Don Aloysius sat in his private library,--a room little larger than a monastic cell, and at his feet knelt Morgana like a child at prayer. The rose and purple glow of the sunset fell aslant through a high oriel window of painted glass, shedding an aureole round her golden head, and intensified the fine, dark intellectual outline of the priest's features as he listened with fixed attention to the soft pure voice, vibrating with tenderness and pity as she told him of the love that sought to sacrifice itself for love's sake only.
"In your Creed and in mine,"--she said--"there is no union which is real or binding save the Spiritual,--and this may be consummated in some way beyond our knowledge when once the sacred rite is said. You need no explanation from me,--you who are a member and future denizen of the Golden City,--you, who are set apart to live long after these poor human creatures have passed away with the unthinking millions of the time--and you can have no hesitation to unite them as far as they CAN be united, so that they may at least be saved from the malicious tongues of an always evil-speaking world. You once asked me to tell you of the few moments of real happiness I have known,--this will be one of the keenest joys to me if I can satisfy this loving-hearted girl and aid her to carry out her self-chosen martyrdom. And you must help me!"
Gently Aloysius laid his hand on her bent head.
"It will be indeed a martyrdom!" he said, slowly, "Long and torturing! Think well of it!--a woman, youthful and beautiful, chained to a mere breathing image of man,--a creature who cannot recognise either persons or objects, who is helpless to move, and who will remain in that pitiable state all his life, if he lives!--dear child, are you convinced there is no other way?"
"Not for her!" Morgana replied--"She has set her soul to try if God will help her to restore him,--she will surround him with the constant influence of a perfectly devoted love. Dare we say there shall be no healing power in such an influence?--we who know so much of which the world is ignorant!"
He stroked her shining hair with a careful tenderness as one might stroke the soft plumage of a bird.
"And you?" he said, in a low tone--"What of you?"
She raised her eyes to his. A light of heaven's own radiance shone in those blue orbs--an angelic peace beyond all expression.