A wandering mendicant enters the narthex, shedding the dust of years. His tattered robes are evidence of a long and arduous journey. He looks up at the Lady of Mourning and begins a beautiful and haunting song of despair and decay.

He kneels before the Lady of Mourning and asks, “Is your name Catherine?”

“No.” He sings another song.

“Is your name Osceola?”

“No.” He sings another song.

Thus towards the end of his life, his days were spent knelt at the altar to ask after a gift of song in his calm and inquisitive manner whether a name belonged to her. Always was her answer no, and always did he offer up a different song. At midnight he would depart the ruined chapel for the tarn to gather a meager sustenance of wild root and clear water.

When the mendicant died, many years later, a smiling question shaping his lips, the Lady of Mourning looked towards the stars through the fractured roof at midnight and sang a song of hope and dreams.

The next morning found a rich warm light falling upon a bare altar.