TALES OF PrOPHECY

Have you ever woken up in the morning with the conviction that you are no longer the same person that you were when you went to bed? If so, you have heard a tale of prophecy, and answered it with a tale of your own. Like magical transitions, you realize something has changed. Somehow, you have completed a cycle and something about you has grown: a sense of relativity allowed the formations of processes to find direction for a new cycle of life. Using this direction you earned a strong attachment to a goal and then developed resilience to withstand the sacrifices it demanded. There was a sense of direction earned by attachment to an idea that you knew without doubt would be capable of realization. Next you went through the hard part of understanding and accepting that sacrifice with open arms full of faith and confidence that the road ahead was free of obstacles and guaranteed to take you where you were meant to go. Finally, there comes that time of awakening, knowing you have arrived and are ready to set forth again, bound to a perfect relationship that you want to maintain with all your heart and soul. With confidence and gratitude, unencumbered by the past, you hear those precious words, “Proceed my child”, smile and respond, “What next my Lord?”

PRELUDE TO PROPHECY

October 10, 2020,

Good evening Friends,

Let us take a moment before moving on to Merse for the conclusion of the Land of the Butterflies, A Prelude to Prophecy.

If it is hot, we can sip on a mug of iced lemonade with just enough honey to sweeten it a touch. Alternatively, if it is cold, I will bring some hot apple cider slightly spiced with a dash or two of freshly ground cinnamon. Either way, we can sit silently and savour the sunset.

The butterfly has emerged from the cocoon and is catching his breath as he seeks comfort in his ability to take flight by learning how to spread his wings…

It is one thing to understand that a New World is within reach, but it is quite another to let it touch yourself, your home and all you love. There is a very real resistance to changing the soul of your land, its people, and yourself to accept an entirely new civilization as demanded by God as promised with the setting of the sun.

When all told, perhaps, like me, you will be ready for a brand-new world to awaken when the sun once again rises.

Let us pray that the night will not be too long and hold on to our faith in the love and forgiveness of our parent and his child.

Well friends, the sun is now setting. The urn has emptied. It is time to finish the tale in hopes the butterfly is also ready to take flight.

With excitement, anticipation, and love from

Tara

Are you willing to defend your soul?

At times in life, we come across moments when we understand our sacrifices and must work through the pain and agony of reinventing ourselves using that new understanding. No matter how hard it is, eventually we will discover that there are no choices, no options, and concentrate our thoughts and efforts on coming to grips with a new reality. Hoping that once we get our heads around the idea of having ended, we will be free to begin growing…

On the path of decay, we begin to fall and the only way to stop is through faith. Faith that we are attached firmly to our relationship with God. When we realize our strength well exceeds the resilience necessary to take flight, confidence will bloom that we truly belong to God, are willing and ready to sacrifice our own will to be obedient to the will of God. With knowledge of our identity relative to God, we will forge ahead learning how to serve creation in the building of the Kingdom of God.

Defended from the temptations of following our own and the will of man around us, our souls will find peace and contentment in working toward development of our new purpose as willing, enthusiastic slaves anticipating a time when we will be recognizable as Instruments of God.

And, we shall rejoice!

The only question left is how long and how far are we going to fall before we are willing to take the hand of God and follow where we were created to go?

4TH INTRODUCTION

Our Instrument of Creation, Cultural Judge York Sabastin, has come to a crossroads that will tax his very being. He is secure that he is ready to face his next challenges, understands that he must go through this next step as though he was starting over on a new path to confirm he is on the path of God and not deviating onto a path of his own or one serving only the will of man.

Can he succeed?

Please join me for the conclusion of the first Tale of Prophecy that I have been asked to share, A Prelude to Prophecy. Hopefully, we will be brave enough to share some more Tales of Prophecy another time.

