How much more then at such sights and sounds would a pure spirit, washed clean of every taint of earth, fly from his soiled presence, wailing and aghast?
Nay, men are hypocrites, who, in greater or less degree, themselves practice the very sins that shock them, but spirits, knowing all, would forgive all.

They are above hypocrisy.

If the Lord of spirits can weigh the "dust whereof we are made" and still be merciful, shall his bright messengers trample it in scorn and hate?
Will they not also consider the longings of the heart and its uprightness, and be pitiful towards the failings of the flesh?
Would Stella hate him because he remained as he was made--as herself she might once have been?
Because having no wings with which to rule the air he must still tramp onwards through the foetid, clinging mud of earth?
Oh! how he longed to see her, that he might win her faith; win it beyond all doubt by the evidence of his earthly eyes and senses.

"If I die, search and you shall see," she had once said to him, and then added, "No, do not search, but wait." Wait! How could he wait?
"At your death I will be with you." Why he might live another fifty years! That book of her recorded thoughts had aroused in him such a desire for the sight, or at least the actual knowledge of her continued being, that his blood was aflame as with a madness.

And yet how should he search?
"Stella," he whispered, "come to me, Stella!" But no Stella came; no wings rustled, no breath stirred; the empty room was as the room had been.