She stood with one
hand touching her veil's hem, the other resting on the low, carved
arm of the throne, and at the coming and going of her breath her
jewels made the light lambent with the indeterminate colours of
those strange, joyous banners floating far above her head.
Her voice was very sweet and a little tremulous--and it is the very
grace of a woman's courage that her voice tremble never so slightly.
It seemed to St. George that he loved her a thousand times the more
for that mere persuasive wavering of her words. And, while he
listened to what he felt to be the prelude of her message, it seemed
to him that he loved her another thousand times the more--what
heavenly ease there is in this arithmetic of love--for the tender
meaning which, upon her lips, her father's name took on. When,
speaking with simplicity and directness of the subject that lay
uppermost in the minds of them all, she asked their utmost endeavour
in their common grief, it was clear that what she said transcended
whatever phenomena of mere experience lay between her and those who
heard her, and they understood.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250