It was the central voice of the choir, the glowing heart of the brightness, and on this occasion it seemed to expand, to spread great wings of flame.

The whole altar flared--dazzling and blinding; but the source of the vast radiance burned clearer than the rest, gathering itself into form, and the form was human beauty and human charity, was the far-off face of Mary Antrim.

She smiled at him from the glory of heaven--she brought the glory down with her to take him.

He bowed his head in submission and at the same moment another wave rolled over him.

Was it the quickening of joy to pain?
In the midst of his joy at any rate he felt his buried face grow hot as with some communicated knowledge that had the force of a reproach.