6 In the Forest of Stone

the snow, or in the depths of the woods, or
far away in burning deserts, or fathom-deep
beneath the blue sea; but the pilgrim or
the chance wayfarer who has heard the music
of the bells has never succeeded in discover-
ing the way that leads to the lost church.
It is on the clear night of St. John’s Day,
the longest day of the year, or on the last
hour of Christmas Eve, that these bells are
heard pealing most sweet and clear.

It was in this way that we came to tell
Christian legends and to talk of saints and
hermits, of old abbeys and minsters, of visions
and miracles and the ministry of Angels.
Guy, W. V. thought, might be able, if only
he could speak, to tell us much about
heaven and the Angels; it was so short a
time since he left them. She herself had
quite forgotten, but, then — deprecatingly —
it was so long and long and long ago; “eight
years, a long time for me.”

The faith and the strange vivid daydreams
of the Middle Ages were a new world into
which she was being led along enchanted
footpaths ; quite different from the worldly
world of the “ Old Romans” and of English

history ; more real it seemed and more cred-