There are a thousand streams that flow from Calvary. But the deepest of these is joy. Wherefore as Margaret walked into the darkened house, her heart thrilled with a sudden rapture it had never known before. For he was there—and she would be beside him in a moment—and they would be together—and none could break in upon them, for grim death himself would guard the door. He was helpless too, dependent on weak arms that love would gird with might—and this makes a woman's happiness complete; when love and service wed, joy is their first-born child.
She was now standing at the door of his room, her eyes fixed upon the face of the man she loved, radiant with victory.
He had heard her footfall from the threshold, and his heart clutched each one as it fell. Yes, it was she, and the music of her rustling garments had the sweet sound of rain—for his was the thirsty heart. It was surely she, and not another,—and the whole meaning of life seemed clear to him. He knew not how or why, but he had been alone so long, and his hungry heart had wondered, and life seemed such a wounded thing.
But now he actually saw those silken strands, gently waving from her haste, and the parted lips that poured forth her soul's deep loyalty, and the dear form of ardent love—a maiden's form. All these came upon him like the dawn, and the citadel of life's frowning mystery was stormed at last. How voluptuous, after all, in its holiest sense, is God's purpose for the pure in heart!
She stood, her eyes now suffused with tears, but smiling still; the panic in her father's house, the comment of cruel tongues, the fight with death, the pestilence that walks in darkness—these were all forgotten in the transport of her soul. She had chosen her Gethsemane long ago, and this was its harvest time.
Angus' eyes drank deeply from the spring.
"Margaret," he said at last, "how beautiful God is!"—and Margaret understood.
She advanced towards the bed, her hands outstretched—he sought to bid her back.
"Margaret, you know not what you do; your life——" But it was in vain.
"My life is my love," she cried with defiant passion. "Oh, Angus, how beautiful God is!" and, stooping down, she overpowered him, spurning death while love should claim its own.