She had heard a whisper in an unknown tongue that could still be learned, answering Life's agonizing cry with a song of glory.

If only he loved her, some day all would be well.

Some day the barriers would fall.

Crumbling with the flesh, they would fall and set her naked spirit free to seek its other self.

And then, having found her love, what more was there to seek?
What other answer did she desire to all the problems of her life than this of Unity attained at last--Unity attained in Death! And if he did not love her, how could he answer her?
Surely that message could not pass except along the golden chord of love, which ever makes its sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of fear.
The troubled glory passed--it throbbed itself away; the spiritual gusts of thought grew continually fainter, till, like the echoes of a dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sank to nothingness.