Love Tara

55 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CASTLE

“Ah, Merse,” he said as he stood looking at himself in the mirror of his vacant room. He was not there, but his trunk sitting in the middle of the room said unequivocally that he no longer lived here. Lakker was right, with Tara gone from the living there was nothing left behind to justify his lingering. There was work to be done and the sooner he began, the sooner he would return. Carefully, York checked the closet and the drawers of his desk. Heather had done well. He opened his trunk. Tears fell as he realized how much thought and care had gone into its packing. She was telling him something, and smiling, York understood. On one side, she packed his comforter, ready to welcome him into the security of his room at Merse. The other side displayed a carefully chosen set of clothes. Although quite inappropriate for the season, the outfit he had worn when he first set eyes on Lakker was extremely welcome and symbolic. York was touched. In the centre, secured with love and affection, was his sacred chest. A simple key to the winning of Merse, the chest called out, “Use me first.” Reminding himself that he was only going to the other side of the castle, York felt loved. He touched Tara and warmth flowed through his exhausted spirit. This was home. He was not leaving. He was growing up. He closed and locked his trunk. He pulled it out into the corridor and with a last look at a room where he had learned to love and unite a castle, York whispered, “Only to the other side of the castle, not far and not gone for long. I am beginning my journey back right at this moment.” He closed the door. It clicked ominously as though it too would await his return. York laughed and burst into song. It was a foolish song with lines like “Hello, hello, can you see me yet? I am almost home. I am on my way to being once more in your arms,” and “Quickly, quickly fill my tapestry. I can feel the touch of the future against my cheek.”

Women poured into the hall, each hugged him, and the hall was full of blessings. Rae summoned him, and he said welcome to a new son an hour later. For another hour, he held this son while he slept contentedly against his chest.

Rae kissed him and said, “It is time, York.” With reluctance but faith, York set his son into the arms of John Sunora. The infant did not even wake. He was secure. Lakker was secure. York could leave in peace. Kissing each of his sleeping babies, York lingered with Ana, then Angie. With a stern, but firm chorus of “go”, York left the nursery and knocked loudly on the door behind which Lynn waited.

Softly, she called, “Come in, Sire.”

Lynn stood in the centre of her room dressed as a butterfly but missing a stinger. She held a key on a silver chain out to him. A new ritual was being born. Engraved with the symbol of the Lakker flag on one side and that of the Sabastin flag on the other, it was the key to the Sire’s Quarters of Lakker Castle. Lynn struck York as the shyest and most innocent of all the women of Lakker. In a comforting way, she reminded him of Tara. Perhaps this was how Tara began to gain her wisdom and power. Lynn did not want to be in this position of honour with her Sire. As a woman, like Kion before her, she was serving her duty, protecting her castle. Her faith and the creation of new life out of this union would sustain them all. Lynn, and the coming birth of a child he fathered, symbolized his return.

That Lynn would conceive was clear in both their minds. It was utterly clear the will of God demanded they were here, in this room, at this time, to unite as one in both spirit and body. York did not rush. There was no hurry and no audience demanding a performance. With great patience and pleasure, they talked, laughed, and grew confident in their blessing. Slowly they explored their flesh as well as their spirits. They worshipped and cleansed. Sometime within moments of the dawn of a new day, York took Lynn to her bed and lay down beside her. Behind the clouds above Lakker Castle, the sun broke over the horizon, and a small miracle took place in a wealthy castle blessed by God. Then York and Lynn slept.

Strangely, York woke after only minutes. He kissed Lynn without waking her. With the key safely around his neck, he stepped out into the hall, picked up the handle of his trunk, and pulled it toward the back door.

Katie saw him and called, “No Sire of ours sneaks away through our back door, York Sabastin. Not even a prophet who promises to return. Go out through the front door and lock the Sire’s Quarters as you go.”

York tried to kiss her and hold her close, but she pushed him away, “We have had our good-byes. You will not touch me until you have returned. Be back in time to deliver Lynn’s baby and Elisa’s too. Until then, the examining rooms, the Sire’s room and office remain closed in this castle. The door into these quarters will remain locked.”

York blew her a kiss and sang her a song, all the while marvelling that he was neither tired nor sad. She was right. He was only going to the other side of the castle. It felt very satisfying to lock the door of the Sire’s Quarters. It was good. This was his door, and no other had the right to use it. He really did belong.

A guard waited at the front door. As he stepped outside, she smiled and held the door while he dragged his trunk out into the cold. Just as when he came into the castle, the ice tunnel greeted him. The guard closed the great door. The sound echoed in the tunnel. York laughed aloud in delight as he heard the lock being set firmly across the doors. Lakker was not without a sire. His flag still flew. Life was good.

