And, with pathetic earnestness, he raised his hands toward the silver emblem, and touched it tenderly, reverently, ... then as though unworthy, he bent his head low, and waited eagerly for a Name, . . a Name that he himself could not remember, . . a Name suggested by the Cross, but not declared. If that Name were once spoken in the form of a benediction, he felt instinctively that he would straightway be released from the mysterious spell of misery that bound his intelligence in such a grievous thrall. But not a word of consolation did his companion utter, . . on the contrary, he seemed agitated by the strangest surprise and alarm.

"Now may all the gods in Heaven defend thee, thou unhappy, desperate, distracted soul!" he said in trembling, affrighted accents. "Thou dost implore the blessing of a Faith unknown! ... a Mystery predicted but not yet fulfilled...a Creed that shall not be declared to men for full FIVE THOUSAND YEARS!"




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