"All this," she said, "was done for the glory of God in the good old
times."
The glory of God! What has not been done in that name! Yet he keeps
silence; patient he watches; the age-long fever of this world, the
delirious night, shall have a morning. Ah, there is an unsounded depth
in that word which says, "He is long-suffering." This it must be at
which angels veil their faces.
On leaving the castle we offered the woman the customary gratuity.
"No;" she would "have the pleasure of showing it to me as a friend."
And she ran into a charming little garden, full of flowers, and
brought me a bouquet of lilies and roses, which I have had in my room
all day.
To-night, after sunset, we rowed to Byron's "little isle," the only
one in the lake. O, the unutterable beauty of these mountains--great,
purple waves, as if they had been dashed up by a mighty tempest,
crested with snow-like foam! this purple sky, and crescent moon, and
the lake gleaming and shimmering, and twinkling stars, while far off
up the sides of a snow-topped mountain a light shines like a star--
some mountaineer's candle, I suppose.
In the dark stillness we rowed again over to Chillon, and paused under
its walls.
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