The sweet plaintive words struck her with deep emotion. And as she listened eagerly, lo, the branches parted, and two brethren of Saint Francis came out upon the edge of the pond.
She paused as they knelt before the rood. At length they rose, and approached the arbour wherein she sat.
“Sister,” said the foremost one, “hast thou met Him of Nazareth? for I know He has been seeking thee!”
What was it which made her gaze upon the speaker with such surprise? Have any of my readers ever met a member of a well known, and perchance much loved, family, whom they have never seen before, and felt struck by the familiar tones of the voice, and by the mien of the stranger? She looked earnestly at our Martin, but of course knew him not, only she wondered whether this were the “brother” of whom Hubert had spoken.
“I know not whether He has found me, but I have long been seeking Him,” she said sadly.
“Then, my sister, thou dost not yet know what He is to those who find?”
Quam bonus es petentibus
Sed quid invenientibus {[27]}!
“How may I find Him? I seek Him on the right hand and He is not there, and on the left and He is not to be found. Oh, tell me all about Him, and how I may find rest in that Love!”
And there, beside that mirror pond, did a heart all afire with Divine Love kindle the dry wood, all ready for the blaze, in the heart of another. After the long colloquy, which we omit, the lady added:
“Dost thou not know my nephew Hubert? Art thou not his friend Martin?”