Gherardi's words came back
to his memory,--"You have embarked in a most hopeless cause! You
will help the helpless, and as soon as they are rescued out of
trouble they will turn and rend you,--you will try to teach them the
inner mysteries of God's working and they will say you are possessed
of a devil!" Then he thought of another and grander saying--"Whoso,
putting his hand to the plough, looketh back, is not fit for the
Kingdom of God!--" and over all rang the enchanting call of the
siren's voice--
"Et le doux son des baisers que la Reine a promit A celui qui monte,
sans peur et sans retour Au Palais D'Iffry!"
and he so lost himself in a tangle of thought that he did not
observe how closely Monsignor Gherardi was studying every expression
of his face, and he started as if he had been awakened from a dream
when Sylvie's song ceased, and Sylvie herself glanced up at him.
"Music seems to make you sad, Mr. Leigh!" she said timidly.
"Not music--but sometimes the fancies which music engenders, trouble
me," he answered, bending his earnest searching eyes upon her, and
wondering within himself whether such a small, slight gossamer thing
of beauty, brilliant as a tropical humming-bird, soft and caressable
as a dove, could possibly be expected to have the sweet yet austere
fortitude and firmness needed to be a true "helpmeet" to him in the
work he had undertaken, and the life he had determined to lead.
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