Chapter four of Lady Sybil's Choice by Emily S. Holt. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter four. A Journey and the End of It. A violet by a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye. Fair as a star when only one is shining in the sky. Wordsworth. Bound for the East Country, I, we're fairly off at last, Amari and I, with Old Marguerite and her niece Perrette, and Betrayed Robert's daughter, and Robert himself, to wait upon me, and an escort of armed men and Amari's tendons. Yet it was not all brightness when we came to leave the castle. Alex and Monsieur Raymond were there to take leave of us, and I really fancied—it must have been fancy—that there were tears in Alex's eyes when she kissed me. There were none in Berges, nor in Guelots. But Raoul cried honestly, though Amari said afterward that he believed three quarters of Raoul's tears were due to his having to stay behind. Father Eudes gave me his blessing, and he wept too, poor old man. I dare say he was sorry. He was here before I was born. Then the maidens and servants came forward, the women kissing my hand and the men my robe, and last of all I came to Montsignor, our father. He folded me close in his arms and bent his head down upon mine, and I felt two or three hot tears on my brow.  Well, it is for thy welfare. The good God bless thee, mignon, and my seniors and madames, the saints. Please, God, little maiden, we shall meet in Jerusalem. Meet in Jerusalem? I said in surprise. This was news to me that Montsignor meant to take the cross. I said he softly. In the Sion Aurea, Ut Clarior Oro, there is an upper city, my child, which is fairer than the lower. Jesu of his mercy bring us there. Amen, said Father Eudes. Dame Mary, pray for us poor sinners. There was a great bustle after that, and noise and clashing, and I do not remember much distinctly till I got into the litter with betrayed, and then first Amari set forth in his charger with his squires after him, and then Marguerite behind, Roberton horseback, and Peret behind Amari's varlet, who was a cousin of hers, and then my litter moved forward with the armed men around and behind. I just saw them all clearly for one moment, Alex with her lips set, looking at us, as if she were determined not to say a word, and Messiah Raymond smoothing his moustache, and Gwillow with an old shoe poised in the air, which hit my four pastilly in the next minute, and embarrassed with that fair false smile with which she deludes everyone at first sight, and Montsignor with his arms folded, and the tears fairly running down his cheeks, and his lips working as if he were deeply grieved. Just for one minute there they all stood, and I think they will make a picture in my eyes till the end of time for me. And then my litter was drawn out of the castle gate, and the horses tramped across the drawbridge, and down the slope below, and I drew the curtain of the litter aside, and looked back to see my dear old home, the fair, strong castle of Lusingen, growing less and less behind me every moment, till at last it faded into a more dim speck in the distance, and I felt that my long inventorsome journey had begun. Oh, why do people never let us know how much they love us, until just as we unclass pans in part? Do they always know it themselves? And I wonder whether dying is anything like this. Do men go a long journey to God, with an armed escort of angels, and do they see the world go less and less behind them as they mount? I will ask Margret what she thinks. She is but a villain in truth, but then she has such curious fancies. I have asked Margret, and she shakes her head. Ha, no, mademoiselle, it can be no long journey to God. Father Eudice said but last Sunday, reading from the breviary in his sermon, that he is not far from every one of us, and the good thief-dip-miss that was crucified with God was there in half a day. It can only be a little way to heaven. Ah, much less than half a day it must be, for did not Monsignor St. Gabriel, the holy archangel, begin to fly when Monsignor St. Daniel began to pray, and he was there before he had finished his beads? It is a long while since Father Eudice told us that, and I thought it so comforting, because it showed that heaven was not far, and also that the good Lord listened so quickly when we call. Ah, I have to say, wait, Eloise, I am listening to correct, but the good Lord does not need to do that. He can hear my Lady the Queen, and the Lady Alex, and Monsignor Guy, and mademoiselle, and her servant Margret all at once. Yes, I suppose it must be so, though I cannot understand it. One has to believe so many things that one cannot understand. Do we even know how we live from day to day? Of course, it is known that we have certain organs in our bodies by which we breathe, and speak, and walk, and digest food. But can anyone tell how all they do goes to make up what we call life? I do not believe it. We took our way by portier across the Duchies of Barry in Burgundy, and through Franch Comte, crossing some terrible mountains between the Saint-Charne and Neufchatelle. Then we travelled across Switzerland. Oh, how beautiful it is! I felt as though I should have been content to stay there and never go any farther.  What man, said he, with such an accent on the man, ever wanted to stop away from gorgeous pageants and gallant deeds of arms, just to stare at a big hill with some snow on it, or a pool of water with some trees round it? How could anybody make a name in that foolish way? Said Monsieur Amari. What old Marguerite thought with me? De Moselle, she said, I am very thankful I came on this journey. Me thinks I have a better notion what heaven will be like than I had before we left Poteau. I did not know the good God was so rich. There seems to be no end to the beautiful things he can make. Oh, how beautiful he himself must be! And we shall see his face. Father Eudes read it. For one says to Marguerite she always finds something to say in answer about the good God. Surely she should have been a nun. We came into Italy through two great passes, one over the Giulia mountain, so called from Giulia Caesar, the great emperor, who made the road by help of the black art, and set up two pillars on the summit to commemorate his deeds. And then, passing through a beautiful valley, where all flowers of the year were out together and there was a lovely chain of lakes, which Natia Amari scornfully called crocuses in dirty water, we wound up hill after hill until at last it really seemed as if we must have reached the top of the world. Here were two small lakes at the foot of a drear slope of ice, which in these parts they call a glacier, and they called them the black lake and the white lake. We had two sturdy peasants as guides over the mountains, and I should have liked dearly to talk with them about their country, but of course it would not be seemly in a damsel of my rank no bless a bleach. But I got Marguerite to ask them several questions, for their language is significantly like the Lang Dulk for us to understand them, though they speak very thickly and indistinctly. They told Marguerite that their beautiful valley is named the Val Angiadina, and they were originally a colony from Italy, who fled from a persecution of Saracens. This pass is called the Bernina, for burn in their tongue signifies a bear, and there are many bears out here in the winter. And they say this mountain is the top of the world, for here the waters separate on the one side flowing far away into Asia, near the place where Adam dwelt in Paradise, the Black Sea, and on the other into the Great Western Sea, the Mediterranean, which we shall shortly have to cross. And here on the very summit of this mountain dwelt a holy hermit, who gave me a shelter in his hut, while the men camped outside round great fires. For though it was August, yet at this great height it was quite cold. And so through the pass we wound slowly down into Italy. Footnotes, two cognate languages were at this time spoken in France, north of the Loire, the Lang du Oil, and south the Lang du Oc, both words meaning yes in the respective languages. The more northern language was the harsher, C-H being sounded as K, just as Church in England becomes Kirk in Scotland, Cher-She's-Sien therefore were pronounced K'er-K'es-K'en in the Lang du Oil. And all the evil Donner doing in the world was at this time attributed to the Saracens. The colony is supposed to have arisen from the flight of a group of Christians in the persecution under Diocletian. End footnotes. Magritte and Perrette were both full of the beauty they had seen in the Great Glacier, on which they went with the guides, but it would not have done for a damsel of my rank, and I really saw no beauty in it from across the lake. It looked like a quantity of very dirty ice, with ashes scattered over it. But they said it was full of deep cracks or fissures, in which were the loveliest colors that human eye could see or heart imagine. Ah, I can guess now, said Magritte. I could not think what Monsignor St. John meant when he said that the city was gold like clear crystal. I know now. Demoiselle, in the glacier there are walls of light, the sweetest green shading into blue that my Demoiselle can possibly imagine. They must be like that, but golden. If my Demoiselle had seen it, the Great Nobles have not all the good things. It is well not to be so high up that one cannot see the riches of the good God. She has the queerest notions. Well, we travelled on through Lombardy and tarried a few days at Milan, whence we journeyed to Venice, which is the strangest place I ever saw or dreamed of. For all the streets are canals, and one calls for one's boat where other people order their horses. The Duke of Venice, who was called the Doge, was very kind to us. He told us at a supper a comical story of a Duchess of Venice who lived about a hundred years ago. She so dearly loved ease and luxury that she thought it too much trouble to eat with her fingers like everybody else, and she actually caused her attendance to cut her meat into little pieces like dice, and then she had a curious instrument with two prongs made of gold, with which she picked up the bits and put them into her dainty mouth, only fancy. Footnote, the first fork on record. End footnote. At Venice we embarked and sailed to Messina, where most of the pilgrims for the Holy Land assemble, as it is the most convenient port. We did not go overland, as some pilgrims do, through the dominions of the Byzantine Caesar. But we sailed to Crete. I was rather sorry to miss Byzantium, Constantinople, both on account of the beautiful stuffs which are sold there, and the Holy Relics. But since I have seen a spine of the Crown of Thorns, which the Lady de Montbelliard has, she gave 700 crowns for it to Monsignor de Reims, the Archbishop. I did not care so much about the relics as I might otherwise have done. Perhaps I shall meet with the same kind of stuffs in Palestine, and certainly there will be relics enough. Footnote, Byzantine Caesar, the Eastern Emperor, his dominions in Europe extended over Greece and Turkey. End footnote. From Crete we sailed to Rhodes, and thence to Cyprus. They all say that I am an excellent sailor, for I feel no illness nor inconvenience at all. But poor betrayed has been dreadfully ill, and margaret and parets say they both feel very uncomfortable on the water. At Cyprus is an abbey of monks on the hill of the Holy Cross, and here a Mari and his men were housed for the night, and I and my women and a convent of nuns not far off. At the abbey they have a cross, which they say is the very cross on which our Lord suffered. But some say it is only the cross of Dittmus, the good thief.  