Chapter VIII

All at once I looked up with terror. He was there, He himself with his human air, On the narrow pathway, just before. I saw the back of him, no more— He had left the chapel, then, as I. I forgot all about the sky. No face: only the sight Of a sweepy garment, vast and white, With a hem that I could recognise. I felt terror, no surprise; My mind filled with the cataract, At one bound of the mighty fact. “I remember, he did say “Doubtless, that, to this world’s end, “Where two or three should meet and pray, “He would be in the midst, their friend; “Certainly he was there with them!” And my pulses leaped for joy Of the golden thought without alloy, That I saw his very vesture’s hem. Then rushed the blood black, cold and clear, With a fresh enhancing shiver of fear; And I hastened, cried out while I pressed To the salvation of the vest, “But not so, Lord! It cannot be “That thou, indeed, art leaving me— “Me, that have despised thy friends!”

The confession of his sin in despising _His_ friends in the little chapel is speedily followed by a gracious token of forgiveness:—