"Raphael, do you know me?" faltered Horace, as he knelt beside the Rossignol, and pressed his icy hand in his own.
Raphael did not answer the question; the spirit fluttering on the confines of a world of light seemed already to feel the eternal sunshine on its wings! The large dark eyes slowly unclosed, but their gaze was fixed upwards, as if they beheld the vision of glories hidden from mortal eyes.
"It is over," he murmured—"all is over—the struggle—the battle is past! More than conqueror—through Him—only through Him who loved me! Ah, Marino— thou art there to welcome me, the palm in thy hand—the glory round thy brow. I knew our parting would not be for long! See the angel faces bending from the clouds—they are waiting there to receive me—light is streaming from the golden gate. Oh, stay me not—I must go!"
"He must not die and leave me!" gasped Enrico. "Raphael, live, if it be but to guide me, to teach me how to wrestle with my sins, to lead me, even me, to the Savior!"
Raphael turned his eyes upon his brother with a sudden look of joyful recognition.
"Enrico, saved!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, saved from destruction of body and soul, saved to be—"
"My joy and crown of rejoicing!" cried the dying man, the radiance of unearthly rapture lighting up his fading features. "Oh, my God, I thank thee—I bless Thee—Thou hast given me my heart's desire—Thou hast heard my prayer for my brother! Hark!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "Do you not hear the shouts—the music—loud—louder! It is the song of triumph. The angels are beckoning me upwards—why cannot I rise and join them! He is there—my Leader—my King! I have waited for Him—sought Him—I have found Him! All the mists are dissolving—the clouds are melting into light—the chain that bound me to the earth is loosening—He holds out a crown—a crown of life—and I take it—to cast at His feet."
Horace covered his eyes. The martyr-spirit had spread its pinions and soared upwards, leaving a track of light behind!
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