"But Allan John," she cried, "you've only known us four days."
Across Allan John's haggard face flickered the faintest possible suggestion of a smile.
"I was a stranger—and you took me in."
With the weirdest possible sense of supernatural benediction, the dark room flooded suddenly with light. From the window, just beyond me, I heard my Husband's astonished exclamation:
"Look, Mary," he cried, "come quickly."
At an instant I was at his side.
Across the murky western sky the tumultuous storm-clouds had broken suddenly into silver and gold. In a blaze of glory the setting sun fairly streamed into our faces.
Struggling up from the depths of her chair to view it—even the May Girl's pallid cheeks caught up their share of the radiance.
"Oh, Allan John," she laughed, "just see what you have done— you've shined up all the world."
With a curiously significant expression on his face my Husband leaned toward me quickly.