Isa opened the door for him and helped him load his and Koron’s trunks into the transporter. Very gently, he woke Koron who was sleeping on the bench. She jumped up before she was even awake, hugged Isa and took York’s hand. Isa hugged him and with tears in her eyes, she handed him a brown paper envelope. “Whatever happens, York, you will know how to come back home.”

With shaking hands, York opened the envelope. It contained a copy of the Lakker Castle’s death disc complete with all access codes and clearances. His heart knew he was taking Lakker with him. He opened his trunk and set the envelope and its precious contents into his sacred chest. He clung to Isa while Koron pulled on his arm, and as Koron’s impatience dragged him away, cried, “I love you, Isa. I love all of Lakker and Sunora. Wait for me, Isa. I will not be long.” Then he took a controller from Isa and stepped out into the port. Expertly, he teased the haze into existence and pulled it out around himself and Koron. With a soft whoosh, the transporter pulled them into it. The door closed, and they heard it seal shut. “Koron,” he said, “Prepare for an adventure. There are things I want you to see.”

He chuckled as he keyed in Tara Lecyan’s address. He kissed Koron; she blushed, and he pushed the go button. He had frightened her and apologised. He wanted to touch her. He was being naughty and taking a dangerous risk, but he was going to take the time to kiss Tara Lecyan and look upon South Beach before he took his trunk to Merse. However, he would not sin against Koron. He would not rape her. While they slept, he would dream about making love in a transporter and laugh at the how ridiculous that thought had been.

When the transporter slowed in Shiacre, Koron was clearly terrified. Tradition dictated certain death for her if seen here. It was illegal for a woman her age and status to be within a city. York looked at her pale, frightened face and reassured her. As they travelled along the tunnels, he commented about how few other transporters were about and told her that Tara’s apartment was in a quiet, secluded area. They would not stay long, and, if she pulled her hood up over her head, none would know she was not an old lady paying a visit to a friend. They dropped down into the lower tunnel. The transporter moved very slowly, and Koron saw York was correct. Few were about as it was still early. York parked the transporter as close to the building as he could manoeuvre it. He helped Koron put on her cloak, gloves, and thermal socks, put his arm around her and asked that she trust him. It would only take a few seconds for them to step out of the transporter, watch the door close and seal, and walk up the steps into the building and through the halls to Tara Lecyan’s apartment door. They met no one. York knocked on the door. Tara quickly answered it. She gazed in shock at York, then with a stricken gasp at Koron. In her haste to shut out the world, she pulled them in and slammed the door.

“You have gone mad, York Sabastin! How dare you come here with a fertile woman? Leave quickly, before anyone notices you are here.”

York smiled and took off his cloak. He hugged Tara. When he pushed his cloak into her arms, she scowled but took it. York helped Koron with her cloak and handed it to Tara as well. “We are hungry, Tara. Please make us an urn of hot cider and some toast.”

Tara hung up the cloaks and did as York asked her. “I did not think you would ever shock me again, York, but you have done so. Look at this woman. She is terrified. I would never have believed you could be cruel. Why are you putting her at risk?”

“Until Merse has accepted the new world, I cannot touch her. I do not know what the new world for Merse looks like, but when it arrives, I must ensure I will recognize it. Koron will help me. A page in life is turning, and I needed to be here to cleanse with you and celebrate a ritual of thanksgiving. I could not do so at Lakker because my sacred chest has been packed and blessed to welcome Merse into my soul. Koron has the duty to protect my life at Merse, but without knowing me, she cannot do so. Again, I cannot touch her. Therefore, the only way she can know me is through a cleansing ritual of thanksgiving. If I entered Merse before the celebration, it would be too late. Here is the safest place I know.” York paused a moment and looked with unmistakable love at Koron.

Tara realized that in order to save her life, he had to risk putting it in great danger by bringing her into the realm of the taboo.

“Tara Lecyan, meet Koron Lakker; Koron meet Tara.”

Tara dropped her anger and embraced Koron. “God is with him, Koron, trust him, and all will be fine. We need only faith.”

