“A splendid ambition! Possess me of your intricacies of canon and catechism. I’d accept them.”
“You overlook our simplicity by expecting complexity. We shall not walk like ghosts, hampered by the grave-clothes of the dead, though august forms. Seven words, enough for each day of the round week, are our whole profession: ‘Humanity toward humanity, with godliness toward God.’”
As they conversed, they walked toward the old sanctuary at the suburbs of Bethany, and now were drawing near it.
“Behold, Miriamne, the Hospitaler; yonder.”
“Yes, I’ve called the knights hither; the Hospitaler will dedicate our temple to-day.”
“But has he ecclesiastical authority so to do?”
“The same authority that these growing shrubs and vines have to make the place beautiful. See, I’ve pierced the walls of the grim pile, wherever I could, to make a window. The Hospitaler is to take them for a theme.”
“Windows for themes?”
“He is able; and understands by them that we’d have let into musty beliefs floods of sweet light.”