you do this, and then
come to me again?"

"Yes, my Lord Prior," said Chris, and he took up the letter, bowed, and
went out.

* * * * *

Within the week relief and knowledge came to him. He had done what the
monk had told him, and it had been followed by a curious sense of relief
at the thought suggested to him that the responsibility of decision did
not rest on him but on his heavenly helpers. And then as he served mass
the answer came.

It was in the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, a little building entered
from the north transept, with its windows opening directly on to the
road leading up into the town; there was no one there but the two. It
was about seven o'clock on the feast of the Seven Martyrs, and the
chapel was full of a diffused tender morning light, for the chapel was
sheltered from the direct sunshine by the tall church on its south.

As they went up to the altar the bell sounded for the Elevation at the
high-altar of the church, at the _missa familiaris_, and the footstep of
someone passing through the north transept ceased instantly at the
sound. The priest ascended the steps, set down the vessels, spread the
corporal, opened the book, and came down again for the preparation.
There was no one else in the chapel, and the peace of the place in the
summer light, only vitalized by the brisk chirping of a sparrow under
the eaves, entered into Christopher's soul.

As the mass went on it seemed as if a veil were lifting from his spirit,
and leaving it free and sensible again. The things around him fell into
their proper relationships, and there was no doubt in his mind that this
newly restored significance of theirs was their true interpretation.
They seemed penetrated and suffused by the light of the inner world; the
red-brocaded chasuble moving on a level with his eyes, stirring with the
shifting of the priest's elbows, was more than a piece of rich stuff,
the white alb beneath more than mere linen, the hood thrown back in the
amice a sacramental thing. He looked up at the smoky yellow flames
against the painted woodwork at the back of the altar, at the
discoloured stones beside the grey window-mouldings still with the
slanting marks of the chisel upon them, at the black rafters overhead,
and last out through the shafted window at the heavy July foliage of the
elm that stood by the road and the brilliant morning sky beyond; and
once more he saw what these things meant and c