Waiting in silence for the cider to be prepared, they sat at the table. Without a word, Tara and York drank two cups each while Koron sipped on hers feeling more than a little uncomfortable. When done, Tara fetched her sacred chest, put it upon the table, and opened it. Still they did not talk, and it worried Koron. Through gesture, she understood that she was to do as they did, and Tara began to take off her clothes. Very nervously, Koron did likewise fearing that she might be raped, yet trying to find confidence in the setting of this celebration. All celebrations at a castle, in the presence of a man, ended with a sire touching a woman. In the city, that was not always the case. They confessed their sins, and York took the special cleansing oil and rubbed it sparingly all over Tara. While she watched, Koron began to shake uncontrollably. To her relief, York handed the vial to Tara. Smiling, she rubbed it over Koron. Koron felt uncomfortable having a woman touch her so tenderly but was relieved that York had not violated the sanctity of her flesh with his own hands as he had touched Tara. Tara then washed York with oil, and all three of their bodies glistened. Strangely, the oil made Koron feel clean and pure. She liked how her skin felt and knew she was ready to stand before God, naked, unprepared, and with no secrets hidden. She no longer feared looking at York’s body and found she could do so without feeling guilt or shame. Her desires to touch him slipped to the depths of her mind. Looking at him, she saw another human being rather than a sire. That revelation jolted her understanding of the world but made her smile. A song began to well up inside her. It would have been inappropriate to sing at that moment, so Koron looked at Tara.

Tara was a powerful woman. Even naked, with flabby and sagging flesh, both wrinkled and stretched, Tara brought the words dignified and noble to her mind. There was nothing about her saying old, decrepit, or used up. Her body portrayed her wisdom and determination. Koron would forever more look upon her own signs of ageing as blessings to be revered, not scorned.

The rest of the celebration went smoothly. Koron relaxed. She enjoyed being a part of something holy that was neither sexual in context nor implied the need for the consecration of the flesh. As she took her turn in each step of the ritual, she felt more and more honoured that York felt her important and worthy enough to bring her into the forbidden streets of Shiacre.

Sincerely, Koron cupped the light of the flame into her hands. After releasing it against her eyes to help her see with only the eyes of God, she was conscious of a difference in the way she saw the world. As the second handful of holy light released against her ears, the sounds of three people breathing became holy to her ears. Her heart spilled over with the love that the light against her heart emptied into it. God’s love was pure. To savour the feeling, Koron closed her eyes. Blushing bright red, she recognized that God had placed the image of a naked man before her. With her whole being, she wanted to reach across the flame and touch the man who was so close but completely out of reach. She would protect him with her own life. Her heart told her he would do, and was now doing, the same thing for her. The light Koron held in her hands frightened her. To do only the work of God was a scary oath to take. Hoping it would sink deeply into every muscle and bone to give her the courage to obey God, Koron held the light for a long time. The last handful of light satisfied both her hunger and thirst. God would always sustain her. In return, out of gratitude and respect, she would struggle to speak only the will of God.

Then, the deep strong voice of her Sire broke the silence. Aloud, he prayed he would learn how to divide a castle peacefully so it could unite with the future world God wanted to grow and thrive upon the Land of the Butterflies. So that they would not fear the future, they prayed Merse would accept and love them. Then York asked God to put Her arms around Koron so he could take her safely back to the transporter.

Tara asked Koron to take the honour of blowing out the candle. They all participated in putting the holy items back into Tara’s sacred chest. After dressing, they hugged one another. It seemed fitting and moral for Koron to hug her Sire. York hugged her back. Consciously aware that they were playing with fire, neither lingered long for fear of sinning. To help ease the tension of the moment Tara teased York, and they all laughed. Begging Tara to let him touch her, York broke out into song. He told how since he was a young boy, he had dreamed of taking her to her bed and making passionate love to her. Even how one day he had taken her granddaughter, Linny, to his bed and dreamed he was holding Tara while he loved her. It was not right, he said. He loved her, for herself, the rest of the night, and begged forgiveness. Linny had told him she felt honoured that he could have dreamed she was as special as was the matriarch, Tara Lecyan. While he sang, Tara simply laughed. Some verses made tears well up in her eyes as she too remembered moments in her life with a young boy who had grown into the man before her. Koron wondered if anyone would ever love her as completely as York loved his senior matron. She hoped so. Tara hugged him, kissed his forehead, and flatly told him that he could not touch her. He was a sire, and she was not fertile.

While York stared into Tara’s eyes in order to remember her, the sweet voice of Koron filled the air. Her song was of her newfound confidence and direction. She looked forward to helping York at Merse Castle and had faith that God would guide and protect her.