If it be only a piece of common wood, I suppose it would be idolatry. So I thought it more right and seemly to profess to have a bad headache, and declined to mount the hill. I asked Amari what he done. Oh, worshipped it, of course, said he. But how if it were not the true cross, I asked. My sister would still have a night thus discordious. The monks believe it true. It would have hurt their feelings to show any doubt. But Amari, it would be idolatry. Ha, bah, he answered. The angels will see it put to the right account. No doubt of that. Dear me, if one is to be forever considering little scruples like that, why there would be no end to them, one would never do anything. Then I asked Marguerite if she went up to worship the Holy Cross. No demoiselle, said she. The Grey Friar said we worship not the cross, but the good God that died thereon. And I suppose he is as near to us at the bottom of the hill as at the top. Well, it does look reasonable, I must say. But it must be one of Marguerite's queer notions. There would be no good in relics and holy places if that were always true. The island of Cyprus is large and fair. It was of old time dedicated by the Panims to Venus their goddess of beauty. But when it fell into Christian hands it was consecrated anew to marry the holy mother. From Cyprus we sailed again a day and a half to Tyre, but we did not land there, but coasted southwards to the great city of Acre, and there at last we took land in Palestine. Here we were lodged in the castle, which is very strong, and we found already here some friends of Amari, the Baron de Montluc and his two sons, who had landed about three weeks before us. Hence we dispatched a letter to Guy. I was the writer, of course, for Amari can write nothing but his name, but he signed the letter with me. Monsieur Renaud de Montluc, who was setting up for the holy city, undertook to see the letter safe. We were to follow more slowly. We remained at Acre about ten days. Then we set forth, Amari and I, the Baron de Montluc and his son, Monsieur Tristan, and several other knights who were waiting for a company, with our respective trains, and the Governor of Acre lent us an additional convoy of armed men to see us safe to the holy city. This was my first experience of tent life, and very strange it felt, and horribly insecure. I, accustomed to dwell within walls several feet thick, with portcullis and doors guarded by bolts and bars, in a chamber opening on an inner court, to have no more than one fold of goat's hair canvas between me and the outside world. True, the men at arms were camped outside, but that was no more than a castle garrison, and where was the castle? Margit, said I, does thou not feel horribly frightened? For, of course, she, a villain, would be more accessible to fear than a noble. Oh, no, my demoiselle, she said very quietly. Is it not in the Holy Salter that the Angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him and deliverth them? We are as safe as in the castle of Lusignan. It is a very good thing for Margit and the maidens that I am here. Because, of course, the holy Angels, who are of high rank, would never think of taking care of mere villains. It must mean persons of noble blood. We journeyed on southward slowly, pausing at the holy places. Capernaum, where messaigneurs St. Peter and St. Andrew dwelt before they followed our Lord, and where messaigneurs St. Peter left Madame his wife, and his daughter, Madame St. Petronella, when he became our Lord's disciple. Of course, he was obliged to leave them behind, for a holy Apostle could not have a wife. Margit says that man in Sackloth, who preached at the cross at Lusignan, said that in the early ages of the church, priests and even bishops used to be married men, and that it would have been better if they had continued to be so. I am afraid he must be a very wicked person, and one of those heretical Waldenses. We also tarried a while at Caesarea, where our Lord gave the keys to Monsignor St. Peter, and appointed him the first Bishop of Rome, and Nazareth, where our Lady was born and spent her early life. Not far from Neopolis, Nablus, anciently called Sycambe, they show the ruins of a palace, where dwelt King Ahab, who was a very wicked panem, and had a Saracen to his wife. At Neopolis is the well of Monsignor St. Jacob, on which our Lord once sat when he was wary. This was the only place we passed, which Old Marguerite had the curiosity to go and see. Know what made the care more for that than any other, I asked her. Of course it was a holy place, but there was nothing to look at save a stone well in a valley. Our Lady's fountain at Nazareth was much prettier. Ah, my Temmoselle is young and blithe, she said and smiled. It is long, long since I was a young mother, like our Lady, and longer still since I was a little child. But the bare old well in the Stoney Valley. That came home to me. He was weary, yet he was God. He is rested now, on the throne of his glory, yet he cares for me, that I'm weary still. So I just knelt down at the old well, and I said to him in my ignorant way, Fair Father, Jesu Christ, I thank thee that thou were weary, and that by thy weariness thou hast given me rest. It felt to rest me, a visit to the place where he sat tired and hungry. But my Temmoselle cannot understand. No, Margaret, I don't at all, said I. Ah, no, it takes a tired man to know the sweetness of rest. Three days journey through the Val de Luna, which used to be called the Vale of Agilon, brought us to the city of Grand David, which was of all of Imgibion. The valley is styled de Luna, because it was here that Monsignor St. Joshua commanded the sun and moon to stand still while he vanquished the Panims. From Grand David it is only one day's journey to the holy city. Tomorrow, Margaret, said I in great glee, only tomorrow we shall see the holy sepulchre. Ha, thanks be to the good God, and we need not wait till tomorrow to see him that rose from it. Why, Margaret, does thou ever have visions? Visions?  Then what did thou mean just now? My Temmoselle cannot understand. Margaret, I don't like that. Thou art always saying it. I want to understand. Then she must ask the good God to show her. And that is all I can get out of her. Short of a league from the holy city is the little hill called Montjoy, because from it the Palmers catch the first glimpse of the blessed Jerusalem. We were mounting, as it seemed to me, a low hillock, when Amari rode up beside me and parting the curtain said, Now, Elaine, look out for we are on the Montjoy. Will thou light down? Certainly, I answered. So Amari stopped the litter and gave me his hand, and I jumped out. He took me to the place where the Palmers knew and thanksgiving for being brought thus far on their journey, and here I had my first sight of the holy city. It is but a small city, yet strongly fortified, having three walls. No pain him as permitted to enter it, nor of course any heathen Jew. I cannot imagine how it was that the good God ever suffered the holy city, even for an hour, to be in the hands of those wicked people. Yet last night, in the tent, if Marguerite did not ask me, whether once in your Saint Paul was not a Jew, I was shocked. Oh, dear, no, said I. I heard somebody say so, she replied. I should think it was some pain him, said I. Why, of course, none of the holy apostles were Jews, that miscreant Judas Iscariot and Pontius Pilateus and all those wicked people, I suppose, were Jews, but not the holy apostles and the saints. It is quite shocking to think of such a thing. Then what were they if madame Waselle pleases, said Marguerite? Oh, they were of some other nation, said I. For really, I do not know of what nation they were, only that they could never have been Jews. Amari said that we must first visit the holy sepulchre, so, though I was dying to have news of Guy, I comforted myself with the thought that I should hereby acquire so much more merit than if I had not cared about it. We entered the holy city by the west gate, just as the dusk was beginning, and passing in single file along the streets, we descended the hill of Zion to the holy sepulchre. In this church are kept many holy relics. In the courtyard is the prison where our Lord was confined after his betrayal, and the pillar to which he was bound when scourged, and in the portico the lance which pierced his side. The stone which the angel rolled away from the sepulchre is now broken in two. Here our lady died and was buried in the church of St. Mary close by. In this church is kept the cup of our Lord, out of which he habitually drank. It is of silver, with a handle on each side, and holds about a quart. Here also is the sponge which was held to his mouth, and the crown of thorns. By a miracle of the good God, one half of the crown is also at Byzantium. The tomb of our Lord is seven feet long, and rises three palms from the floor. Fifteen golden lamps burn before it day and night. I told the whole rosary at the holy tomb, or should have done, for I felt that the longer I waited to see Guy, the more merit I should heap up. But Amari became impatient, and insisted on my coming when a patter and eight avays were still to say. Then we mounted the hill of Zion again, passing the church built in honour of the Prince of the Apostles, on the spot where he denied our Lord. And so we reached the King's Palace at last.  I heard him say to the porter, Is Sir Guy to losing in here? My gracious Lord, the Count of Joppa and Ascalon is here, if it like you noble sir, replied the porter. He's at this moment in audience on my Lady the Queen. I was so glad to hear it. Then Guy had really been created a count. He must be in high favour. One half of his prophecy was fulfilled. But what about the other? Pray you, said Amari to the porter. Do my Lord count to wit that his brother, Sir Amari, the losing in, and his sister, the Lady Elaine, are before the gate? I hardly know how I got through the next ten minutes. Then came quick steps, a sound of speech, a laugh, and then my curtains were pushed aside, and the voice I loved best in all the world said, Lynette, Lynette, my darling! I, it was my own Guy who came back to me. Changed? No, not really changed at all. A little older, a little more bronzed, a little longer and fuller in the beard, that was all. But it was my Guy, himself! Come, jump out, he said, holding his hand, and let me present thee to the Lady Queen. I long to see my Lynette the fairest ornament of her court. And how goes it with Monsignor our fair father? So, talking all the way, I walked with Guy, hand in hand, up the stairs, and into the very bower of the Imperial Lady who bears the crown of all the world, since it is the flower of all the crowns. I can assure thee, said Guy, the Lady Queen is often talked of thee, and is prepared to welcome thee. It was a beautiful room, though small, decorated with carved and fragrant cedar work, and hung with blue and gold. Round the walls were blue and gold seddles, and three curill-chairs in the midst. There were only three ladies there, but I must describe them. The Queen, who sat in one of the curill-chairs, was rather short and stout, with a pleasant, motherly sort of look. She appeared to be between forty and fifty years of age. Her daughter, the Lady Isabel, who sat in another chair, busied with some embroidery, was apparently about eighteen. But Guy told me afterwards that she is only fifteen, for women ripen early in these eastern lands and grow old fast. She has luxuriant black hair and dark shining eyes, on the settle was a damsel a little older than the Princess, not quite so dark nor so handsome. She, as I afterwards found, was the demoiselle Mélisande de Courtney, a distant relative of the King, who dwells with the Princesses. Guy led me up to the Queen. Footnote. Mélisande de Courtney, a fictitious person, Mélisande is the modern version of this old Gothic name. It comes from Amala Souind and signifies Heavenly Wisdom. Madam, said he, your Highness has heard me often speak of my younger sister. Ha! the little demoiselle Helena! replied the Queen, smiling very kindly. Be welcome, my child. I have indeed heard much of you.  Not even one, eh, sir Count? Isabelle, I desire thee to make much of the demoiselle and let her feel herself at home, and, Mélisande, I pray thee give order for her lodging and let her women be seen to. Ah! here comes another who will be glad to be acquainted with you. I turned around to see at whom the Queen was looking. An inner door of the chamber had just opened, and two ladies were coming into the room. At the one I scarcely looked, save to see that she was old and wore the garb of a nun. The other fixed my eyes in an instant. Shall I say she was beautiful? I do not know. She has a face about which one never thinks whether it is beautiful or not. She is so sweet, so sweet. Her hair is long of a glossy golden hue, her eyes are dark grey, and all her soul shines out in them. Her age seemed about twenty, and Guy said behind me in a whisper. The Lady Sybil of Montferrat. Something in Guy's tone may be glad suddenly at his face. My heart felt for a moment as if it stopped beating. The thing that I feared was come upon me. The whole prophecy was fulfilled. The beautiful Lady stood before me. I should be first with Guy no longer. But I did not feel so grieved as I expected.  