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They told him of other shrines reported from other places, but none of them were what the strangers sought.

“But we have a Holy Man here,” said one of the women proudly. He is skin and bone, and fasts all the time when his old mother will let him.”

But the strangers were not looking for a Holy Man however great his sanctity.

“At least inquire of him,” one of the women insisted. “He might know of such a thing as you seek.”

So they went to the Holy Man’s croft; but he was lost in his Vision and for some time did not even hear what they were saying to him.

Then he was angry and said:

“Do not go astray after heathen Goddesses. Not after the Scarlet Woman of Babylon, nor after the Abominations of the Phoenicians. There is only one Redeemer, and that is the Living Son of God.”

So the strangers went away, but the Holy Man’s mother ran secretly after them.

“Do not be angry,” she begged. “My son was not meaning to be discourteous to you; but he is so pure and so holy himself that he lives in a region far above this earth. He is a good man and a good son to me.”

The strangers spoke kindly to her.

“We are not offended. You are a good woman, and have a good son.”

“I am a very ordinary woman,” she said. “But I must tell you that you should not believe in all these Aphrodites and Astartes and whatever their heathen names are. There is only one God, our Father in Heaven.”

“You say you are only an ordinary woman,” said the older of the two strangers. “But although your face is old and ravaged with the lines of sorrow, yet to my mind you have a face of great beauty—and I in my time was apprenticed to a great sculptor, so I know what beauty is.”

Mary, amazed, cried out: “Once, perhaps, when I wove the coloured tapestry in the Temple, or when I poured my husband’s wine in the shop, and held my first-born son in my arms. But now!”

But the old sculptor shook his head.

“Beauty lies beneath the skin,” he insisted. “In the bone. Yes, and beneath that again—in the heart. So I say that you are a beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful now than you were as a young girl. Farewell—and may you be blessed.”

So the strangers rowed away in their boat, and Mary went slowly back to the croft and to her son.

The coming of the strangers had made him restless. He was walking up and down and his hands clasped his head in suffering.

Mary ran to him and held him in her arms.

“What is it, dear son?”

He groaned out: “The spirit has gone out of me … I am empty … empty … I am cut off from God—from the joy of his Presence.”

Then she comforted him—as she had comforted him many times before, saying: “From time to time, this has to be—we do not know why. It is like the wave of the sea. It goes out from the shore, but it returns, my son, it returns.”

But he cried out:

“You do not know. You cannot understand … You do not know what it is to be caught up in the Spirit, to be exalted with the great glory of God!”

And Mary said humbly:

“That is true. That, I have not felt. For me, there has been only memory …”

“Memory is not enough!”

But Mary said fiercely: “It is enough for me!”

And she went to the door and stood there, looking out over the sea where the strangers had gone away …

As she stood there, she felt a strange expectancy rising in her; a fluttering hopeful joy. Almost, she went down to the shore again, but she restrained herself, for she knew that her son would soon need her. And so it was. He began to shake all over, and his body jerked, and at last his limbs stiffened and he fell to the ground and lay like one dead. Then she covered him over for warmth and placed a fold of the cloak between his lips, in case the convulsions should come back. But he lay there motionless, and there was no sign, even, that he breathed.

Mary knew from experience that he would not stir for many hours, and she walked out again on to the hillside. It was growing dark now and the moon was rising over the sea.

Mary stood there savouring the welcome coolness of the evening. Her mind was full of