Again I fixed my eyes on
Therese's face, deathly pale under the rivulets of blood, but now
calm, radiating purity and holiness. I glanced behind me later
and saw Mr. Wright standing with his hand against his cheek, from
which blood was trickling.
"Dick," I inquired anxiously, "were you the one who fell?"
"Yes, I fainted at the terrifying spectacle."
"Well," I said consolingly, "you are brave to return and look upon
the sight again."
Remembering the patiently waiting line of pilgrims, Mr. Wright and
I silently bade farewell to Therese and left her sacred presence.
{FN39-5}
The following day our little group motored south, thankful that we
were not dependent on trains, but could stop the Ford wherever we
chose throughout the countryside. We enjoyed every minute of a tour
through Germany, Holland, France, and the Swiss Alps. In Italy we
made a special trip to Assisi to honor the apostle of humility, St.
Francis. The European tour ended in Greece, where we viewed the
Athenian temples, and saw the prison in which the gentle Socrates
{FN39-6} had drunk his death potion. One is filled with admiration
for the artistry with which the Greeks have everywhere wrought
their very fancies in alabaster.
We took ship over the sunny Mediterranean, disembarking at
Palestine. Wandering day after day over the Holy Land, I was more
than ever convinced of the value of pilgrimage. The spirit of Christ
is all-pervasive in Palestine; I walked reverently by his side at
Bethlehem, Gethsemane, Calvary, the holy Mount of Olives, and by
the River Jordan and the Sea of Galilee.
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