Religion And Gracious Custom Commanded Me That I Fall
Down Loyally And Kiss The Rock That Blessed Mary Pressed.
With a
half consciousness, with the semblance of a thrilling hope that I
was plunging deep, deep into my first knowledge of some most holy
mystery, or of some new rapturous and daring sin, I knelt, and
bowed down my face till I met the smooth rock with my lips.
One
moment - one moment my heart, or some old pagan demon within me,
woke up, and fiercely bounded; my bosom was lifted, and swung, as
though I had touched her warm robe. One moment, one more, and then
the fever had left me. I rose from my knees. I felt hopelessly
sane. The mere world reappeared. My good old monk was there,
dangling his key with listless patience, and as he guided me from
the church, and talked of the refectory and the coming repast, I
listened to his words with some attention and pleasure.
CHAPTER X - THE MONKS OF PALESTINE
Whenever you come back to me from Palestine we will find some
"golden wine" {24} of Lebanon, that we may celebrate with apt
libations the monks of the Holy Land, and though the poor fellows
be theoretically "dead to the world," we will drink to every man of
them a good long life, and a merry one! Graceless is the traveller
who forgets his obligations to these saints upon earth; little love
has he for merry Christendom if he has not rejoiced with great joy
to find in the very midst of water-drinking infidels those lowly
monasteries, in which the blessed juice of the grape is quaffed in
peace.
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