Before the period of Dr. Aemmster's
researches, however, it had been entirely destroyed.
Chiaro was now famous. It was for the race of fame that he had girded
up his loins; and he had not paused until fame was reached: yet now,
in taking breath, he found that the weight was still at his heart.
The years of his labor had fallen from him, and his life was still in
its first painful desire.
With all that Chiaro had done during these three years, and even
before, with the studies of his early youth, there had always been a
feeling of worship and service. It was the peace-offering that he
made to God and to his own soul for the eager selfishness of his aim.
There was earth, indeed, upon the hem of his raiment; but _this_ was
of the heaven, heavenly. He had seasons when he could endure to think
of no other feature of his hope than this: and sometimes, in the
ecstacy of prayer, it had even seemed to him to behold that day when
his mistress--his mystical lady (now hardly in her ninth year, but
whose solemn smile at meeting had already lighted on his soul like
the dove of the Trinity)--even she, his own gracious and holy Italian
art--with her virginal bosom, and her unfathomable eyes, and the
thread of sunlight round her brows--should pass, through the sun that
never sets, into the circle of the shadow of the tree of life, and be
seen of God, and found good: and then it had seemed to him, that he,
with many who, since his coming, had joined the band of whom he was
one (for, in his dream, the body he had worn on earth had been dead
an hundred years), were permitted to gather round the blessed maiden,
and to worship with her through all ages and ages of ages, saying,
Holy, holy, holy.
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