“One thing more, Syra: dare one address, by worship, this Being whom you have described to me? Is He not too great, too lofty, too distant for this?”
“Oh, no! far from it, noble lady,” answered the servant. “He is not distant from any of us; for as much as in the light of the sun, so in the very splendor of His might, His kindness, and His wisdom, we live and move and have our being. Hence, one may address Him, not as far off, but as around us and within us, while we are in Him; and He hears us not with ears, but our words drop at once into His very bosom, and the desires of our hearts pass directly into the divine abyss of His.”
“But,” pursued Fabiola, somewhat timidly, “is there no great act of acknowledgment, such as sacrifice is supposed to be, whereby He may be formally recognized and adored?”
Syra hesitated, for the conversation seemed to be trenching upon mysterious and sacred ground, never opened by the Church to profane foot. She, however, answered in a simple and general affirmative.
“And could not I,” still more humbly asked her mistress, “be so far instructed in your school as to be able to perform this sublimer act of homage?”
“I fear not, noble Fabiola; one must needs obtain a Victim worthy of the Deity.”
“Ah, yes! to be sure,” answered Fabiola. “A bull may be good enough for Jupiter, or a goat for Bacchus; but where can be found a sacrifice worthy of Him whom you have brought me to know?”
“It must indeed be one every way worthy of Him, spotless in purity, matchless in greatness, unbounded in acceptableness.”
“And what can that be, Syra?”
“Only Himself.”