“Here the saint lived and prayed,” he said. “And here, as some think, he had the loveliest vision of all.”
Then they listened with rapt attention, as he told how, “while Martin was praying in his cell, the Evil Spirit stood before him, clad in a glittering radiancy, by this purposing the more easily to deceive him; clad also in royal robes with a golden jewelled diadem, with shoes covered with gold, with serene face and bright looks, so as to seem nothing so little as what he was. Martin at first was dazzled by the sight, and for a long time both kept silence. At length the Evil One began. ‘Acknowledge,’ he said, ‘O Martin, whom thou seest. I am Christ. I am now descending on earth, and I wished first to manifest myself to thee.’ Martin still kept silence and made no answer. The Devil still continued to repeat his bold pretence. ‘Martin, why hesitate to believe, when thou seest I am Christ?’ Then Martin understood, by the revelation of the Spirit, that it was the Evil One and not God; and answered—‘Jesus the Lord said not He would come in glittering clothing and radiant with a diadem. I will not believe that the Christ is come save in that form in which He suffered; save with the wounds of the Cross.’ At these words the Evil One vanished in smoke, leaving a horrible, hellish stench and fumes behind him.”
The old man would have kept them till nightfall, but they felt bound in honour to return. Before they left the cells he gave them two small tablets, as letters of commendation to Anianus, Bishop of Orleans, and Lupus, Bishop of Troyes, who would, he said, be sure to help them if possible. “But,” he added, in a desponding tone, “who knows whether Anianus and Lupus will be still living? or their cities, Orleans and Troyes, still standing? From all sides come the news of this army of locusts, these myriads of monstrous savages, ravaging and burning and destroying. Surely the end of the world is at hand. Yet these tablets may do you service; keep them carefully.” And Ethne wrapped them in the folds of her plaid.
The old monk accompanied them to the door of Eleazar’s lodging.
“Kidnapped by Christians, purchased by a Jew!” he murmured, as he turned reluctantly away and left them. “Would to God our Martin were here!”
Miriam received them affectionately, and not without a look of triumph at her husband, who had not been sure they would ever return. Ethne was somewhat perplexed at the good monk’s last words.
“Why should we wish to call Martin down again?” she said. “Do not the saints always go on helping us in heaven? And does not God go on making saints on earth?”
“I wonder if we shall ever find a living saint again on earth!” said Baithene.
And Ethne returned to her “lorica,” her breastplate, Patrick’s Irish hymn—
“Christ in the chariot;