The old nun proved to be a cousin of the Queen, whom they call Lady Judith, a fictitious person. She is an Arometis, and dwells in her cell in the very palace itself. I noticed that Lady Sybil seems very fond of her. De Moselle Mélisande showed me a nice bed-chamber where I and my three women were to lodge. I was very tired and the Queen saw it, and in her motherly way insisted on my having some supper and going to bed at once. So I did not even wait to see Amari again, and Guy went to look for him and bring him up to the Queen. The King, being a messel, dwells alone in his own rooms and receives none. When Guy has to communicate with him he tells me that he talks with him through a lattice, and a fire of aromatic woods burns between them. But I can see that Guy is a very great man here, and has the affairs of the State almost in his own hands. I said to Marguerite as I was undressing, Marguerite, I think Count Guy is going to marry somebody. Why, if it please, Madame Moselle? From the way he looks at Lady Sybil and other things. You're gracious, pardon, but is he less loving to Madame Moselle? Oh no, more loving and tender than ever if that be possible. Then it is all right, said Marguerite. He loves her. What does thou mean, Marguerite? When a man marries Madame Moselle one of three things happens. Either he weds from policy and has no love for his lady, but most in your Guy loves to look at her, so it is not that. Or he loves himself, and she is merely a toy which ministers to his pleasure. Then he would be absorbed in himself and her, and not notice whether any other were happy or unhappy. But if he loves her with that true, faithful, honourable love, which is one of God's best gifts, then he will be courteous and tender towards all women, because she is one. And especially to his own relatives, being women, who love him, he will be very loving indeed. That is why I asked. Oh Marguerite, Marguerite!  Not all on earth, Madame Moselle, but for many of them all that is wanted is just to keep one's eyes open. Are my eyes open, Marguerite?  She can open them again tomorrow. So I went to sleep, and dreamed that Guy married Lady Judith in her nun's attire, and that I was in great distress at this sacrilege, and could do nothing to avert it. The soul, doubtless, is immortal, where a soul can be discerned, Robert Browning. For the last few weeks, since we reached Jerusalem, I have been very busy going about with the Damosel Melisinda, and sometimes the Lady Isabel, with Amari as escort. We have now visited all the holy places within one day's journey. I commanded Marguerite to attend me, for it amuses me afterwards to hear what she has to say. We went to the Church of St. Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which is built in a round form, and in it is the empty tomb in which our Lady was buried, so some say, and that the angels carried her body away in the night, but others some say, that while the holy apostles were carrying her to her burial, the angels came down and bore her away to paradise. I asked Marguerite, as she always listens, if she had heard Father Oud's read about it from the holy evangel, but she said he had never read the story of that, at least in French. In this Church there is a stone in the wall, on which our Lord now to pray on the night of his betrayal, and on it is the impression of his knees, as if the stone were wax. There is no roof to the Church, but by miraculous provision of the good God, the rain never falls on it. Here also our Lord's body, when taken down from the cross, was wrapped and anointed. We also visited the Church of the Holy Ghost, where is the marble table at which our Lord and the holy apostles ate the last supper, and they received the holy sacrament at his hands. There is also a chapel with an altar where at our Lord heard mass sung by the angels, and here is kept the vessel where in our Lord washed the feet of his disciples. All these are on Mount Zion. Marguerite was very much interested in the vessel in which the holy apostles' feet were washed, but she wanted to know which of them had put it by and kept it so carefully. This, of course, I could not tell her. Perhaps it was revealed by miracle that this was the vessel. Ah, well, she said, turning away at last, with a contented face. It does not much matter if only the good God wash our feet. But that cannot be, Margo, said I. Lady Judith was with us that day, and she laid her hand on my arm. Child, said she gently, if he wash thee not, thou hast no part with him. And, said Marguerite, my lady will pardon me. If he wash us, we have part with him. I, answered Lady Judith, heirs of God, joint heirs with Christ, thou knowest it, my sister, thou hast washed. I, we believers, enter into rest. I wondered what they were talking about. Lady Judith, of the Caesar's purple blood, and born in a palace at Constantinople, and old Marguerite, a vileen, born in a Hubble in Poitou, marvel to relate. They understood each other perfectly. They have seemed quite friendly ever since. It can hardly be, because they are both old. There must be some mystery. I do not understand it at all. Another day, we went to the Church of the Ascension, which is on the summit of Mount Olivet. This also has an open roof. When our Lord ascended, he left the impression of his feet in the dust, and though palmers are constantly carrying the holy dust away by baskets full, yet the impression never changes. This seemed, to me, so wonderful that I told Marguerite, expecting that it would very much astonish her. But she did not seem to think much about it.  Ah, my, Bamboiselle, she said. They did well that built this Church, and put no roof on it. For he is not here. He has gone up. And he will come again. Thank God, he will come again. This same Jesus, the same that wore the crown of thorns, and endured the agony of the cross, and the same that said, Weep not to the bereaved mother, and go in peace to the woman that was a sinner, the very same himself, and none other. I marvel if it will be just here. I would like to live and die here if it were. Oh, Marguerite, said I, Thou dost not fancy it will be while thou art alive. Only the good God knows that, she said, still looking up intently through the roof of the Church, or where the roof should have been, into the sky. But I would, it might. If I could find it in my heart to envy any mortal creature, it would be them who shall look up, maybe with eyes dimmed by tears, and see him coming. I cannot comprehend thee, Marguerite, said I. I think it would be just dreadful. I can hardly imagine a greater shock. Suppose, at this moment, my damosel were to look behind her, and see Monsignor Count Guy standing there, smiling on her. Would she think it a dreadful shock? Marguerite, how can the two be compared? Only love can compare them, answered the old woman softly. Marguerite, dost thou, canst thou? Love our Lord as much as I love Guy. It is not possible. A thousand times more, my damosel. Your nobility, I know, loves Monsignor very dearly, yet you have other interests apart from him. I have no interest apart from my Lord. All my griefs, all my joys, I take to him. And until he has laid his hand on them and blessed them, I can neither endure the one nor enjoy the other. I wonder if Lady Judith feels like that. I should like to ask her if I could take the liberty. Marguerite was looking up again into the sky. Only think what it will be, she said, to look up from the cradle of your dying child, with the anguish of helplessness pressing tight upon your heart, and see him to look up from your own sickbed, faint and weary beyond measure, and see him from the bitter sense of sin and failure, from cruel words and on kind looks, from loneliness and desolation, from hunger and cold and homelessness, to look up and see him. There will be suffering all these things when he comes. Oh, why are his chariot wheels so long and coming? Does not he long for it even more than we? I was silent. She looked, this old baleen woman, almost like one inspired. He knows, she added softly, he knows, he can wait, then we can. Surely I come quickly. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. Amore called me, and I left her there. He wanted to creep through the columns, and wished me to try first, as I am slimmer than he. I managed it pretty well. So now all my sins are remitted, and I do feel so good and nice. Lady Isabel could hardly do it. And Amore, who has been growing fatter of late, could not get through at all. He was much disappointed, and very cross in consequence. Demoiselle Melisinda would not try. She said, laughing, that she was quite sure she could not push through, and she must get her sins forgiven some other way. But she mischievously ran and fetched old Marguerite, and putting it on a gray face, proposed to her to try the feat. Now I am quite certain Marguerite could never have done it, for though she is not stout, she is a large, built woman. But she looked at the place for a moment, and then said to Melisinda, If the Demoiselle pleases, what will follow? Oh, thou wilt have all thy sins forgiven, said she. I thank the Demoiselle, answered Marguerite, and turned quietly away. Then it would be to no good, for my sins are forgiven. What a strange old woman, exclaimed Lady Isabel. Oh, Marguerite is very queer, said I. She amuses me exceedingly. Is she quite right in her head? Do you think? demanded the Princess. I, Margo, with rather a doubtful expression. I laughed, and Amori said, Oh yes, as bright as a new descent. She is only comical. Then we went into the Church of Saint John, where a piece of marble is kept on which our Lord wrote, when the heathen Jews desired to know his judgment on a wicked woman. Marguerite seemed puzzled with this. She said she had heard Father Udds read the story, and the Holy Evangel said that our Lord wrote on the ground. How did the writing get on that marble? Oh, said I, the marble must have been down below. And it pleased the good God that it should receive the Impress. The good God can do all things, assented Margo.  Coming down on the slope of Olivet, the place is shown where our Lady appeared to Monsignor Saint Thomas, who refused to believe her assumption, and gave him her girdle as a token of it. This girdle is kept in an Abbey in England, and is famous for easing pain. That same afternoon, at the Spice in the Queen's present chamber, were Monsieur Dumont Luc and his sons. And we fell in talk. I remember not how. Upon certain opinions of the schoolmen, Monsieur Renaud would have it that nothing is, but all things only seem to be. Nay, truly, Monsieur, said I, laughing. I am sure I am. Pardon me, not at all, he answered. And that cedar wood fire is, said Damoiselle Merlisande. By no means, replied Monsieur Renaud. It exists but in your fancy. There is no such thing as matter. Only mind. My imagination sees a fire there. Your imagination sees a fire. But there is no fire. Such a thing does not exist.  If you please, Monsieur, remarked the Queen, who seemed much amused. I expect you will come to a different conclusion within five minutes. I humbly crave your highness's pardon. My finger is an imagination. It does not really exist. And the pain of the burn. Would that be imagination also? She inquired. Undoubtedly, Lady, said he. But what is to prevent your imagining that there is no pain pursued her highness? Nothing, he answered. If I didn't imagine that, there would be none. There is no such thing as matter. Mind. Soul. Is the only existence, Lady. What nonsense is the boy talking, growled the Baron. But I pray you, Monsieur Renoux, said I. If I do not exist, how does the idea that I do exist get into my head? How do I have a head for it to get into? Added Guy. Stuff. And nonsensical rubbish, said the Baron. Under leave of my Lady Queen. Lad, thou hast lost thy senses. No such thing as matter. Quotha. Why, there is nothing but matter that is in reality. What men call the soul is simply the brain. Give over thy fanciful stuff.  