Around and about him was intense silence. The earth was caught to slumber. Himself wakeful, he sat immovable, motionless as the thorn-bush by which he rested. His spirit winged into the vast spaces, ranged in circles, returning ever to one point. Staying a moment there, it went forth again, sent by his own will, since he was reluctant to allow it permission to this resting-place.
At length his spirit grew weary of the flight. “I have sought,” she said to him, “and here is my sole haven. Let me rest now.” Here, clearly, were the words she spoke. How send her forth again upon a barren errand? How bid her seek fruitlessly afar that which lay so near to hand? His will withdrew from the guarded sanctuary. Wings folded, his spirit came to harbourage.
The night wore on. A pale light in the east heralded the coming dawn. He rose from beneath the thorn-bush, turned up the hill.
Within the church was nearly utter darkness; only the one red light glowed as it glows wherever Christ reigns hidden in the Sacred Host.
Father Felix rose from near the altar, came down the aisle to meet him. His eyes were heavy with foregone sleep, yet bright with an immense happiness.
“I was waiting for you,” he said.
An hour later Peregrine knelt before the flower-decked altar. Through the open door of the church the dawn showed purple beyond the hills. The sun, coming up above them, shot golden beams into the place, falling upon the Crucifix set among bluebells and snow-white cherry blossom.
Peregrine raised his head. Kneeling near him he saw the Woman he had sought, looked straight into her deep eyes.... For all his joy in her presence it was submerged in the knowledge of One Who had brought him to sight of her.
Father Felix, turning from the door of the sacristy, looked momentarily at the kneeling man. Beyond him, he saw the sun risen above the blue hills.