He looked at the row of nameless
graves with the great Rood for their common memorial; last but one
lay the resting-place of Brother Richard, and the blind monk's
dying speech had been of the lad whose face he had strained his
eyes to see.
Prior Stephen stood by the farmery door, and the scent of Mary's
flowers came to him as it had come to Hilarius at the gate. He
stretched out his hands with the strange pathetic gesture of a
strong man helpless. It was all passing fair: the fields of pale
young corn trembling in the gentle breeze; the orchards and
vineyards with fast maturing fruit; the meadows where the sleek
kine browsed languidly in the warm summer sunshine. Peace and
prosperity everywhere; the old Church springing into new beauty as
the spire rose slowly skywards; peace and prosperity, new glories
for the House of the Lord; and yet, and yet, his heart ached for
his own helplessness, and for the exceeding longing that he had for
the boy whose mother once held that heart in the hollow of her
little hand.
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