But, in this exaltation and tension of the powers, was there no moment
when the recoil of Nature claimed a temporary sway? When, an exile from
his kind, alone, beneath the desolate rock and the gloomy pine-trees,
the priest gazed forth on the pitiless wilderness and the hovels of its
dark and ruthless tenants, his thoughts, it may be, flew longingly beyond
those wastes of forest and sea that lay between him and the home of his
boyhood. Or rather, led by a deeper attraction, they revisited the
ancient centre of his faith, and he seemed to stand once more in that
gorgeous temple, where, shrined in lazuli and gold, rest the hallowed
bones of Loyola. Column and arch and dome rise upon his vision, radiant
in painted light, and trembling with celestial music. Again he kneels
before the altar, from whose tablature beams upon him that loveliest of
shapes in which the imagination of man has embodied the spirit of
Christianity. The illusion overpowers him. A thrill shakes his frame,
and he bows in reverential rapture. No longer a memory, no longer a
dream, but a visioned presence, distinct and luminous in the forest
shades, the Virgin stands before him. Prostrate on the rocky earth,
he adores the benign angel of his ecstatic faith, then turns with
rekindled fervors to his stern apostleship.

Now, by the shores of Thunder Bay, the Huron traders freight their birch
vessels for their yearly voyage; and, embarked with them, let us, too,
revisit the rock of Quebec.




CHAPTER XIII.