The body of
the church was hidden from me by the intervening trees, and nothing
but the tall tower shone in the silver light. So intently did the
moon stare at it, that it seemed to me that the inside of the church,
with its silent aisles, arches, and tombs, was reflected on her disc.
The moon oppressed me, and when I turned my eyes away I seemed to see
hanging in the air the silent aisles of a church, through whose
windows the moonlight was pouring, flooding them with a radiance more
ghastly than darkness, concentrating all its light on the chancel,
beneath which I knew that my father was lying in the dark crypt with
a cross on his breast. I turned for relief to look in the room, and
there, in the darkness made by the shadow of the bed, I seemed to
read, written in pale, trembling flame, the words:
'LET THERE BE NO MAN TO PITY HIM, NOR TO HAVE COMPASSION UPON HIS
FATHERLESS CHILDREN....LET HIS CHILDREN BE VAGABONDS, AND BEG THEIR
BREAD: LET THEM SEEK IT ALSO OUT OF DESOLATE PLACES.'
I returned to the window for relief from the bedroom.
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