Three or four times, devout and godly people saw the blessed(*) angels - or so did it seem to them - coming down and up the lofty ways, unlike phantoms or spectres do. And the divine ray, earlier than the dawning day, shone like in a mirror, and disappeared; and in disappearing, it marked the place with two lines of luminous fire.
. . .
Among a thousand tents a shrine rises up, full of sacred pictures and statues: it can be taken away, and stored, and it is cleansed and washed, so that the Priest may consecrate [the Eucharist] to God. Here [Bishop] Simon wets his face with tears before the shining brightness of sacred lamps, in seeing the Lance and the precious blood that redeemed us, and left Christ bloodless.
(*) Literally: chosen.
Comments on Monday. Tomorrow it will be up to Bram Stoker. Bye.