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The Story of a Dead Self
n creed he so specially condemned,--for each one wore on his breast a massive golden crucifix, hung to a chain and fastened with a jewelled star.
"Cross and Star!" he mused, as he noticed this brilliant and singular decoration, "an emblem of the fraternity, I suppose, meaning ... what? Salvation and Immortality? Alas, they are poor, witless builders on shifting sand if they place any hope or reliance on those two empty words, signifying nothing! Do they, can they honestly believe in God, I wonder? or are they only acting the usual worn-out comedy of a feigned faith?"
And he eyed them somewhat wistfully as their white apparelled figures went by--ten had already left the chapel. Two more passed, then other two, and last of all came one alone--one who walked slowly, with a dreamy, meditative air, as though he were deeply absorbed in thought. The light from the open door streamed fully upon him as he advanced--it was the monk who had recited the Seven Glorias. The stranger no sooner beheld him than