"But," said Agnes, with flushed cheeks, "why does not our blessed Father excommunicate this wicked duke? Surely this knight hath erred; instead of taking refuge in the mountains, he ought to have fled with his followers to Rome, where the dear Father of the Church hath a house for all the oppressed. It must be so lovely to be the father of all men, and to take in and comfort all those who are distressed and sorrowful, and to right the wrongs of all that are oppressed, as our dear Father at Rome doth!"
The monk looked up at Agnes's clear glowing face with a sort of wondering pity.
"Dear little child," he said, "there is a Jerusalem above which is mother of us all, and these things are done there.
'Cœlestis urbs Jerusalem,
Beata pacis visio,
Quæ celsa de viventibus
Saxis ad astra tolleris
Sponsæque ritu cingeris
Mille angelorum millibus!'"
The face of the monk glowed as he repeated this ancient hymn of the Church,[9] as if the remembrance of that general assembly and church of the first-born gave him comfort in his depression.
[9] This very ancient hymn is the fountain-head from which through various languages have trickled the various hymns of the Celestial City such as—
"Jerusalem, my happy home!"
and Quarles's—
"O mother dear, Jerusalem!"
Agnes felt perplexed, and looked earnestly at her uncle as he stooped over his drawing, and saw that there were deep lines of anxiety on his usually clear, placid face,—a look as of one who struggles mentally with some untold trouble.