Monsieur. Ask Guy. Call me. What name you will. Sir Count. Return the Baron. I am no such fool as Yon Lankylad of mine. I believe what I see and hear. And there I begin and end. So does every wise man. It is not a little odd, inquired Guy, that everybody should think all the wise men must believe as he does. Odd. No, said the Baron. Don't you think so yourself, Sir Count? Guy laughed. There is one thing I should like to know, said he. I have heard much of realists and nominalists, but I never before met one of either. I wish to ask each of you, Monsieur, in your system, what becomes of the soul after death? Nay, if there be no soul, what can become of it? Put in Demoiselle, Melisinda. Pure foy, cried the Baron. I concern myself about nothing of that sort. Holy Church teaches that the soul survives the body, and it were on Seamly to gain, say, her teaching. But, ha, what know I? For me, said Monsieur Renoux, a little grand eloquently, I believe that death is simply the dissolution of that which seems, and leaves only the pure essence of that which is. The modicum of spirit, of that essence, which I call my soul, will then be absorbed into the great soul of the universe, the unknowable, the unknown. We have a name for that, Monsieur, said Guy, reverently. We call it God. Precisely answered Monsieur Renoux, you, we, Holy Church, personify this unknowable essence, which is the fountain of all essence, the parable, for a parable it is, is most beautiful. But it, he, name it as you will, is nonetheless the unknown and the unknowable. The boy must have a fever, and delirium is on him, said the Baron. Get a leech, lad.  There was silence for a minute, and it was broken by the low, quiet voice of Lady Judith, who sat next to the Lady Queen, with a spindle in her hand, and this is life eternal, that they should know thee. She added no more. Beautiful words, truly, responded Monsieur Renoux, but you will permit me to observe, Lady, that they are, like all similar phrases, symbolical. The soul that has risen the nearest to this ineffable essence, that is most free from the shell of that which seems, may, in a certain typical sense, be said to know this essence. Now there never was a soul more free from the seeming than that of him whom we call our Lord. Accordingly, he tells us that, employing one of the loveliest of all types, he knew the Father. It is perfectly charming to an enlightened mind, to recognize the force, the beauty, the hidden meaning, of these exquisite types. Lad, what is the length of thine ears, growled the Baron? What crouched-ass crammed all this nonsense into thee? Enlightened mind, exquisite types, charming symbolism. I am not at all sure that I understand thee, thou exquisite gander. But if I do, what thou meanest, put in plain language, is simply that there is no God, eh? Fair Father, under your good leave, I would choose other words. God, what we call God, is the unknowable essence. Therefore, undoubtedly there is God. And in a symbolic sense, he is the creator of all things, this essence being the source out of which all other essences are evolved. Therefore, parabolically speaking, I'll lay my stick about thy back, thou parabolical mud puddle, cried the Baron. Let me be served up for salad and supper if I understand a word of thy foolery. Art thou a true son of holy church or not? That is what I want to know. Undoubtedly, fair sir, said Monsieur Renaud, God forbid that I should be a heretic. Our holy mother, the church, has never banned the nominalists. Then it is high time she did, retorted the Baron. I reckon she thinks they will do nobody much harm, because no mortal being can understand them. But where, in the name of all the seven wonders of the world, thou gaddest such moonshine sticking in thy brains? Shoot me if I know. It was not from my lady, thy fair mother, and I am sure it was not from me. Monsieur Renaud made no answer beyond a laugh, and the Lady Queen quickly introduced a different subject. I fancy she saw that the Baron was losing his temper. But when Monsieur Renaud was about to take leave, Lady Judith arose, as quietly as she does everything, and glided to his side. Fair sir, she said gently, I pray you, pardon one word from an old woman. You know years should teach wisdom. Trust me, lady, to listen with all respect, said he courteously. Fair sir, she said, when you stand face to face with death, you will find it does not satisfy your need. You will want him. You are not a thing but a person. How can the thing produce be greater than that which produces it? You are pardon, fair lady, and holy mother, interposed Monsieur Renaud quickly. I do not object to designate the unknowable essence as him. Far from it. I do but say, as the highest minds have said, we cannot know. It may be him, it them. We cannot know. We can but bow in inimitable adoration and strive to perfect, to purify and enlighten our minds so that they shall grow nearer and nearer to that ineffable possibility. A very sad look passed over Lady Judith's face. My son, she said, if the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness. These are not my words, but his that died for thee. And without another word, she glided back to her seat. Margot, said I, when she came to undress me, is my body or my soul, me, to fall and bruise yourself, Ben Moiselle would tell you the one, said she, and to receive some news that grieved you bitterly would show you the other. Monsieur Renaud Dumont Luc says that only my soul is me, and that my body does not exist at all. It only seems to be. Does he say the same of his own body? Oh yes, of all. Wait till he has fleshed his maiden sword, said Margot. If he comes into my Ben Moiselle's hands for surgery, all ladies were taught surgery and practiced it at this date. With a broken leg and a sword cut on the shoulder, let her ask him, when she has dressed them, whether his body be himself or not. Oh, he says that pain is only imagination, said I. If he chose to imagine that he had no pain, it would stop. Very good, said Marguerite, then let him set his broken leg with his beautiful imagination. If he can cure his pain by imagining he has none, what must he be if he do not? Well, I know what I should think him, but his father, the Baron du Mont Luc, will have it just the opposite, that there is no soul nor anything but what we can see in here. Ah, they will both find out their mistakes when they come to die, said Margot. Poor, blind things. The good God Grant that they may find them out a little sooner. I asked Guy if he did not think the Baron's notion a very dangerous one, but while he said yes, he added that he thought Monsieur renews much more so. It is so much more difficult to disprove, said he. It may look more absurd on the surface, but it is more subtle to deal with and much more profound. They both looked to me very silly, said I. I wish they were no worse, was Guy's answer. Today, we have been to the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem. This is a little city, nearly two leagues from Jerusalem, that is, half a day's ride. The way tithers is very fair, by pleasant plains and woods. The city is long and narrow and well-walled and enclosed with good ditches on all sides. Between the city and the church lies the field Florides, where of old time a certain maiden was brought to the burning, being falsely accused. But she, knowing her innocence, prayed to our Lord, and he, by miracle, caused the lighted faggots to turn into red roses, and the on-lighted into white roses, which were the first roses that were ever in the world. The place where our Lord was born is near the choir of the Church, down sixteen steps, made of marble and richly painted, and under the cloister, down eighteen steps, is the charnel house of the holy innocence. The tomb of Saint Jerome is before the holy place. Here are kept a marble table, on which our Lady ate with the three kings that came from the east to worship our Lord, and the cistern into which the star fell that guided them. The Church, as is meat, is dedicated to our Lady. Marguerite wanted to know if I were sure that the table was marble, because, she said, our Lady was a poor woman. Only imagine such a fancy, but she insisted upon it that she had heard Father Oud's read something about it, as if the Queen of Heaven, who was, moreover, Queen of the land, could have been poor. I told Marguerite I was sure she must be mistaken. For our Lady was a princess born. That may be of blood, said she, but she was poor. Our Lord himself, when on earth, was but a vileen. I was dreadfully shocked. Oh, Marguerite, I cried.  Art thou not afraid of the church falling on thee? It would not alter that, if it did, said she, dryly. Our Lord, a vileen, exclaimed I. How is such a thing possible? He was the King of Kings. He is the King of Kings, said Marguerite, so reverently that I was sure she could be no ill. And he was of the royal blood of Monsignor St. David. That is the evangel of the nobles. But he was by station a vileen, and wrought as a carpenter, and had no house and no wealth. That is the evangel of the vileens. And the vileens need their evangel, Demoiselle, for they have nothing else. I could not tell what to answer. It is rather puzzling. I suppose it is true that our Lord was reputed the Son of a carpenter, and he must have wrought as such Monsignor St. Joseph, I mean, for the Lady du Mont-Billiard, who was fond of picking up relics, as a splinter of wood from a cabinet that he made. But I always thought that it was to teach religious persons. By this term a Romanist does not mean what a Protestant does. The only religious persons in the eyes of the former are priests or monks. A lesson of humility and voluntary poverty. It could not be that he was poor. Then our Lady, I have seen a scrap of her tunic, and it was as fine stuff as it could be. And I have heard, though I never saw it, that her wedding ring is set with gems. I said this to Marguerite. How could our Lady be poor? All that may be. She replied with quiet perverseness. But I know, for all that, Father Udds read that our Lord was born in a crutch, or laden one, because there was no room in the inn. And they do not behave in that way to kings and nobles. That is the lot of the vileen. And he chose the vileen's lot. And I, a vileen, have been giving him thanks for it. And nothing that I could say would disturb her calm conviction. Demoiselle, Melisinda, told me some interesting things as we rode back to the holy city, as that Jerusalem is very badly supplied with water, and the vileens collect and drink only rainwater. Of course, this does not affect the nobles, who drink wine. About two leagues from Jerusalem towards the north is a little village called Jericho, where the walls of the house of Madame Saint Rahab are still standing. She was a great lady who received into her house certain spies, sent by Monsignor Saint Joshua, and hid them behind the arrows.  How could a great lady keep a cabaret? I wish she would give over listening. If it makes her take such fancies. Demoiselle, Melisinda, also told me that Adam, our first father, was buried in the place where our Lord was crucified, and our Lord's blood fell upon him, and he came to life again, and so did many others, and Adam wept for his son Abel 100 years. Moreover, there is a rock still standing in the place where the wicked Jews had their temple, which was in the holiest place of all. And here our Lord was want to repose, whilst his disciples confessed themselves to him. All these legends may be found in the travels of Sir John Vandeville. Coming home, we pass by the Golden Gate, which is the gate whereby our Lord entered the holy city on the ass, and the gate open to him of its own accord.  The marks, I certainly saw, but I could not have told that they were the print of an ass's hoofs. I suppose I was not worthy to behold them quite distinctly. Guy called me to him this evening. Little Lynette, he said, I have something to tell thee. Let me spare thee the pains, Guy, answered I mischievously. Does thou think I have no eyes? I saw it the first night we came. Saw what? asked Guy, with an astonished look, that thy beautiful lady had appeared. I replied, Thou art going to wed with Lady Sibyl. What fair it whispered it to thee, little witch, said Guy, laughing. Thou art right, Lynette. The King hath bestowed on me the regency of the kingdom and the hand of his fair sister. Tomorrow, in presence of the nobles, I am to be solemnly appointed regent. And a month hence, in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I wed with the Lady Sibyl. If thou art happy, Guy, I am very glad, said I. And I said it, honestly. Happy? I should think so, cried he. To be regent of the land of all lands? And she, Lynette, she is a gem and a treasure. I am sure of that, Guy, said I. And now, my news is not finished, little sister, said he. The King has given Amore a wife.  