Then, when it had got to seem that she alone was not a complete being, but only about to become perfect—then destruction came.
“Jove strikes the Titans down,
Not when they set about their mountain-piling,
But when another rock would crown their work.”
If the foundation merely of an edifice be overthrown, there is hope that it may be rebuilt; but destruction overtaking when the topmost height is almost attained is destruction indeed.
In the evening a knock was heard at the chamber door, which she had all day refused to open, a note was pushed under the door, and a servant waited outside for her to read it. She rose wearily, lighted the gas, and glanced over the lines. “I am sorry you have headache, sorry for you and for me. Edith is talking with Mr. Rowan, and I am, consequently, de trop. There is no one I care to see to-night but you. Send me word if you are better.”
“Tell him to wait,” she ordered, and, hastily dressing for a walk, went down. The front parlor was not lighted, but she saw him sitting by a window there. “Come out!” she said. “I wanted to go to the chapel, and you are just in time.”
Scarcely a word was spoken as they went through the streets together. They entered the chapel, and turned aside into a shady corner. Carl sat,
and his companion, too exhausted to kneel, sat beside him. In a room near by, a choir was singing that most beautiful of hymns—
“Jesus, lover of my soul.”
“Alice,” Carl whispered, “that is enough to break one’s heart!”
Her tears broke forth afresh. “No, Carl, it is enough to heal a heart already broken.” She listened, and looking toward the altar, repeated over and over,