And with this, doffing his hat to us, and bowing with a handsome congee, he went his way. Presently we heard him swearing, as his coat caught in the thicket.
CHAPTER XXIII.
HEY-DIDDLE-DIDDLE!
We came to the Cells; where Ambrose took me into a cell just within the passage.
I was startled, and stood perfectly astonished on the threshold; for the walls were all carved out in figures of beautiful sculpture. The subject was religious, depicting the martyrdoms of Christian saints. But oh profanity! All prominent among those august visages, was the sculptured head of Doctor Copicus!
Ambrose observed my admiration well pleased, and seemed to forget his gloom.
“You wrought these works?” asked I.
“Ay,” said he, “I wrought them. ’Tis my talent, my delight ... I love beauty overmuch ... overmuch,” he added heavily. “It obscures religion in me. I am taken with the shape and outward form.... And yet that shape and outward form is inherent in the Soul. And yet I know, thanks to the Doctor, I know and understand, that all is of the Soul.”
“What mean you by the Soul?” asked I.
“The Soul,” said he, “is the All-pervading, All-constituting, All-loving power and substance, in whom all souls do live and move and have their being.”
“Thus spake the Doctor,” said I scoffing.