her white girl-face--that she might have been the
vision of some youthful saint, wearing the rough cross of Troodos upon
her breast, beneath her robe: and for a moment, the holy man was
startled--did such heavenly visions, in truth, visit the palaces of the
great?

There was a moment of stillness in which his wonder grew.

The breeze blew faintly in through the great arched openings, behind
which rose the mountain chain that led to his own Troodos; there were
the groves of pine, darkly green, below the hills, with their deep
solitudes for prayer and meditation between the vast gnarled trunks; and
the group of the two noble women before him--severely simple--was a
vision of love and womanly grace and spiritual need; the younger one,
all pleading and pain, clinging to the elder who closely enfolded her,
her face strong in the strength of love. It was not like any life that
he had ever seen--this holy man, whose personal life had been solitary
and whose knowledge of human love, as it is known in happy homes, had
died long years ago with the passing of the mother who had borne him in
her heart. It might be that he needed such a vision to redeem his spirit
from the harshness which sin and pride in high places, and want and
crime and poverty of spirit among ignoble ones, had made him grow to
think the whole of life!

He was very weary and his vision was not clear; for the previous day had
been a solemn fast, and he had walked far and long since the early
morning, that he might be the less delayed. He felt like kneeling where
he stood--if perchance it should be a vision!--But he only bowed his
head and waited--and his weakness passed.

The younger one--the maiden with that strange mystery of pain and
strength in her white face, was coming towards him.

"Father," she said, "hath none offered thee refreshment? Thou must
indeed be weary, for the way is long. Zia, let us be served here--in
sight of the great forest that will seem like home to our good Padre."

"Nay, nay," he interposed quickly, with an effort to shake off this
incomprehensible spell and return to his wonted mood of protest, "for I
have never banqueted in the palace of a Queen--your Majesty."

"Let it be brought," Caterina said, turning to the Lady Beata, "a simple
meal; for I myself have need, having tasted nothing since the long vigil
of the night--being too sore from my great perplexity." For she divined
that she must be alone with the prior to melt his m