“What do you fancy would become of me?” she asked softly.
“I do not know.”
“But I know,” said the girl, looking with joyful eyes on the splendor of the setting sun. “I know whom I have believed, and I do not fear death, because I know that when my soul leaves this body there is prepared for it a dwelling more glorious than anything I can imagine. That is the end of my belief, ‘I know,’ and the end of yours is, ‘I do not know.’”
He turned his blind face toward hers and pictured to himself its transfigured expression.
“Will you not come to the house now?” she said quietly. “Stanton will be delighted to find you there for tea.”
“I suppose you think that I am too wicked to be left alone,” he said as he stumbled to his feet and put his hand in hers.
“No, I do not,” she said.
“You and Stargarde are as much alike as a pair of twin doves,” he grumbled as he moved slowly along beside her.
Stanton, returning home half an hour later, stopped short in the hall, struck by the long unheard sound of music in the drawing room.
“Cast thy burden upon the Lord and he shall sustain thee,” came welling on a soft sweet volume of song through the house.