“Mistress Aline Gillespie,” said the old woman calming down and looking mysteriously about her. “Mistress Aline Gillespie, nay, she is not on our side. I see the hosts gathering for battle and she and thou are with the legions of the lost. Nay, Sir Priest, mock me not and mock not the forces that are over against you.”
“Woman,” said Father Laurence, “you speak that you know not, the powers of darkness shall flee before the powers of light.”
“No, never, nothing groweth out of the ground but it withereth, nothing is built that doth not fall to ruin, nothing made that doth not grow old and perish, nothing born that doth not die. Destruction and death alone triumph. Shew me one single thing of all the things that I have seen perish before my eyes and that liveth again. No, you cannot, Sir Priest.”
“The things that are seen are temporal, the things that are unseen are eternal,” he answered.
“And who, thinkest thou, knoweth the unseen, thou or I? I tell thee that all alike shall pass save the darkness and the void into which all, both seen and unseen shall be swallowed up. Yes, in this very valley where we now stand, you shall see iniquity triumph and all your feeble prayers be brought to naught. Avaunt, avaunt, nor may I tarry here longer.”
She brushed past him as she spoke, and the old priest looked sadly after her. “Poor thing,” he said, “she is indeed in the hands of Satan.”
He passed up the road on the way to Holwick and, as he entered Benjamin’s cottage, he met Aline coming forth. The wind blew her hair out somewhat as she stepped into the open, and the sun’s rays caught it, while she herself was still a little in shadow and it shone like a flaming fire. “It is a halo of glory,” said the old man to himself as he looked into the beautiful innocent face. “Child, you did well yesterday,” he said.
“Oh, but I am afraid, Father.”
“Afraid of what, my child?”