“Higher than our highest hills,” she said, “we must go for our fountains.”
“But,” said Ethne, “does not the Christ, did not our Leo, speak of a well of living water springing up within us, here and now?”
“Surely He does,” Damaris replied. “And if He leads me by His fountains above, I shall know that He, the Source of all the fountains, is with thee here. I am leaving thee in no parched desert land. How else could there be ‘no hunger nor thirst’ for me, there?”
“But the City of God,” Ethne resumed, with tearful pleading, “is building also on earth; thou wilt not leave us too soon for the one above? Hast thou not said that our Rome is a city not only of the fountains, but of the steps? Stay with us! stay with us yet a little while, and help our feebler feet to climb.”
And Damaris did stay yet a little while. But at last the last step for her was reached, the step over the invisible threshold—and she entered into light; but she did not leave them in darkness, for as she entered, the light shone through on them.
“Death,” she had been wont to say, “does not close the door of the unseen for us. Death is always keeping it open, both for those he takes and for those he leaves behind.” And when she died they found it true.
As the years went on, glad tidings came from Ireland of more ground conquered, more souls won for Christ.
A beautiful story came of another captive and slave, the maiden Brigit, set free to liberate the hearts of thousands; and from Brigit’s large Irish heart came another hymn, to take its place on Ethne’s heart with Patrick’s breastplate—
“I would a lake of hydromel for the King of kings;