Egypt for a Neb-ta?”
 
“No, never, while I’ve an all-forgiving, all-blessing Rizpah!”
 
Encouraged by the success attending one simile, he attempted another later:
 
“I was thinking,” tenderly replied the knight, “that I’ve sinned against God in the name of religion, and unconsciously offered ‘the female lamb.’”
 
“Pardon my stupidity, but yet I do not gather what is thy meaning.”
 
“My Rizpah has been sacrificed for years.”
 
The wife tried to reply, “I’m no lamb without blemish;” but her tears and his passionate embrace,[471] checked her utterance. To those without, there is much incomprehensible in the estrangements and reconciliations of human pairs, made utterly one in wedlock. If, since the Incarnate died for love, and the Temple’s veil was rent, there has been on earth an unrevealed Holiest of Holy places, it has been where wed lives, alienated, have been reunited. It is like a sacrilege to attempt its depicting to stranger eyes or ears. Many, for themselves, have been within that holy place; each twain meeting its own peculiar and varied experiences. But, having come forth with a natural and most meritorious reverence for the events of such supreme hours, they are wont to withdraw from human curiosity all that transpired, as completely as they hide from the world their souls’ dealings with God. They who have never been within that Holy Place, can not understand about what there transpires; those that have been there, defend their sacred right to keep from all the world that which they saw and felt, by refusing to give audience to the experiences of others.
 
Sir Charleroy and Rizpah, at the time of the foregoing conversation, entered serenely, lovingly that Holy Place. Then they took, as it were, wings of memory and shields of faith. The grim giant house was forgotten. Its walls seemed to thin away, until they had to themselves a broad, but secluded world. There was light, but not exposure; repentance, mutual, and forgiveness, not only free, but in every syllable seeming to have balm for healing. There followed an unutterable sense of getting nearer and nearer to each other. They felt as if they had but one will, and that guided by God; one mind, and that clear and heaven soaring. The only sense of being two, was in their beating[472] hearts, and then two hearts seemed more blessed than one; for being two, there was the joy of their beatings for and against each other. Words fail; it would be sacrilege to go further. Let the curtain drop. Leave them with a thousand angels, winged and liveried in white, with wands of silence to keep watch and ward until morning!
 
On the morrow they knew that both had surrendered and both conquered. And by a paradox, to those uninitiated, each rejoiced as much in the surrender each had made, as in the victory which had been won by the one defeated. Defeat and victory was their common wealth. There was a full community between them, and that made both rich, whatever their possessings. Thenceforward, between them, there was perfect frankness and consideration; no sarcasms, no recriminations, and hence no need of foils nor masks. Christ had captured the Crusader’s heart, and he was now, as never before, able to reveal the King of his soul to Rizpah. She moved unconsciously into a beauty of character like unto that of Mary, and her heart began singing a ‘Magnificat.’ The woman was transformed, if possible, more completely than the man. For years amid hurtings she had schooled herself to reticence, and had been an enigma to all who knew her; but now, under the rising of this new sun, she opened as the blossom of early spring. Sir Charleroy, indeed all who knew her, attested delight and surprise; but Rizpah was as much surprised at herself as any other could be at her.
 
“I didn’t know I could,” she exclaimed often with laughter and tears. She seemed to break away and[473] run from her former self as one from some phantom, as a child from a reputed witch, or a freed bird from a prisoning cage. She saw herself growing in all these things every moment and exclaimed, in the rush of feeling; “I could fly, I’m sure!” Then tenderly, “I would not, my mate, for a thousand worlds, unless thou couldst fly with me. No, no, Charleroy, watch my wings; they are thine; cut them if they grow or flutter for rising. If they do, they’ll do it themselves, without my willing.” Again the sacredness of the holiest came over them.
 
“Oh, Rizpah, I know, I knew this wealth of love was in thee; I’ve wondered often why I could not find it.”
 
“I did not know it, my lover king; I’m glad thou hast found it, for thy finding feeds me with light and glory! I’m carried back to Gerash and Damascus.”
 
“I think not. There were flaming swords at Eden’s Gate, after the fall. No going back; but the swords gave light for departure into broader places. I think that’s the symbol of the sword and the flame, Rizpah.” Again he spoke: “Hadrian built a temple of Venus over the tomb of Christ, but Hadrian and Venus are no more in power and there has been a resurrection from that tomb.”
 
“Ah, Sir Charleroy, I’m a child in thy creed, but I’m comforted by thy resurrection hopes, especially since conversing yesterday more freely than ever with our lovely child of God, Miriamne.”
 
“Hers is an angel’s visit, wife.”
 
“And angel-like, with filial spirit, she comes, this time, with request for our consent to an act of great import to her.”
 
[474]
 
“So; and what may it be? Though I know it can only be good.”
 
“She came to tell us, that she desires publicly to profess the religion of the Naz——of Jesus.”
 
Sir Charleroy felt a twinge of an old pain, and for a moment queried within: “Will the old struggle over faiths again confront us?” But he dismissed it with an unexpressed “Impossible, we’re all changed!” Then replied he quietly with a question. “Does the dear girl fully understand the seriousness of the act? If she do and then acts, I’ll be glad to commit her to Christ as her Bridegroom and King.”
 
“We cannot be with her always, and she seems determined to go through life unwed.”
 
“A Neb-ta, an angel spinster, mothering other people’s chicks! But what says my Rizpah of our daughter’s purpose to profess her faith?”
 
“I? This: God being my Helper, I’ll never again stand between Him and any soul, except it be to pray for that soul’s health.”
 
Just then the maiden entered bearing a lamp which suddenly lighted the room, now well nigh in darkness. She presented a most striking and suggestive figure. Her eyes were full of her heart’s chief question, and, standing in the light of her own bearing, she seemed to fitly represent the part she had borne in that household.
 
Sir Charleroy, anticipating his daughter’s question, greeted her with promptness thus: “Sunshine, thy purpose I know. It’s all between God and thyself. Go gladden Father Adolphus and Cornelius with an early profession.”
 
She was filled with surprise, and voiced its chief cause:
 
[475]
 
“Cornelius? He’s at Jerusalem!”
 
“Well, if so, ’tis wonderful, since I met him here to-day.”
 
“I wonder,” she meditated, meanwhile speaking her thoughts as if unconscious of those about her, “What brought him here?”
 
“Oh,” replied the father, “he says ‘to see Father Adolphus about the church of Jerusalem;’ but Father Adolphus says ‘the young man came because he could not help it, to see his good angel.’”
 
“‘His good angel!’ Whom?”
 
“Now, Sunrise, guess! When thou dost so, to make short work, begin with the good angel of us all, Miriamne.”
 
Miriamne lifted her hand reprovingly, but the tell-tale crimson hung confession on her cheeks, while her lips, wreathed in smiles, told her pleasure.
 
“Well, now, will my father go with me to good Adolphus about my profession?”
 
“As thou mayst like, but it will be easier to reduce three............