Poor thing, who? said he. Amore or his bride? Oh, the bride, of course, said I. Amore won't care a straw for her. And she will be worried out of her life if she does not. Dress to please him. Let us hope that she will, then, answered Guy, still laughing. It is the demoiselle, a sheen, Iybilin, daughter of Monsieur du Reims. Thou dost not know her? Dest thou? What is she like? Oh, most women are like one another, said Guy.  A woman is a woman, and that is all. Oh, indeed, said I, rather indignantly. A man is a man, I suppose. And that is all. Guy, I am astonished at thee. If Amore had said such a thing, I should not have wondered. Men are different, of course, answered Guy. But a woman's business is to look pretty and be attractive. Everybody understands that. Nobody expects a woman to be over-wise or clever. Thou hast better be quiet, Guy, if thou dost not want thine ears boxed, said I. If that is not a speech enough to vex any woman, I have never heard one. You men are the most aggravating creatures. You seem to look upon us as a kind of pretty animal, to be kept for a pet and plaything. And if you are not, too, obtuse yourselves to find out that your plaything occasionally show signs of a soul within it, you cry out, Look here! This toy of mine is actually exhibiting scintillations of something which really looks almost like human intellect. Let me tell you, sir Count, we have as much humanity and sense and individuality as yourselves, and rather more independence. Pretty phrases and courtly reverences and professions of servitude may sound very well in your ears, and of those you give us plenty. Does it never occur to you that we should thank you a great deal more for a little genuine respect and consideration? We are not toys. We are not pet animals. We are not pretty pictures. We are human creatures with human feelings like yourselves. We can put up with fewer compliments to our complexions, if you please, and a little more realization of our separate consciences and intellects. Ha! Luzignan cried guy, looking half ashamed and half amused. Saint Marguerite 4.2 Upon my word, Lynette, I have had a lecture. I shall not forget it in a hurry. Yes, said I, and thou feelest very much as if Lady Isabel's pet monkey had opened its mouth and uttered some wise apothems upon the rites of apes. Not that thou hast an atom more respect for the rites of apes in general, but that thou art a little astonished and amused with that one ape in particular. Guy went off laughing, and I returned to my embroidery. Really? I never did see anything like these men. Nobody expects a woman to be wise, for sooth. That is, of course, no man. A woman is nobody. I do not believe that men like a woman to be wise. They seem to take it as a personal insult, as though every spark of intellect added to our brains left theirs duller. And a woman's mission in life is, of course, to please the men, not to make the most of herself as an individual human soul. That is treason, usurpation, impertinence. They will see what they will see. I can live without them, and I mean to do. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Lady Sybil's Choice by Emily S. Holt This labour box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kathleen. The perversity of people. Do one good. Is it good, if I don't want it done? Now do let me grumble and groan. It is all very well other folks should have fun. But why can't they leave me alone? Vamoizel, Melisinda, and I have been busy all morning in laying out dried herbs under the superintendence of Lady Judith. The herbs of this land are not like those of Poitou. There was Cassia. Of which one variety, Cine, Lady Judith says, is taken as medicine to clear the system and purify the blood and garlic, which they consider an antidote to poison, and the wild, gourd, colosynth, which is medicine for the liver, and high-sop, spikonard, warmwood, a cure for vertigo, and many others. Two curious fruits they have here, which I never heard of in Poitou. The one is a dark, fleshy stone fruit. Very nice indeed, which they call plums or domicines. Introduced into Europe by the crusaders, they grow chiefly at Damascus. The other grows on trees around the Dead Sea and is the apple of Sodom. Very lovely to the eye, but as soon as you bite it, you find nothing but a mouthful of ashes. I was so amused with this fruit that I brought some home and showed them to Marguerite. Ah, the world is full of those, she said, when she had tried one, and found out what sort of thing it was. Thou art quite mistaken, Marguerite, said I. They are found, but in this country, and only in one particular spot. Those that can be seen, very likely, said she. But the on-scene fruit, my damoiselle, grows all over the world, and men and women are running after it all their lives. Then I saw what she meant. They have no apples here at all, but citrons and quinces, which are not unlike apples. The golden citron, oranges, is a beautiful fruit, juicy and pleasant. And Lady Judith says some people reckon it to be the golden apples of the Hesperides, which were guarded by dragons, and likewise the apples of gold, of which Monsignor King Solomon speaks in holy writ. There are almonds, and dates, and cucumbers, and large, luscious figs, and grapes, and melons, and mulberries, and several kinds of nuts, and olives, and pomegranates. Quinces are here thought to make children clever. They make no hay in this country. As for their stuffs, there are new and beautiful ones. Here they weave visis, cotton, and a very fine transparent stuff called muslin. Grape comes from Cyprus, and damisk from Damascus. Wince, it is named. But the fairest of all their stuffs is the botican, of which we have none in Europe, especially the golden botican, which is like golden samite. I have bought two lovely pieces for Alex. The one gold-colored, the other blue. Some very curious customs they have here, which are not common in Europe. Instead of carrying lanterns when one walks or rides at night, they hang out lanterns in the streets, so that all are lighted at once. It seems to me a rather good idea. Guy has been telling us some strange things about the Saracens. Of course I knew before that they worshipped idols. All medieval Christians thought this. And deal in the black art. But it seems that Saladin, when he marches, makes known his approach by a dreadful machine, produced by means of magic, which roars louder than a lion, the first drum on record, and strikes terror into every Christian ear that is so unhappy as to be within hearing. This is, of course, by the machinations of the devil. Since it is impossible that any true Catholic could be frightened of a Saracen otherwise, we are all very busy preparing for the weddings. There are to be three on three successive days. On the Saturday, Amore is to be married to Damoiselle Achine. Poor thing, how I pity her. I would not marry Amore to be impris. On the Sunday, Guy weds with Lady Sibyl. And on Monday, Lady Isabel with Monsieur Hommefroy do tours. I think Lady Sibyl grows sweeter and sweeter. I love her. Oh, so much. She asked me if Guy had told me the news. I said he had. And does thou like it? Lynette, she asked Shiley. Very much indeed, said I. If you love him, Lady. Love him, she said.  Oh, Lynette, if thou newest how well. He is my first love. I was wedded to my lord of Montferrat. When both of us were little children, we never chose each other. I hope I did my best to make him a good and dutiful wife. I know I tried to do so. But I never knew what love meant as concerned him. Never till he came hither. Well, I am sure Guy loves her. But shall I own to having been the least bit disappointed with what he said the other day about women? I should not have cared if Amore had said it. I know he despises women. I have noticed that brainless men always do. And I should not have expected anything better. But I did not look for it from Guy. Several times in my life, dearly as I love him, Guy has rather disappointed me. Why do people disappoint one in that way? Is it that one sets up too high a standard? And they fall short of it. I think I will ask Lady Judith what she thinks. She has lived long enough to know. I found an opportunity for a chat with Lady Judith the very next day. We were busy brodering Lady Sybil's wedding dress, the super tunic of which is to be white, bodicom, diapered in gold, and brodered with deep red roses.  Lady Isabel will be in gold-colored bodicom and my new sister Ashene in rose damask. I have said nothing about Ashene though she is here. It was because I had not anything to say. Her eyes, hair, and complexion are of no color in particular. She is not beautiful nor ugly. She is not agreeable nor disagreeable. She talks very little. I feel absolutely indifferent to her. I should think she would just do for Amore. Well, we were brodering the tunic. Lady Judith doing the gold and eye the red and the Moselle melisinda had been with us working the green leaves. But the Lady Queen sent for her and she went away. So Lady Judith and I were left alone. Holy Mother, said I, give me leave to ask you a question. Surely my child, said she, any one thou wilt. Then, Holy Mother, do people ever disappoint you?  And which you would not have expected from him? Lady Judith's first answer was an amused smile. Who has been disappointing thee, Helena? Oh, nobody in particular, said I hastily. For how could I accuse Guy? Nor you, D'Amore, forbid. But I mean in general. Generals are made of particulars, Helena. But I have not answered thy question. Yes, certainly I have known such a feeling. And if it please you, Holy Mother, what is the reason of it, said I? Does one set up one standard of right, truth, and beauty too high? That is not possible, my child. I should rather think thou hast set up the man too high. Oh, said I deprecatingly. Hast thou ever heard a saying, Helena, that a man sees only that which he brings eyes to see? There is much truth in it. No man can understand a character which is higher or broader than his own. Admire it, he may. Enter into it, he cannot. Human character is a very complicated thing. Then one may be too low to see a man's character. True, and one may be too high. A single eye will never understand a double one, or they may be too far asunder. A miser and a spin-thrift are both in the wrong, but neither of them can feel with the other. But where the temperaments are alike, said I, for I always think Guy and I were cast in the same mold. They never are quite alike, she replied. As in a shield borne by two brothers, there was always a difference. Pray you, Holy Mother, do you think my brother Guy and me alike? Alike? Yet very different, she said. And smiled, cast from one mold, yet he on the one side of it, and thou on the other. What do you think is the difference, Holy Mother? May I know? What's thou like to know, Helena? She said, and smiled again. Oh, I think I can bear to hear my faults, said I. My pride is not of that sort. No, she said. But thou art very proud, little one. Certainly, said I. I am noble. Lady Judith looks suddenly up at me, with a kind of tender look in her gray eyes, which are so like, and yet so unlike, Lady Sybil's eyes. Little maid, tell me one thing, is thine heart at rest? I never have been at rest, Holy Mother. I do not know how to get it. No, dear heart. Thy shoulder is not under the yoke. Listen to the words of the Master. Thy Lord and mine, take my yoke upon you and learn of me. For I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. Little maiden, will thou not come and learn of him? He is the only one in heaven or earth who will never disappoint thee. Rather bitter tears were filling my eyes. I don't know how, I said. No, dear heart. He knows how, said Lady Judith. Only tell him thou art willing to learn of him, if thou art willing, Helena. I have had some thoughts of going into the cloister, said I. But I could not leave Guy. Dear child, canst thou not learn the lessons of God? Without going into the cloister? I thought not, said I. One cannot serve the good God, and remain in the world. Can one? Ah, what is the world? said Lady Judith. Walls will not shut it out. Its root is in thine own heart, little one. But, your pardon, Holy Mother, you, yourself, have chosen the cloister. Nay, my child. I do not say I might not have done so. But, in fact, it was chosen for me. This veil has been upon my head, Helena, since I was five years old. Yet you would not deny, Holy Mother, that a nun is better than a wife? I trust that I shall not be understood, or supposed to express any approbation of conventional life. At the date of this story, an unmarried woman, who was not a nun, was a phenomenon, never seen.  