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Updated: May 15, 2025
"A part of an ancient religion one that is still followed on some of the Central Worlds. Its followers call themselves Christians. They say it came from Earth, the mother-world of men." "Our faith has no name. We are children of Lyssa, who was a daughter of the Master." "It is an odd similarity," Kennon said. "But other races have had stories of the Creation.
Once in the year, from Spain, tokens and home-tidings came to him, sent by certain beloved friends of his youth. A barkentine brought him these messages. Whenever thus the mother-world remembered him, it was like the touch of a warm hand, a dear and tender caress; a distant life, by him long left behind, seemed to be drawing the exile homeward from these alien shores.
American students may well derive from all former lands from forenoon Greece and Rome, down to the perturb'd mediaeval times, the Crusades, and so to Italy, the German intellect all the older literatures, and all the newer ones from witty and warlike France, and markedly, and in many ways, and at many different periods, from the enterprise and soul of the great Spanish race bearing ourselves always courteous, always deferential, indebted beyond measure to the mother-world, to all its nations dead, as all its nations living the offspring, this America of ours, the daughter, not by any means of the British isles exclusively, but of the continent, and all continents.
Then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met Temptation riding towards the padre from the south, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse. "For a day, one single day of Paris!" repeated the padre, gazing through his cloisters at the empty sea. Once in the year the mother-world remembered him. Once in the year a barkentine came sailing with news and tokens from Spain.
Then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met Temptation in the guise of a youth, riding toward the Padre from the South, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse. "For a day, one single day of Paris!" repeated the Padre, gazing through his cloisters at the empty sea. Once in the year the mother-world remembered him.
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