So shall thou find thy goal,
And finding gain thy soul.
Thy dreaming was not all;
It asked a lesser toll,
A toll so small. Then came the call.
So shall thou find thy goal.
The song ended a silence fell on the room. Mary Chester had heard it very sanely, the words lost for the most part in the melody that accompanied them. Leonora, dreaming, saw the goal of motherhood, though as yet distant. Monica pictured some peaceful cloister, heard the sweet tones of the Angelus. Brigid, half-smiling, sighed; saw, I fancy, further than did the others.
As for Isabel, she looked at the fire. Pippo, lying on the hearth, looked from her to Peregrine.
“Whose are the words?” asked Isabel.
“Madam, they come from realms of fancy.”