Presently a murmur was heard. All were reciting in a whisper the prayers for the dead, each striving to realize that they would one day, perhaps not far distant, be said for himself.
This multitudinous whisper, the chill of the upper air, the solemn desolation of the terrestrial scene and the live scintillating sky with that gleaming crescent unnaturally large between the eastern mountain-tops, all made Tacita’s hair rise upon her head. Into what morning-country did it mount, like mists from the earth at sunrise, this cloud of supplicating sighs from out their earth-bound souls? Were these shadowy forms about her, indistinguishable from the rock save for their pallid faces, were they living men and women? or would they not, at the first hint of dawn, reënter, mute and slow, those cavernous doors, and lie down again in the narrow beds which they had quitted, for what dread expiation!—for what hope long deferred!
Not much of earthly vanity can cling to such a vigil. The ordinary human life, slipped off so like a garment, would be assumed again, freed for a time, at least, from dust and stain.
When, at length, a faint aurora showed in the east, a choir of men’s voices sang an invocation to the Holy Ghost as the Illuminator.
That song dispelled all fear, and life grew sweet again:—life to be helpful, joyful, and patient in; life in which to search out the harmony and worth of life;—life to grow old in and wait after work well done;—life to feel life slip away, and to catch dim glimpses and feel blind intuitions, in the midst of creeping shadows, of a sure soul-rise in some other sphere!
As they went down, Tacita heard a whisper from Elena close to her cheek: “‘Dig for your gold, my children, says Earth, your Mother. Deep in your hearts it lies hidden.’”
CHAPTER XXIII.
The week of commemoration passed by. On Saturday the children went in procession for the King’s blessing, the Basilica all theirs that day. No one else might enter save Tacita and Ion as leaders, and the mothers with their infants. Going, they left the place fragrant with their strown myrtle-twigs.
Easter came and went with its blush of roses everywhere, its rose petals mingled with the children’s myrtle on the pavement, roses between the lamps, and roses in the girdles of the people. The bread and wine, on silver trays borne by Dylar and the elders, was set at the foot of the Throne, and after prayer, and music sweet as any heard on earth, the people made their communion as the sun went down, having fasted all day since sunrise.
When it was over, Ion walked to the Arcade with Tacita.