She had broken through the barriers of earth; the quick electric message of her heart had found a path to him she loved and come back answered.

But in what tongue was that answer writ?
Alas! she could not read it, any more than he could read the message.

At first she doubted; surely it was imagination.

Then she remembered it was absolutely proved that people dying could send a vision of themselves to others far away; and if that could be, why not this?
No, it was truth, a solemn truth; she knew he felt her thought, she knew that his life beat upon her life.

Oh, here was mystery, and here was hope, for if this could be, and it _was_, what might not be?
If her blind strength of human love could so overstep the boundaries of human power, and, by the sheer might of its volition, mock the physical barriers that hemmed her in, what had she to fear from distance, from separation, ay, from death itself?
She had grasped a clue which might one day, before the seeming end or after--what did it matter ?--lay strange secrets open to her gaze.