it. At the rough altar's side Abraham's resolution fails him; from his
lips bursts the half-veiled protest, 'The ffadyr to sle the sone! My
hert doth clynge and cleve as clay'. But the lad encourages him, bidding
him strike quickly, yet adding sympathetically that his father should
turn his face away as he smites. The conquest is won. Love and duty
conflict no longer. Only two simple acts remain for love's performance:
'My swete sone, thi mouth I kys'; and when that last embrace is over,
'With this kerchere I kure (_cover_) thi face', so that the priest may
not see the victim's agony. Then duty raises the knife aloft, and as it
pauses in the air before its fearful descent the Angel speaks--and
saves.

The moving character of the opening, leading up to the sudden
catastrophe and, by its tragic contrast with what follows, throwing a
vivid ray into the very centre and soul of that wonderful trial of
faith; the natural sequence and diversity of emotions, love, pride,
thankfulness, horror, submission, grief, resolution, and final joy and
gratitude following each other like light and shadow; the little
touches, the suggestion to turn the face aside, the last kiss, the
handkerchief to hide the blue eyes of innocence; these are all, however
crude the technique, of the very essence of the highest art.

As will be seen from the list, only two scenes more refer to Old
Testament history, and then Jesus, whom the author has already intended
to foreshadow in Isaac (whence the lad's submission to his father's
will), begins to loom before us. The writer's religious creed prompted
him to devote considerable space to Mary, the mother of Jesus; for she
is to be the link between her Son and humanity, and therefore must be
shown free from sin from her birth. The same motive gives us a clue to
the character of Joseph. That nothing may be wanting to give whiteness