The knight closed with an appeal for the continuance of the revival of the chivalrous spirit toward woman, saying:
“It matters little what becomes of the dust of the pious dead; the past is secure, and Deity guards till the resurrection all tombs in His own unfrustrated way, but it matters much how we treat the living! That is a puerile piety which is ready to die to defend from foes that can not harm inanimate ashes that appeal for no favor, while suffering, willingly, living bodies encompassing bleeding hearts, to continue amid untold agonies, their whole existence one long appeal for succor! Christian knights, on with your new crusade, and may the golden age come grandly in, its fruits—love, joy, and peace in every clime, to every race, to every man, woman, and child!”
The speaker sat down; there was a moment of deep silence, followed by an outburst of approving acclamations.
Then ensued a hum of voices, the assembly breaking up into little groups, one and another attempting each to prove his loyalty, his piety or his good sense to the man next to him, by certifying his belief in the knight’s words.
Miriamne, half unconscious of her surroundings, exclaimed:
“Oh, will not some one tell me how to begin?”
“Can I aid my Miriamne?” asked her lover.
“I don’t know; perhaps. But that Grail Knight with the silver tongue sees, in his soul, what I would reach. When he speaks my feet take wings. I can not tell you what or how it all is. He speaks and I see, as Moses in the mount, the outline of the tabernacle of God that is to be with men.”