It seemed to little Hilda he had come on purpose to answer the question of her heart.
To him, in his solitude among the rocks and the pines, all days were alike filled with the majesty and the joy of the presence of God, and with the great pity for the sins and needs of men.
People came to him from cities and villages all around for counsel and comfort; for to him all human troubles and wants were sacred.
Sometimes the poor mothers left their little children with him while they went to toil in the fields, and he taught the little ones the alphabet, and the story of Bethlehem.
Sometimes veteran warriors sought him, and worn-out statesmen, and perplexed students, and broken-hearted women, or successful men of the world who had won its prizes and found them dust. And he taught these also their alphabet, the Our Father, and the Cross.
And now he came to speak in the great Minster, as much alone with each hearer as when each sought him in the forest-cell; as much alone with God as when they all left him in the silence of the forest.
His words were simple and quiet.
"Ecce Homo," he began. "Behold the Man!"
Then after a pause he continued, "Apparebit repentina," and the words rang on the hearts of many like a knell of broken resolves made when they had heard them last.
"What will appear suddenly? And Who?