To these words he emphatically closed the Testament, and there were a few moments of profound, sensitive silence. Then, like a lark mounting heaven-ward, Theodora burst into the triumphant melody:
"I know that my Redeemer liveth!"
It was an angelic "Amen" to that old sanguine assurance, which possesses so immovably the heart of humanity. The ecstasy of hope, the surety of faith, the glory of man's destiny filled with unspeakable joy the whole building, and many of the reverent souls in it had momentary experience of
"That freer step, that fuller breath,
That wide horizon's grander view,
That sense of life that knows no death,
That life that maketh all things new."
For the singer had filled every note of the immortal music with her own beautiful, happy soul, and the congregation—old and young—went to their homes loving her.
Robert's heart burned within him, for while sharing the enthusiasm of the crowd he had also his personal delight in the knowledge that this dear, clever woman was his wife, and that she loved him. He went to the foot of the gallery stairs and waited there for her. He clasped her hand and looked into her face with beaming eyes as the elders and deacons gathered round her with eloquent thanks, and all the way home he forgot every one but Theodora.
A few days after Easter Sunday, Robert came home earlier than usual, but he entered his wife's presence with such a pleasant countenance, that she rose smiling and went to meet him.
"I have come to tell you something I hope will please you, Dora," he said. "Mr. Oliphant has taken a furnished villa at Inverkip, and there is another to let a few hundred yards distant. Inverkip is so near Glasgow, I could run down to you frequently—always on Friday or Saturday until Monday. What do you say, if I take the vacant villa?"
"O, Robert, I should be delighted!"
"Then I will hire it for the season, and you can have your piano and books and what other things you wish easily shipped there. Consult Mrs. Oliphant, she will advise you just what to do."