Creeds, nations, empires, worlds untold.”[[13]]
[13]. “Jerusalem by Moonlight” (Margaret Thomas).
“I like that,” said Patricia, with a sigh of enjoyment, when she had finished. “And oh, how glorious it is up here! No wonder our Saviour loved to come here when He wished to be alone. I like this better than all the other historic places we have seen, because it is the work of Nature, and there is no chance of its having been artificially disturbed. The same blue sky overhead, the same rocks and stones and flowers as were here over nineteen hundred years ago, when He walked and taught on these slopes. This is grander than all the churches which have been erected in His name; it is an everlasting witness—Heaven’s own natural church!”
Surprised at her own effusiveness, she turned away and walked a few paces to the rear, alone. It was something to be remembered, this moonlight night on the Mount of Olives, with the sleeping city below; and the emotions of her newly-quickened soul—they were to be remembered too. How good was God; how fair was the earth; how sweet was life! Could she not say with Browning,
“God’s in His Heaven,
All’s right with the world”?
for at this height the troublous details of human existence sank into insignificance compared with the grandeur of eternity which knows not time. With a strange feeling of exaltation she stooped down, and plucking a tiny flower from the rocky soil, pinned it gently to her breast. Then with a sigh of perfect contentment she rejoined her friends. No matter what sorrow there might be for her in the future, she was strong—she had braced herself to endure.
CHAPTER X
THE BLOW FALLS
It was quite late (for Jerusalem) when Patricia drove home in her friend’s little arabiyeh, but the Engelmacher household was still astir. In the drawing-room she found her husband playing cards with the doctor and two other gentlemen, and smoking a Turkish nargileh. The fumes were not unpleasant, so she would not allow him to put it away on her account. Taking the little chair he placed for her, she sat down at his side. She had no desire to watch the play—indeed the very sight of cards was distasteful to her just then; but she liked to be near her husband, and to talk to him between the deals.
“There is a letter from your father,” he said, when she had been introduced to Dr. Engelmacher’s friends. “He has been staying at Burstall Abbey, but thinks of coming over here on a visit for a change. He has photographed almost every place of interest in Europe, and would like to add a few Oriental scenes to his collection. You would be pleased to see him, would you not, dear?”