The next dawn drew from out the dark bright with the portents of a perfect day.
All the hollow heaven was blue as a turquoise stone.
Vashti faced the sunny hours, which yet loomed so black for her, with that courage and calm which grows out of over-much torture.
Pain became its own anæsthetic in course of time—and this numbness had crept over proud Vashti Lansing. She had made others suffer much, but they all had their compensations. Who can say how much she suffered herself?
As the hour for the service drew near, Sidney became very nervous. Vashti tried vainly to console him, but all her soothing words failed to impress him. It was as if she strove to grave an image upon quicksilver.
At last she said to him gently:
“It will be given thee in that hour what thou shalt say.”
His face brightened.
“Of course it will,” he said simply. “That has happened to me before.”