But then something
within him seemed to rise up and say, "Perhaps it is because you are
near to the Host that you hate this man. Perhaps you are right to hate
him when he draws nigh to the body of Christ."
Nevertheless when, some minutes later, he stood within the altar rails
and saw the face of Domini, he was conscious of another thought, that
came through his mind, dark with doubt, like a ray of gold: "Can I be
right in hating what this good woman--this woman whose confession I have
received, whose heart I know--can I be right in hating what she loves,
in fearing what she trusts, in secretly condemning what she openly
enthrones?" And almost in despite of himself he felt reassured for an
instant, even happy in the thought of what he was about to do.
Domini's face at all times suggested strength. The mental and emotional
power of her were forcibly expressed, too, through her tall and
athletic body, which was full of easy grace, but full, too, of well-knit
firmness. To-day she looked not unlike a splendid Amazon who could have
been a splendid nun had she entered into religion. As she stood there by
Androvsky, simply dressed for the wild journey that was before her, the
slight hint in her personality of a Spartan youth, that stamped her with
a very definite originality, was blended with, even transfigured by, a
womanliness so intense as to be almost fierce, a womanliness that had
the fervour, the glowing vigour of a glory that had suddenly become
fully aware of itself, and of all the deeds that it could not only
conceive, but do.
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