York and Tara were aware of noise in the hallway. Someone had heard and recognized York’s voice. Everyone would recognize the voice of youth. York drew his sword. Koron fell silent. Tara brought them their cloaks, and they quickly prepared to leave. Tara took their hands and said a prayer. As she did so, an aura rose around Koron. Putting his sword in its sheath, York smiled. Tara stepped out of her apartment, to a chorus of “the prophet is here, let him sing for us!” With Koron beside him, York stepped out into the hall. At his signal, those in the hall moved back. York began to sing. When York nodded to her questioning eyes, Koron joined him in a love song. Without danger, they left the building. As the door closed, they smiled. Someone had said, “I heard the prophet sing. God was beside him, and Her voice was heavenly.” The tunnel was vacant and silent. While York opened the transporter door, Koron asked forgiveness. They were inside and on their way before Tara’s neighbours reported his presence in Shiacre to Human Resources and the city at large.

“Please, Koron, just one more stop. It will not take long.”

York was met with formality and shock at the spaceport but was given clearance to generate a transporter loop and allowed to secure it. None would follow him. Wondering if God was on board, people peered at the transporter. Guards appeared everywhere permitting none to get near the port assigned to the Prophet. York felt sad that the world feared those working with God when they really should want to be closer to those thought closest to God. As he pushed the go button, York asked Jarrock to forgive his vanity.

Marvelling at the beauty of the universe, Koron watched the planet slip away below her. Very soon, they were falling back to their planet and slowing to land on the top of a cold windy cliff. York opened the transporter door but did not get out. The snow was too soft, and the transporter sat in a depression. York tried to look out over the sea but could see nothing. He closed the door and wept. South Beach was not in his reach. He put the transporter on manual and went as close to the edge as the yellow light line permitted. There was only ice. Suspended, they sat there until the sound of the wind was broken with a powerful scraping and creaking that swiftly turned to thunder as a great slab of ice thrust upward by the churning sea below it. York smiled. He had the sign he needed. Programming the location of Merse Castle into the console, he pushed the go button and settled back in his seat to sleep.

Lunch was finished by the time the transporter landed in the port at Merse Castle. Many came to greet him as he brought a woman and her trunk into the castle. They had heard they had been in Shiacre and were curious but afraid to interfere. York handed Koron, still bathed in the soft light of God, her bow and quiver of arrows. Deftly Koron fitted an arrow. The Merse guards shuffled in their nervousness but did not react in hostility. York took his trunk out of the transporter and released it. He closed the door into the back room of Merse Castle. With Koron following, he dragged his trunk through the ice tunnel up to the black front doors. He pulled it into the Great Hall. He dropped the handle and, as though a bell had rung, a bong echoed through the hall.

Many women appeared, as did Surri, Shadow, and Harman. Koron sat on his trunk and surveyed the crowd that continued to gather. York fixed his eyes on Shadow, and everyone else faded from his mind. Calling her to come forward, he sang to her. He took her bow and gave it to Koron. Koron stood, opened York’s trunk and set the bow on top of his comforter. She left the trunk open. Shadow gave her the quiver and all the arrows it contained, and Koron placed them on the specially chosen garments. York asked Shadow to lift his sacred chest out of the trunk, set it before them, and open it. Shadow nervously obeyed. In total silence, the women of Merse watched. Guards appeared at the front doors and among the crowd, but their arrows aimed at the floor not toward York, Shadow, or Koron.

York stopped singing. “Shadow, we have forgiven your sin against Tara, Quawn, and I. Now it is time that you forgave yourself. I invite you to join me in a ritual ceremony of thanksgiving.”

Shadow looked at him questioningly then nodded. Koron, having just participated in this ceremony realized she had been prepared to serve as the narrator and leader of the same ceremony, except she would not participate in the ritual herself. Silently, she prayed for God’s guidance. Very calmly, she instructed York and Shadow to undress. Shadow cried as she disrobed. It was cold in the Great Hall, and they were cold eyes that she felt penetrating her nakedness. Koron could see the women looking at York as she herself had done. She wondered if they would see York as a human rather than only as a man. York took out the vial of cleansing oil and held it while he confessed his sins. Shadow recited the prayer with him, finding it comforting to be able to bow her head to escape the glisten of the man before her. Opening the vial, York spilled some into the palm of his hand.

