“Yes, even that, if the spirit had a mission and a safe conduct.”
“Thou art nobler, braver than I. I can’t trust the land of giants and vultures.”
“The giants and vultures we must meet are in human forms, and such are everywhere.”
“There are over many for the population, in Syria and beyond it.”
“But there have been many changes since you left that country, especially, in our city,” persisted the maiden.
“Nothing changes in Palestine or Bozrah, daughter, except wives, and they only one way; from bad to worse.”
The young chaplain seconded Miriamne’s efforts.
Sir Charleroy was spasmodically the stronger, but Miriamne by patience and persistence prevailed. In time, she won her cause, and the three took sail for the Holy Land, the knight protesting that he would go as far as Acre and no further. The journey was slow but not monotonous, for the English trader on which they journeyed stopped at various ports. Cornelius on his part was enjoying a serene delight that had no shadow except when he remembered that voyaging with Miriamne was to have an end; Miriamne on her part had three-fold pleasure; delight in her companionship with the young missionary, delight in the continued improvement of her father’s health, and greater delight still in the glowing hope of the success of her mission of peace to her home-circle. As for Sir Charleroy it suited him well to be sailing. He was ever exhilarated by change; each day brought it. He was in theory a fatalist, and the staunch ship pushing onward day and night to its destination, carrying all along, was an expression of the inexorable. Then the conditions about him rested him, for he was freed from any need of bracing of his will to choose or execute any thing. He went forward because the ship went. That was all and enough. Only once during the voyage did he assert himself or express a desire to change his course. That was when passing Cyprus.
“Here,” he cried, “let me disembark!”
Persuasively, Miriamne protested.