| And the whole isle side flashing down with never a tree Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea. |
The island of flowers and the island of silence in one, he felt the place to be, and no fear of fighting, with himself as sole inhabitant. So might the islands have been after Maeldune had renounced his purpose of revenge, after he had returned from the isle of the saint who had spoken words of peace.
He lost count of time. A pleasant waking drowsiness fell upon him, till at length, seeing that the sun had reached its zenith, he realized that it must be noon, and began to consider the advisability of retracing his steps.
He got to his feet, whistling to a white speck in the distance, which he rightly judged to be Josephus, and set out on his homeward route.
The village appeared deserted, as he once more reached it. Doubtless the Sunday dinner, which accounts so largely for Sunday sleepiness, was in progress.
Coming to the small barn-like-looking building which he had noticed earlier in the morning, and seeing that the door was open, he looked in. The air was heavy with the scent of incense. It needed only a moment’s observation to tell him that he was in a Catholic church. A curtained tabernacle stood on the little altar, before which hung a ruby lamp. The building was too small to allow of two altars, but at one side was a statue of Our Lady, the base surrounded with flowers, since it was the month of May. Near the porch was a statue of St. Peter.
Antony looked curiously around. It was the third time only that he had entered a Catholic church, the second time being at Teneriffe with the Duchessa. Ordering Josephus to stay without, he walked up the little aisle, and sat down in one of the rush-seated chairs near the sanctuary. He hadn’t a notion what prompted the impulse, but he knew that some impulse was at work.
He looked towards the sanctuary. Mass had been said not long since, and the chalice covered with the veil and burse was still on the altar. Antony hadn’t a notion of even the first principles of the Catholic faith, not as much as the smallest Catholic child; but he felt here, in a measure, the same sense of home as he knew the Duchessa to have felt in the church at Teneriffe. Oddly enough he did not feel himself the least an intruder. There was almost a sense of welcome.