“Well, you and I were there; now we are here. In that the two places have likeness,” pleasantly responded the maiden’s escort.
Miriamne’s eyes wandered from object to object, as if seeking proof of, her assertion, and her companion followed her gaze with a glance about the place, which finally rested, as his glances were wont, on the eyes of Miriamne.
“Oh, the devoutness, the peace, the fellowship!” she exclaimed.
Just then there was a movement: a number of the men present arose; a hailing sign, significant to the initiated, was given by some, while simultaneously a slight applause passed around the room:
“’Tis he,” whispered Miriamne.
“Your Hospitaler?”
“Yes.”
The knights all stood and sang in subdued voices, a psalm of hope. “The movement of the melody suggests pilgrims climbing a hill.” At least, so the maiden said its movement seemed to her.
When the psalm was finished, the knights resumed their seats and the Hospitaler, without preliminary, at once addressed them:
“Knights of Christ, few and often in hiding, I would remind ye that no plan of God is futile, and that His cause has no backward movement.