The guards raised their arrows and pointed them at York. With her aura blazing, Koron rose and walked around York and Shadow. As she pointed at each guard, her bow fell from her hand. None dared stoop to pick it up again but stood shaking until another put an arm around her. Koron moved behind York and told him to continue.

When handed the vial, Shadow did likewise. York rubbed his hands together then over his own body. A sigh emitted from the crowd as Shadow, too, worked oil over her own body. Explaining that the oil cleansed them both of all sin and freed them from bondage, Koron sang. York stepped toward Shadow and took her hand to pull her toward him. As he rubbed against her, she cried. The tension in the room heightened, but Koron kept singing until York backed away from Shadow, touching her with only his hands. Slowly he massaged the oils into her limbs so that they shone in the light of the Great Hall of Merse Castle. He massaged her face, neck, and then her torso. Her breathing relaxed, and she felt clean and pure.

York took her hands and set them against his chest. Shadow still could not look at him and trembled, afraid to move. York put his hand under her chin, lifting it so that she faced him. He waited, looking directly into her eyes, for her to relax and see him as human. Slowly the red of her skin faded, and she smiled at York. Tentatively, Shadow began to massage the oil into his skin. When she was done, her thoughts were pure, and she was ready to give thanks to the Lady, her God.

The remaining ritual brought the warmth of God. After York and Shadow cupped the flame, many of the women came forth to receive the will of God into their senses. This was one of the most sacred of rituals of the Land of the Butterflies. They cleansed their hands by touching the skin of both Shadow and York before they cupped the flame. The aura around Koron faded, until it was no longer discernible, but the women remained afraid of Koron, and offered her strict respect from that day forward. As Koron blew out the candle, York and Shadow re-packed the sacred box. York was pleased as he surveyed the women. He felt success touch his heart and smiled. While Shadow dressed, Koron handed York the special outfit folded neatly at the top of his trunk then walked among the many women, gathering all their bows. Closing the trunk, she set the bows on top. She returned and asked all the guards, except the two at the doors, to surrender their quivers. Without hesitation, they did so. Koron placed the quivers beside the bows. After a final inspection of the Merse women, and a carefully directed stare and circuit of Harman and Surri, Koron began singing again.

It was a chant with a lively beat, calling for York and Shadow to dance. Koron stood near the pile of weapons, fitted her own bow thus silencing the objections in the hall. With pleasure, York Sabastin danced with a woman in brown in the Great Hall of Merse Castle. He took her arm at the end of the dance and walked into the Sire’s Quarters, then his room.

Koron picked up the handle of his trunk and dragged it behind them. She took up her position as the Sire’s guard after leaving the trunk inside York’s room. After ensuring York had securely closed the door, then facing away from the door, she stood, with the bow, held upright, resting on the floor, her arm comfortably hanging loose at her side and an arrow, in the other, held tight across her chest. It was a stance speaking volumes. The will of God protected the Sire. This woman, who remained unidentified to those of Merse Castle, was no more than a symbol, but too powerful for them to address. Women bowed their heads when they passed by and moved quickly and carefully in order not to upset her. Harman did likewise, but Surri stopped before her and kissed her forehead.

Surri had nowhere to sleep. Sounding like music, Koron laughed and moved aside. After Surri knocked on the door and entered, women heard much laughter. York and Surri talked for a while then Surri took a change of clothes and left. He knocked on Gloria’s door in the nursery, and she let him in. When he came out without his change of clothes, the castle trembled, realizing that he would sleep in the nursery with a woman in white. Taking a few women into the kitchen, Surri rearranged it, Sabastin style. He gave some orders to the kitchen staff and without waiting for a reply, left. Harman was frightened, but Surri said only, “I hope you are confident enough to sing at dinner, Harman, otherwise, I have a feeling that the guardian just may shoot you.”

In shock, the women of Merse could not think or focus upon a task. They walked as though in a daze. When a prophet brought God among them, their world had slipped away. The Guardian might be no more than a woman, and innocent of her own actions, but she was a tool of God, even if only temporarily. As though in a trance, the aura held them. They could not react to their surroundings. God brought forth a strange kind of terror. Were they afraid? Yes. Did they feel in mortal danger? No. If they felt anything at all, it was their loss of control and power. God was in control of Merse Castle. Like newborn babies, they were helpless. Yet, they were old enough to understand destiny had snatched their convictions and will away as though they were very old indeed.