To Hilarius sitting on the bench in the sun, came one of Eleanor's tirewomen to bid him wait on her mistress. He rose at once and followed her through the hall and up the winding stair, along a gallery hung with wondrous story-telling tapestry, to the bower where Eleanor sat with two of her women busied with their needle.
Hilarius found his mistress, her hands idle on her knee. He louted low, and she bade him bring a stool and sit beside her.
"I am weary," she said; "this life is weariness. Tell me of the Monastery and the forest - stay, tell me rather of the New Jerusalem that Brother Ambrose saw and limned.'
Hilarius, nothing loth, settled himself at her feet, elbow on knee, and chin on his open hands, his dreamy blue eyes gazing away out of the window at the cloud-flecked sky above the Abbey pinnacles.
"The Brother Ambrose," he began, "was ever a saintly man, approved of God and beloved by the Brethren; ay, and a crafty limner, save that of late his eyesight failed him. To him one night, as he lay a-bed in the dormitory, came the word of the Lord, saying: "Come, and I will show thee the Bride, the Lamb's wife." And Brother Ambrose arose and was carried to a great and high mountain, even as in the Vision of Blessed John. 'Twas a still night of many stars, and Brother Ambrose, looking up, saw a radiant path in the heavens; and lo! the stars gathered themselves together on either side until they stood as walls of light, and the four winds lapped him about as in a mantle and bore him towards the wondrous gleaming roadway.
Then between the stars came the Holy City with roof and pinnacle aflame, and walls aglow with such colours as no earthly limner dreams of, and much gold. Brother Ambrose beheld the Gates of Pearl, and by every gate an angel, with wings of snow and fire, and a face no man dare look on, because of its exceeding radiance.
"Then as Brother Ambrose stretched out his arms because of his great longing, a little grey cloud came out of the north and hung between the walls of light, so that he no longer beheld the Vision, but heard only a sound as of a great multitude crying, 'Alleluia'; and suddenly the winds came about him again, and lo! he found himself in bed in the dormitory, and it was midnight, for the bell was ringing to Matins; and he rose and went down with the rest; but when the Brethren left the choir, Brother Ambrose stayed fast in his place, hearing and seeing nothing because of the Vision of God; and at Lauds they found him and told the Prior.
"He questioned Brother Ambrose of the matter, and when he heard the Vision, bade him limn the Holy City even as he had seen it; and the Precentor gave him uterine vellum and much fine gold and what colours he asked for the work. Then Brother Ambrose limned a wondrous fair city of gold with turrets and spires; and he inlaid blue for the sapphire, and green for the emerald, and vermilion where the city seemed aflame with the glory of God; but the angels he could not limn, nor could he set the rest of the colours as he saw them, nor the wall of stars on either hand; and Brother Ambrose fell sick because of the exceeding great longing he had to limn the Holy City, and was very sad; but our Prior bade him thank God and remember the infirmity of the flesh, which, like the little grey cloud, veiled Jerusalem to his sight."
There was silence. Lady Eleanor clasped her shadowy blue-veined hands under her chin, and in her eyes too was a great longing.
"It seemeth to me small wonder that Brother Ambrose fell sick," she said, at length.
Hilarius nodded:
"He had ever a patient, wistful look as of one from home; and often he would sit musing in the cloister and scarce give heed to the Office bell."
"Methinks, Hilarius, it will be passing sweet to dwell in that Holy City."
"Nay, lady," said her page tenderly, "surely thou hast had a vision even as Brother Ambrose, for thine eyes wait always, like unto his."
Eleanor shook her head, and two tears crept slowly from the shadow of her eyes.
"Nay, not to such as I am is the vision vouchsafed; though my desire is great, 'tis ever clogged by sin; and for this same reason I would get me to a cloister where I might fast and pray unhindered."
Hilarius looked at her with great compassion.
"Sweet lady, the Lord fulfil all thy desires; yet, methinks, thou art already as one of His saints."
"Nay, but a poor sinner in an evil world," she answered. "Sing to me, Hilarius."
And he sang her the Salve Regina, and when it was ended she bade him go, for she would fain spend some time in prayer upon her primer.
"Our Lady and all Saints be with thee, sweet mistress!" he said, and left her to sob out once more the sins and sorrows of her tender childlike heart.