In these early times, also, nuns had more liberty, and monasticism, as well as religion in general, was free from some corruptions introduced in later years. The original nunneries were simply houses where single women could live together in comfort and safety, and were always seminaries of learning and charitable institutions. Most of them were very different places at the date of the dissolution. Better? I am not sure. Happier? Yes, I think so. Most people would say just the opposite. Would they not? Said I, laughing. Most men and some women, she answered with a smile. But Monsignor St. Paul thought a woman happier, who abode without marriage. That is what I should like best. But how can I, without being a nun? Perhaps, if I were an hermitess, like your nobility, I might still get leave from my superiors to live with Guy. It is always Guy with thee, remarked Lady Judith, smiling. Does Guy never disappoint thee, my child? It was on my lips to say, Oh no, but I felt my cheeks grow hot, and I did not quite like to tell a downright lie. I am sure Lady Judith saw it, but she kindly took no notice. However, at this point, Damoiselle Melisinda came back to her leaves, and we began to talk of something else. I asked Marguerite, at night, if people disappointed her. Did my Damoiselle expect never to be disappointed? She answered, turning the question on myself at once. Old people do. They seem to think one always means one's self, however careful one may be. Then I am afraid she will be disappointed. But why, said I, why don't people do right, as one expects them to do? Does one always know what is right, as to why? There are the world, the flesh, and the devil against it. And if it were not for the grace of the good God, any one of them would be more than enough. The world, the flesh, and the devil. The world, that is other people. And they do provoke one, and make one do wrong. Terribly, sometimes. But the flesh, why, that is me. I don't prevent myself doing right. Marguerite must be mistaken. Then, what is grace? One hears a great deal about it, but I never properly understood what it was. It certainly is no gift that one can see and handle. I suppose it must be something which the good God puts into our minds. But what is it? I will ask Lady Judith and Marguerite. Being old, they seem to know things. And Marguerite has a great deal of sense for a vileen. Then, having been minors, and always dwelled with nobles, she is not quite like a common vileen. Though, of course, the blood must remain the same. I wonder what it is about Lady Isabel, which I do not like. I have been puzzling over it, and I am no nearer. It feels to me as if there were something slippery about her. She is very gracious and affable, but I should never think of calling her sweet. At least, not sweet like her sister. She seems just the opposite of Lady Judith, who never stops to think whether it is her place to do anything, but just does it because it wants doing. Lady Isabel, on the contrary, seems to me to do only what she wants doing. In some inexplicable manner, she slides out of every thing, which she does not fancy. And yet she so manages it that one never sees she is doing it at the time. I never can fathom people of that sort, but I do not like them. As for Darling Lady Isabel, I love her better and better every day. I do not wonder at Guy. Of Guy himself, I see very little. He is regent of the kingdom and too busy to attend to anything. Marguerite, I said, what is grace? Does my Damoiselle mean the grace of the good God? I nodded. I think it is help, she answered. But what sort of help? The sort we need at the minute. But I do not quite understand, said I. We get grace when we receive the good Lord, but we do not get help. Help for what? If my Damoiselle does not feel that she needs help, perhaps that is the reason why she does not get it. Ah, but we do get it in the Holy Mass. Can we receive our Lord and not receive grace? Do we always and all receive our Lord? Marguerite, is not that heresy? Ha, I do not know. If it be truth, it can hardly be. But does not Holy Church teach that whenever we eat the Holy Bread, the presence of our Lord comes down into our hearts? Holy Church had gone no further than this in 1183. Bear, transubstantiation, was not adopted by authority till about 30 years later. I suppose he will come, if we want him, said Marguerite thoughtfully. But scarcely, I should think. If we ate that bread with our hearts set on something else, and not caring whether he came or not, I was rather afraid to pursue the question with Margo, for I keep feeling afraid, every now and then, when she says things of that sort, whether she has not received some strange, heretical notion from that man in sackcloth, who preached at the cross at Lusignan. I cannot help fancying that he must be one of those heretics who lately crept into England, and King Henry the Father had them whipped and turned out of doors, forbidding any man to receive them or give them aid. It was a very bitter winter, and they soon perished of hunger and cold, as I suppose such catiffs ought. Yet some of them were women, and I could not but feel pity for the poor innocent babes that one or two had in their arms. And the people who saw them said they never spoke a bitter word. But as soon as they understood their penalty, and the punishment that would follow harboring them, they begged no more, but wandered up and down the snowy streets in company, singing only fancy, singing. And first one, and then another, dropped and died, and the rest heaped snow over them with their hands, which was the only burial they could give. And then they went on singing, always singing. I asked Demoiselle Alacinda the Ferrer's. It was she who told me what they sang. She said they sang always the Holy Salter, or else the Nativity Song of the Angels. Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace towards men of goodwill, Vulgate Version. And at last they were all dead under the snow, but one, one poor old man who survived last. And he went on alone, singing. He tottered out of the town. I think it was Lincoln, but I am not sure. And as far as men's ears could follow, they caught his thin, quavering voice, still singing. Glory to God in the highest, and the next morning they found him laid in a ditch, not singing, dead. But on his face was such a smile as a saint might have worn at his martyrdom, and his eyes gazing straight up into heaven, as if the angels themselves had come down to help him to finish his song. This is the first persecution on record in England of professing Christians, by professing Christians. Oh, I cannot understand, if this is heresy and wickedness, wherein lies the difference from truth and holiness? I must ask, Lady Judith, oh dear, why will people? I do think it is too bad. I never thought of such a thing. If it had been Amaury, now, but that guy, of all people in all this world, come, I had better tell my story straight. I was coming down the long gallery after dinner to the Bower of the Lady Queen, where I meant to go on with my embroidery, and I thought I might perhaps get a quiet talk with Lady Judith. All at once I felt myself pulled back by one of my sleeves, and I guessed directly who had caught me. Why, Guion, I have not seen thee for an age, and I want to see thee for a small age, answered he, laughing. How many weddings are there to be next week? Lynette, why three, said I. Thou wist as well as I. What wouldst thou say to four? Wish them good fortune, so I am not the bride. Ah, but suppose thou weret? Cry my eyes out, I think. Hitherto, Guy had spoken as if he were jesting. Now he changed his tone. Seriously, Elaine, I am thinking of it. Thou knowest, thou came as hither for that object. I came hither for that, cried I in hot indignation. Thou weret sent hither, then, answered Guy, half laughing at my tone. Do not be so hot, little one. Monsignor expects it. I can assure thee. Aren't thou going to wed me against my will? Oh, Guy, I never thought of it of thee, exclaimed I pitifully. For that was the bitterest drop, that Guy should be willing to part with me. No, no, my darling Lynette, said Guy, taking my hands in his. Thou shalt not be wed against thy will. I do assure thee. If thou dost not like the night I had chosen, I will never force him upon thee. But it would be an excellent match. And, of course, I should be glad to see thee comfortably settled. Thou mightest guess that. Might I? That is just what I never should have guessed. Do men ever understand women? Settled, Guy, I said. What dost thou mean by settled? What is there about me that is unsettled? Now, that is one of thy queer notions, answered Guy. Of course, no woman is considered settled till she marries. I should think it was just the most unsettling thing in the world, said I. Lynette, thou weret born in the wrong age, said Guy. I do not know in what age thou weret born. But certainly not this. And thou wouldst be glad to lose me, Guy. Nay, not glad to lose thee, little one. I think, Guy, saw, that had hurt me. But glad for thy own sake. Why, Lynette, crying? For what? Dear foolish child. I could hardly have told him. Only the world had gone dark and dreary. I know he never meant to be unkind. Oh, no. I suppose people don't, generally. They do not find out that they have hurt you, unless you scream. Nor perhaps then, if they are making a noise themselves. My dear little sister, said Guy again. And very lovingly he said it. Why are all these tears? No man shall marry thee without thy leave. I am surprised. I thought women were always ready to be married. Ah, that was it. He did not understand. And thou art not even curious to hear whom it should have been. What would that matter, said I? Trying to crush back a few more hundreds of tears, which would have light to come. But tell me if thou wilt. Monsieur Tristan du Mont Luc. He said, it flashed on me all at once that Monsieur Tristan had tried to take the bridle of my horse. Thin, a tacit declaration of love to a lady. When he came from the Church of the Nativity, I might have guessed what was coming. Does that make any difference? Asked Guy, smiling. No, said I. None. And the poor fellow is to break his heart. I dare say it will peace again, said I. Guy laughed and patted me on the shoulder. Come, dry all those tears. There is nothing to cry about. Farewell, and away he went, whistling a troubadour song. Nothing to cry about. Yes, that was all he knew. I went to my own chamber, sent Bertrade out of it, and finished my cry. Then I washed my face. And when I thought all traces were gone, I went down to my embroidery. Lady Judith was alone in the bower. She looked up with her usual kind smile as I took the seed opposite. But the smile gave way in an instant to a graver look. Ah, she saw, all was not right. I was silent, and went on working. But in a minute, without any warning, Lady Judith was softly singing. The words struck me. Art thou weary? Art thou languid? Art thou sore distressed? Come to me, sayeth one. And coming, be at rest. Hath he marks to lead me to him? If he be my guide? In his feet and hands are wounded prince, and his side. Is there dyadim, as monarch, that his brow adorns? Yea, a crown, in very surety, but of thorns. If I find him, if I follow, what his girdon here? Many a sorrow, many a labour, many a tear. If I still hold closely to him, what hath he at last? Sorrow vanquished, labour ended, Jordan passed. If I ask him to receive me, will he say me nay? Not till earth, and not till heaven, pass away. Oh, your pardon, holy mother, for interrupting you, said Damozele Melisanda, coming in some haste. But the Lady Queen sent me to ask when the Lady Sibyl's tunic will be finished. Her