A small ladder, a sponge on a reed, a spear, a shorter stick dripping with the knotted cords of a scourge; these he could see now. And he knew too what the reliquary held.
If it was true, that little heavily guarded splinter within had once been stained with the Blood, the real, literal Blood, about which he had so often preached and sung. Just such thongs as those had bit into the reddening flesh, curled and twisted and hissed on white thighs and shoulders that shrank to the utmost limit of the cords in the human writhe and agony of Christ.... "But Peter and the Apostles answering, said" (the reader read on): "We ought to obey God rather than men. The God of our fathers hath raised up Jesus, whom you put to death, hanging Him upon a tree. Him hath God exalted with His right hand to be Prince and Saviour, to give repentance to Israel and remission of sins. And we are witnesses of these things: and the Holy Ghost, whom God hath given to all that obey Him."
Paul stared out before him motionless, with set lips. Before him, plain, far far too plain against the dim wall, the twisting whips rose and fell.
"'In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen,'" said Father Vassall, and there was a little shuffling as they all knelt down.
Acts of Faith, Hope, Charity and Contrition; the Creed; Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be; odd-Englished prayers for night protection; more shuffling; now Paul and the priest were alone. It grew utterly still. Paul fumbled for his slip of paper and drew it out. The rustling dominated the whole chapel; it even seemed to stir the shadows that shifted always, silently, in the candlelight. He spread the paper on the desk before him. Slowly he prayed each sentence.
AN ACT OF CONSECRATION.
O Lord JESUS Christ, Who art the Way, the Truth and the Life,
Without Whom no man cometh to the Father,
No man is free,
And no man lives eternally,
Unite me wholly to Thyself that I may walk in light and truly live.
But Thy Way must be the Way of Sorrows,
Thy Truth sharper than scourges,
And Thy Life a losing of my own....
Give me therefore Grace—or rather Thyself, the Fount of Grace;
Carry me, for I cannot walk alone;
Enlighten me, for I am all darkness;
Live in me, for I cannot live except in Thee.
Let me count all things loss but Thee, since Thou didst count all
things loss except my love.
For me Thou didst leave the joys of heaven;
For me Thou wast born in cold and nakedness;
For me Thou didst bear the contempt of Thy creatures and
hadst not where to lay Thy head;
For me Thou didst die daily in the souls of those that
rejected Thee, and in the souls of them that loved Thee;
die therefore in mine that Thou mayst live and I in
Thee;
For me Thou didst suffer Thy Mother to be pierced with
swords, Who wast Thyself pierced with nails; pierce me
then too, and nail me to Thy Cross.