“No, I—I—I—for that I went to Mr. Barringcourt.”
“The Serpent did not heal you, then?”
“Oh, sir, could it?” Rosalie’s voice was almost a remonstrance.
“Is not the Serpent the God of Lucifram?”
“Yes, and that is what has troubled me so heavily ever since; far more than imprisonment and harshness.”
“What has troubled you?”
“Perhaps if I tell you, you will think me fanciful.”
He smiled.
“Fancies are all put to the test here,” he answered, and a certain sternness rang in the kindness of his tone that reassured Rosalie, somehow or other, when she thought it would have frightened her.
“Well, after I had resigned my will, and prayed for strength, I closed my eyes, and it seemed as if a great vision flashed before me in the darkness. The Serpent seemed to have turned round, and to show that from the back it was all hollow, and in its three tails, so black and dingy from the inside, three dwarfed jesters sat, with caps and bells, all grinning and pointing, as if to make a mock of everything. And then a fire of purest light and radiance, with a centre of unearthly brightness, more beautiful than any sight I ever saw, rolled over everything, and burnt the hollow symbol to a cinder with its all-conquering strength.”