leaves are finished, but not my roses, nor Lady Judith's gold dibering. I felt much obliged to her. For something in the hymn had so touched me that the tears were very near my eyes again. Lady Judith answered that she thought it would be done tomorrow. And Melisanda ran off again. Hast thou heard that hymn before? Helena said Lady Judith, busy with the diber. Never, holy mother, said I, as well as I could. Did it please thee now? It brought the tears into my eyes, said I, not sorry for the excuse. They had not far to come, had they, little one. I looked up and met her soft gray eyes, and it was very silly of me, but I burst into tears once more. It is always best to have a fit of weeping out, Sachi. Thou wilt feel better for it, my child, but I had, had it out, once sobbed I. Ah, not quite, answered Lady Judith. There was more to come, little one. It seemed so foolish, I said, wiping my eyes at last. I do not exactly know why I was crying. Those tears are often bitter ones, said Lady Judith. For sometimes it means that we dare not look and see why. I thought that was rather my position, for indeed the bitter ingredient in my pain at that moment was one which I did not like to put into words, even to myself. It was not that guy did not love me. Oh no, I knew he did. It was not even that I did not stand first in his love. I was ready to yield that place to Lady Sybil. Perhaps I should not have been quite so ready, had it been to anyone else. But there was the sting. He did not love me as I loved him. He could do without me. And I could have no comfort from sympathy, because, in the first place, the only person whose sympathy would have been a comfort to me was the very one who had distressed me. And in the second place, I had a vague idea underlying my grief that I had no business to feel any. That every body, if they knew, would tell me I was exceedingly silly. That it was only what I ought to have expected, and all sorts of uncomfortable consolations of that kind.  Or was I a grand heroine of romance, whose feelings were so exquisitely delicate and sensitive that the common clay of which other people were made could not be expected to understand me? I could not tell. Oh, why must we come out of that sweet old world where we walked hand in hand and were all in awe to each other? Why must we grow up and drift asunder and never be the same to one another any more? Was I wicked or was I only miserable? About the last item at any rate there was no doubt. I said, thinking sad thoughts, and trying to see my work through half-dimmed eyes. When Lady Judith spoke again, Helena, she said, Grief has two voices, and many only hear the upper and louder one. I shall be sorry to see the mist that lower. Stiller voice, which is by far the more important of the two. What do you mean, Holy Mother? I asked, dear heart. She said, the louder voice, which almost here. Chance in a minor key. This world is not your rest. It is a sad, sad song.  But many miss the soft, sweet music of the undertone, which is. Come on to me, and I will give you rest. Yet it is always there if we will only listen. But a thing which is done cannot be undone, said I. No, she answered. It cannot, but can it not be compensated if thou lose a necklace of gilt copper? And one give thee a gold carcannet instead. Has thou really sustained any loss? Yes, I answered. Almost astonished at my own boldness. If the copper carcannet were a love gift from the dead, what gold could make up to me for that? Ah, my child, she replied with a quick change in her tone. It was almost as if she had said, I did not understand thee to mean that. For those losses of the heart, there is but one remedy. But there is one. Costly and far-fetched, me thinks, said I, sighing. Costly, I, in truth, she replied. But far-fetched? No, it is close to thee, if thou wilt, but stretch for thine hand and grasp it. What, holy mother? Her voice sank to a low and very reverent tone. Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt. I cannot, I sobbed. No, thou couldst not, she said quietly, until thou lovest the will of him that died for thee. Better than thou lovest the will of Helene do Lusignan. O holy mother, I cried, I could not set up my will against the good God. Couldst thou not? Was all, she said, have I done that? I faltered. Ask thine own conscience, replied Lady Judith. Dear child, he loved not his will when he came down from heaven. To do the will of God his Father. That will was to save his church. Little Helena, was it to save thee? How can I know, holy mother? It is worth knowing, she said. Yes, it is worth knowing, said I. But how can we know? What wouldst thou give to know it? Not that it can be bought, but what is it worth in thine eyes? I thought and thought, but I could not tell wherewith to measure any thing so intangible. Wouldst thou give up having thine own will for one year? She asked. I know not what might happen in it, said I, with a rather frightened feeling.  Or guy might give over loving me altogether in that year. Oh, I could not. Could not will that, and a year is such a long, long time. No, I could not, for such a time as that. Let myself slip into nothing, as it were. Helena, she said, Suppose, at this moment, God were to send an angel down to thee from heaven. Suppose he brought to thee a message from God himself. That if thou wouldst be content to leave all things to his ordering for one year, and to have no will at all in the matter, he would see that nothing was done which should really harm thee in the least. What wouldst thou say? Oh, then I should dare to leave it, said I. My child, if thou art of his redeemed, he has said it. Not for one short year, but for all thy life. If, Helena, ah, if, I said with a sigh, Lady Judith wrought at her gold-dipering, and I at my roses. And we were both silent for a season. Then the Lady Queen and the Lady Isabel came in, and there was no further opportunity for quiet conversation. End of chapter 6


Non-profit organization Clean Foundation is advocating for legal migration and asking people to desist from illegal journeys due to the dangers involved. Program Manager of Clean Foundation Ruth Olofing said this during a two-day capacity-building workshop for women against human trafficking and forced migration of women and girls in Edo state. Ruth noted that Clean Foundation have launched a project in a beach to enable a gender-sensitive policy environment that addresses forced migration and human trafficking. People can migrate, but we're saying that you should go through the legal means. It's a matter of approaching embassies, going through the right documentation. But what we found against is people coercing people, forcefully or deceiving people with the intent to commercialize them, going through the bad door.  Those are the things that we frown again. Because the youth have a lot of energy, they must expend the energy somehow. Government should be able to come into the realization and see what it can provide for the youth for them to be gainfully employed. So government is implicated in all of this, but it is not only the government. Parents in Edo state have a huge role to play. Think what we need to do is first and foremost, let's build this self-interest and self-worth in our children. Let's make our children know that they are of value.  Each of these children are blessed and they have their own destiny. Parents, let's stop this attitude of greed.   Education is very, very important. As parents that love our children, I want to encourage that, please, we should, of a necessity, help them, especially when it comes to peer pressure. Every stakeholder in the society has a role to play in eradicating your much trafficking or covering your much trafficking, as the case may be. The family itself has its own role to play. It needs to change its values. The cultural and tradition of the society is also important. Government also needs to empower individuals because most persons go into trafficking and forced migration are deceived into it as a result of lack of amenities. So, government has its role to play. The society at large has its role to play. The religious leaders have their role to play.


So, what I'm going to cover is we're going to go through two cases. And as we know, mitral insufficiency can be graded as primary or secondary MR. And I'm going to go through two cases of functional or secondary MR that can be compared and contrasted and actually go quite well together. I have no competing interests. So this is the arpenger classification, which, you know, classifies the MR according to leaflet motion. So type one is normal leaflet motion. Type two is excessive where you can get prolapse and flail, and type three is restricted leaflet motion, which can occur with ischemia, LV dilatation, and like, you know, rheumatic balls. In terms of type two and type three are mainly primary MR, and type one is secondary MR where the actual leaflets themselves are not that abnormal and their motion is generally normal. The problem is either top or bottom of the valve is either the LV or the LA that's causing an issue. So case one, we have a 77-year-old male, history of atrial fibrillation, congestive heart failure, has had previous bypass to obtuse marginal, and a previous mitral valve repair with a small band three or four years ago. So now he's come back and he's presenting with left main osteom stenosis and severe MR. He has no known allergies, and he's on some heart failure medication, beta blocker, anti-hypertensive, and a statin. So this is their four chamber view, and the board doesn't know that the RV function looks normal. It's starting on the right side. The LV doesn't look quite normal, but it's mildly reduced. So the valve leaflets themselves don't look taken or calcified, and they seem to be meeting in the middle. They've got a bit of color on the mitral valve. You can see that there's a clear failure of co-optation, and there's a large central jet that's hitting the base of the atrium. There's a bit of color on the tricuspid, and there's a bit of trivial TR there. Here we've measured the annulus. So the annulus is ideally measured in the midisophageal long-axis view. So the upper lip and her normal is 3.6 centimeters. Here it's 4.7 centimeters almost, so it's quite dilated. And again, scanning through the valve, you're at the commissure level where it's quite normal to see the appearance of two jets, but the scan is cutting through it twice. We're at the two-chamber view. Now you can see the mitral valve, again, small leaflets, the ventricle, less than normal. But there is an abnormality just north of the valve leaflets on the left side, by point to my arrow. That's probably the old band, which seems to be misplaced and not doing what it was supposed to do. I'm going to color on the jet again, and then moving to the three-chamber view, midisophageal long-axis. And this is the ideal view to measure the vena-contractor. The 3D on fast view gives you a nice view vision of the co-optation plane. And you can do this with TT and TE. And if you look carefully, you can see the band at the level of the posterior leaflet, it's not extending from fibrous trigon to fibrous trigon, as you would expect. There's some color, and you can see that the jet looks quite severe. But again, my colleague will talk about the limitations, pros and cons of jet area in the next talk. So we've measured the vena-contractor here. It's at 0.505 centimeters, which is in the moderate range, according to this. But with the grading mitral regurgitation, it's important to not just have one measure, but you have to look at jet area, flow convergence, and the vena-contractor. So it's multiple parameters, where you can decide whether it's mild, moderate, or severe. Just a couple of points on vena-contractor, just to refresh your memories. It's the narrowest portion of the regurgitant flow that occurs at or immediately downstream of the regurgitant orifice. It's characterized by high velocity laminar flow, and it is slightly smaller than the anatomic regurgitant orifice. The cross-section area of the vena-contractor represents the measure of the effective regurgitant orifice area, which is the measure of lesion severity. And it is independent of flow rate and driving pressure for a fixed orifice. And compared to things like jet area, the vena-contractor by color is much less dependent on technical