As the notes of the verse died away the
answer came from other voices in deep, appealing antiphonal:
"He hath showed strength with His arm, He hath scattered the proud
in the imagination of their hearts."
Beyond the limits of the monastery there was not a sign of life; neither
beast nor bird, nor blade of grass, nor any green thing; only the perfect
immemorial blue, and in the east a misty moon, striving in vain to offer
light which the earth as yet rejected for the brooding radiance of the
descending sun. But at the great door of the monastery there grew a
stately palm, and near by an ancient acacia-tree; and beyond the stone
chapel there was a garden of struggling shrubs and green things, with one
rose-tree which scattered its pink leaves from year to year upon the
loam, since no man gathered bud or blossom.
The triumphant call of the Magnificat, however beautiful, seemed
strangely out of place in this lonely island in a sea of sand. It was the
song of a bannered army, marching over the battle-field with conquering
voices, and swords as yet unsheathed and red, carrying the spoils of
conquest behind the laurelled captain of the host.
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