Volume I Part 55 (2/2)
”This afternoon a messenger came from her to my father, asking him to let me visit her.”
The heart of the monk gave a jump of pleasure.
”And you will go?”
A little older and wiser, and she would have detected a certain urgency there was in the tone with which he directed the inquiry.
”I cannot say yet. I have not seen my father since the invitation was received; he has been with the Emperor; but I know how greatly he admires the Princess. I think he will consent; if so, I will go up to Therapia to-morrow.”
Sergius, silently resolving to betake himself thither early next morning, replied with enthusiasm: ”Have you seen the garden behind her palace?”
”No.”
”Well, of course I do not know what Paradise is, but if it be according to my fancy, I should believe that garden is a piece of it.”
”Oh, I know I shall be pleased with the Princess, her garden--with everything hers.”
Thereupon Lael settled back in her chair, and nothing more was said till the sedan halted in front of the Prince's door. Appearing at the window there, she extended a hand to her escort. The pinkish pearls did not seem so far away as before, and they were now offered directly. He could not resist taking them.
”I want you to know how very, very grateful I am to you,” she said, allowing the hand to stay in his. ”My father will speak to you about the day's adventure. He will make the opportunity and early.--But--but”--
She hesitated, and a blush overspread her face.
”But what?” he said, encouragingly.
”I do not know your name, or where you reside.”
”Sergius is my name.”
”Sergius?”
”Yes. And being a monk, I have a cell in the Monastery of St. James of Manganese. I belong to that Brotherhood, and humbly pray G.o.d to keep me in good standing. Now having told you who I am, may I ask”--
He failed to finish the sentence. Happily she divined his wish.
”Oh,” she said, ”I am called Gul-Bahar by those who love me dearest, though my real name is Lael.”
”By which am I to call you?”
”Good-by,” she continued, pa.s.sing his question, and the look of doubt which accompanied it. ”Good-by--the Princess will send for me to-morrow.”
When the chair was borne into the house, it seemed to Sergius the sun had rushed suddenly down, leaving a twilight over the sky. He turned homeward with more worldly matter to think of than ever before. For the first time in his life the cloister whither he was wending seemed lonesome and uncomfortable. He was accustomed to imagine it lighted and warmed by a presence out of Heaven--that presence was in danger of supersession. Occasionally, however, the girlish Princess whom he was thus taking home with him gave place to wonder if the Greek he had saved from Nilo could be a son of the saintly Hegumen; and the reflection often as it returned brought a misgiving with it; for he saw to what intrigues he might be subjected, if the claim were true, and the claimant malicious in disposition. When at last he fell asleep on his pillow of straw the vision which tarried with him was of walking with Gul-Bahar in the garden behind the Homeric palace at Therapia, and it was exceedingly pleasant.
CHAPTER VII
A BYZANTINE HERETIC
While the venerable Chapel on the way up the heights of Blacherne was surrounded by the host of kneeling monastics, and the murmur of their prayers swept it round about like the sound of moaning breezes, a messenger found the Hegumen of the St. James' with the compliments of the Basileus, and a request that he come forward to a place in front of the door of the holy house. The good man obeyed; so the night long, maugre his age and infirmities, he stayed there stooped and bent, invoking blessings upon the Emperor and Empire; for he loved them both; and by his side Sergius lingered dutifully torch in hand. Twelve hours before he had engaged in the service wors.h.i.+pfully as his superior, nor would his thoughts have once flown from the Mystery enacting; but now--alas, for the inconstancy of youth!--now there were intervals when his mind wandered. The round white face of the Princess came again and again looking at him plainly as when in the window of the sedan on the promenade between the Bucoleon and the sea. He tried to shut it out; but often as he opened the book of prayers which he carried in common with his brethren, trying to read them away; often as he shook the torch thinking to hide them in the resinous smoke, the pretty, melting, importunate eyes reappeared, their fascination renewed and unavoidable.
They seemed actually to take his efforts to get away for encouragement to return. Never on any holy occasion had he been so negligent--never had negligence on his part been so obstinate and nearly like sin.
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