She had come to the feeling of Roger Armstrong's sermon. To receive consciously, as she had through her whole, life intuitively and unwittingly, all beauty of all being about her into the secret beauty of her own. She could be glad with the gladness of the whole world.
The two came up, and Glory rose, and stood aside.
"You have had thoughts, to-night, Glory," said the minister. "Where have they been?"
"Away, there," answered Glory, pointing to the western sky.
They turned, and followed her gesture; and from up there, at their right, beyond, came down the traditional promise of the beautiful young moon.
Glory had shown it them.
"And I've been thinking, besides," said Glory, "about that dream of yours, Miss Faith. I've thought of it all day. Please tell it to Mr. Armstrong?"
And Glory disappeared down the long passage to the kitchen, and left them standing there, together. She went straight to the tin baker before the fire, and lifted the cover, to see if her biscuits were ready for tea. Then she seated herself upon a little bench that stood against the chimney-side, and leaned her head against the bricks, and looked down into the glowing coals.
"It was put into my head to do it!" she said, breathlessly, to herself. "I hope it wasn't ridiculous!"
So she sat, and gazed on, into the coals. They were out there in the sunset, with the new moon and the bright star above them in the saffron depths.