factors. So it's a good semi-quantitative measure. So like I said, it's a 2D measurement, and if the 2D measures less than 0.3 millimeters, it's considered mild, and greater than 0.7, it's considered severe. There's a table by Sogby for the 2012-2017 guidelines. But again, look at a number of parameters, including LV size, the MB morphology, the color flow jet area, the flow convergence, and then some Doppler sets. We'll look at some of these in turn. What they have included there is something called tenting height. So this is the maximum distance from the leaflet tips to the annular plane. If it's greater than 1.1 centimeters, it means you should replace the valve. It's the only time you say that mitral valve replacement is better than repair. And the repair was failed because of the ventricular remodeling. It's also a measure of the degree of tethering of the leaflets because of the abnormal size of the ventricle. Here we have a pulmonary venous flow on the left upper pulmonary vein, which shows systolic blunting of the S wave, which would imply at least moderate MR. And again, good practice is to try and evaluate more than one pulmonary vein to get a better, more accurate measure of the mitral regurgitation. You may not see it in one vein, but you may see it in two more. So what they've done here is they've tried to measure the radius of the pizza. And again, pizza is not something I regularly use in my practice because we could do a whole 45 minutes on the pros and cons of pizza. But here they've measured the radius of the pizza, 0.65. Guidelines say that if the blood pressure is 100 to 120, any radius greater than 1 centimeter implies severe MR. And it's indispensable to have the flow convergence, the venocontract and the jet area in as linear as possible when you're making your measurements. So this is a trans-gastric short axis view of the left ventricle, which shows that again that it's not quite normal and it's got some left ventricular hypertrophy associated with it. Again, and this is the same ventricle at 90 degrees. So looking at all those images, it's easy to characterize that this is a mitral regurgitation secondary to annular dilatation. So what did the surgeons find? Surgeons found that the posterior leaflet was restricted when they went in. The old band had not gone from the fibrous trigon to fibrous trigon. In fact, the band was seven millimeters away from the annulus actually in the left atrium. So the plan they made was to remove the old band, put in a 29-size Hancock valve and do an LED bypass. So these are the post-bypassed images and you can see that the valve is in place. There's a little bit of air that you can see just coming off pump. It seems to be opening well, but some color across it. There's no residual MR, just scrolling through the valves that you can see that everything looks fair. And the LV function doesn't look as good, but that's normal coming off pump initially after one of these operations. Putting some Doppler across, you can see that the mean gradient across the valve is three millimeters, which is encouraging. And here, now that you've got another 3D on-flats view of the Hancock valve, it's functioning quite well. I don't have a color one, but going back to the Wiener contractor, just some tips and trips for our fellows, again, like I said, keep the flow convergence and jet area as linear as possible. Have a zoomed view to minimize measurement inaccuracies. You should position your size and position of the box should be adjusted to focus on the region of leaflet co-optation, not necessarily the entire regurgitation jet within the LA. You also want to keep your color flow sector as narrow as possible to maximize lateral and temporal resolution. And have your scale setting to about 40 to 60 centimeters per second. Like I said, the midisophageal long access view for the Wiener contractor avoids cutting the co-optation line obliquely and potentially overestimating the width of the jet. Classical MR is generally hollow systolic, but you can get an overestimation when it's not. And you would have that in situations like mitral valve prolapse, where you get a late systolic. And so it's important to time your Wiener contractor measurements with your jet. Other things that affect the Wiener contractor width is the geometry of the orifice. So primary MR is associated with a nice circular flow of convergence. But in secondary MR, it's more semi-lunar or elliptical. And that can lead to underestimation of your Wiener contractor. And this is a 3D cartoon, which shows from the 2017 guidelines, which show two cases evaluating and quantifying the Wiener contractor area with 3D echo and multi-planar reconstruction. Primary MR is the upper panel, and it's got a circular VCA and a hemispheric PISA. And the secondary MR is at the bottom panel, which shows an elliptical VCA and non-hemispheric PISA. And it's thanks to 3D echo that we have discovered that the regurgent orifice is often crescent shaped in secondary MR. And in such cases, the assumption of circular orifice geometry inherent to Wiener contractor width may result in underestimation of the secondary MR. And in a recent study, 3D Wiener contractor area greater than 0.4 centimeter squared denoted severe MR. However, studies relating to 3D VCA to outcomes really haven't been performed yet. So I'm not an expert in 3D echo, but some points that it's useful for VCA area, it's more accurate for the EROA than 2D Wiener contractor width. It's useful for multiple jets of differing directions, which is a limitation of 2D VCA. But it has to be measured offline by re-orging your images and cropping your planes. And to find the smallest flow area can be difficult and tedious, because small errors in measurement can lead to large percentage errors. And again, from the 2017 guidelines, this is a nice table that summarizes the technique, the examples, the pros and the limitations of 3D echo, and I would highly recommend this paper. Moving on to case two. So this is a 66-year-old male with long-standing atrial fibrillation, congestive heart failure, non-obstructive coronary artery disease, so it's mild, no allergies, and again, he's on some Ramaprol spartanolactone, fruzomide metoprolopicsinone and isomaprosone. So this series of images that I'm going to present are from the pre-op echo. So this is a patient who's having concious sedation as opposed to a general anesthetic. And I'll illustrate why later. So you can see that there's the four-chamber view, and again, the one thing you might notice is that the left atrium looks absolutely huge just on that view alone. You have at least a moderate regurgitation jet, again, normal-looking valve leaflets. And again, this is zooming in on the valve itself to check the co-optation, rotating again through the commissural views and the two-chamber view. And it's hard to appreciate the significance of that jet, but then when you actually compare it to the intra-op echo, which is coming up, you'll see a big difference. So here's a 3D view that's not oriented very well, but just shows that there's no abnormality in the leaflets themselves. And color flow Doppler, color of 3D, shows that there's a micro-regurgitation jet coming through there centrally. This is the pre-op TTE, which shows, again, highlights the size of the left atrial chamber. You can see that the left atrial end systolic index, end systolic volume index, and the two-chamber view is 57.5 mils per meter squared. The normal range is 34 mils, and anything over 43 is severe. So now in this slide, you're seeing the pre-op TTE versus the intra-op TTE, and this basically highlights the effect of loading conditions. So the grading of MR severity can be significantly impacted by hemodynamic changes, particularly blood pressure. Hemodynamic variation can be seen with conscious sedation during TTE, but it's very challenging in the operating room brought about by anesthesia and vasoactive agents. So you commonly encounter intra-op decrease in loading conditions or contractility, and it, as highlighted here, leads to an underestimation of your MR. So this guy had no echo pre-op and was just coming in. We, you know, it's very likely that we may not comment too much on the mitral regerge. So this is why in functional MR, we judge on pre-op TTE, and if we're looking for pathology, we look at the TTE. For primary MR, there's not that big a difference. So this is the, you know, the intra-op TTE 3D on fast view. And again, if you compare it to the previous, the regerge, even on 3D, doesn't look as impressive. This view highlights the annular dilatation again, healthy four centimeters. So what's the difference between case two and case one? Again, both are annular dilatation. Normal leaflet motion. But the first case was secondary to ventricular enlargement. This case was secondary to atrial enlargement. And this happens in long-standing atrial fibrillation. Surgical findings, they found a moderately dilated left atrium. Minimum mix of changes in the mitral valve. Small leaflets. When they say small leaflets, they're saying small leaflets relative to the actual annular size and gross annular dilatation. So the decision was to repair with a simplicity band, 56 millimeters long to the posterior mitral annulus and do a maze procedure, cryo-relation to the posterior wall and the dome of the LA to actually treat the aphid. So post-op, you can see that the mitral valve has been repaired. The posterior leaflet is fairly mobile and the anterior leaflet is coming up to meet it. And there's no further mitral regurgitation. Again, there's very little gradient across the valve. And this is a nice 3D on fast view of the band, which if you compare it to the first case, you can see that the fibrous trigon to fibrous trigon connection by the band is pretty intact. So this is atrial mitral regurgitation. It's due to atrial myopathy, which is solely due to long-standing atrial fibrillation and left atrial enlargement. Ventricular dimensions are generally normal. And this occurs in 5% to 6% of cases of functional MR. Proposed mechanisms include posterior mitral annulus displacement, tethering of the leaflets, and some have suggested that inadequate mitral leaflet remodeling can also contribute. And most of the time these cases do not come to the OR because they're treated with, they're treated by treating the rhythm and the rate. So non-surgical therapies and catheter ablation therapies. This is a paper by Silbiger in 2014, which highlights the pathophysiology. So you can see the normal disposition of the mitral valve apparatus on the left. The leaflets rest just at the level of the annular plane, which is shown by the purple dashed line during systole. And in AFib, which is Caption B, you can see the left atrial mitral annulus dilatation displace the posterior mitral annulus above the crest of the left ventricle inlet, pressing the posterior mitral leaflet against and leaving little surface of the leaflet for co-optation. And then this distance between the papillary muscle and the posterior annulus increases leading to the posterior leaflet tethering and the MRJET. So my two MCQs is, which of the following is a functional cause of mitral agaritation? Is it mitral valve endocarditis, dilated cardiomyopathy, mitral valve prolapse, or rheumatic mitral valve disease? And the answers should have become clear throughout this presentation, but, you know, through this session, you'll have figured it out. And then the following are indications of severe MR. So systolic flow reversal in the pulmonary veins, regurgitation fraction of over 60%. Sorry, the question is the following are indications of severe MR except. So systolic flow reversal, regurgitation fraction of greater than 60%, EROA of greater than 0.4 centimeter squared, or being contracted diameter of greater than 0.3 millimeters. Thank you. There are my two cases. Thank you, for an excellent talk. Does anybody have any questions for Dr. Insari? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't see any questions on the panel. A quick question for you, if you do a 3D venecontractor, if you have like two venecontractors, do you add them up or do you just take the largest one? If you did a 3D. I think this is one of the limitations that to do, first of all, you have to do it offline. And again, that's laborious and you need to do it for individually for each MR jet.