Her heart quickened to meet it, and her reviving confidence, still convalescent, stirred and smiled, as the tremendous chords blared overhead, telling of triumph full-armed.

God was man, then, after all--a God who last night had faltered for an hour, but who rose again on this morning of a new year, scattering mists, dominant over his own passion, all-compelling and all-beloved.

God was man, and Felsenburgh his Incarnation! Yes, she must believe that! She did believe that! Then she saw how already the long procession was winding up beneath the screen, and by imperceptible art the light grew yet more acutely beautiful.

They were coming, then, those ministers of a pure worship; grave men who knew in what they believed, and who, even if they did not at this moment thrill with feeling (for she knew that in this respect her husband for one did not), yet believed the principles of this worship and recognised their need of expression for the majority of mankind--coming slowly up in fours and pairs and units, led by robed vergers, rippling over the steps, and emerging again into the coloured sunlight in all their bravery of Masonic apron, badge and jewel.

Surely here was reassurance enough.
* * * * * The sanctuary now held a figure or two.