eaven, whether the earthly correspondence should concur, or no. A
noble influence which had met and moved her, seemed to come and
abide about her,--a thought-presence.

And a thought-presence was precisely what it was. A thousand
circumstances may stretch that hyphen which at once links
and separates the sign-syllables of the wonderful fact; an
impossibility, of physical conditions, may be between; but the fact
subsists--and in rare moments we know it--when that which belongs to
us comes invisibly and takes us to itself; when we feel the
footsteps afar off which may or may not be feet of the flesh turned
toward us. Yet even this conjunction does happen, now and again; the
will--the blessed purpose--is accomplished at once on earth and in
heaven.

When many minutes after the city bells had ceased to sound for nine
o'clock, the bell of her own door rang with a clear, strong stroke,
Desire Ledwith thought instantly of Mr. Kirkbright with a singular
recall,--that was less a change than a transfer of the same
perception,--from the inward to the actual. She had no reason to
suppose it,--no ordinary reason why,--but she was suddenly persuaded
that the friend who in the last hour had stood spiritually beside
her, stood now, in reality, upon her door-stone.

She did not even wonder for what he could have come. She did not
move from her chair; she did not lift her crossed hands from off her
open book. She did not break the external conditions in which unseen
forces had been acting. If she had moved,--pushed back her
chair,--put by her book,--it would have begun to seem strange, she
would have been back in a bond of circumstance which would have
embarrassed her; she would have been receiving an evening call at an
unusual hour. But to have the verity come in and fill the
dream,--this was not strange. And yet Christopher Kirkbright had
scarcely been in that house ten times before.

She heard him ask if Miss Ledwith were still below; if he might see
her. She heard Frendely close the outer door, and precede him toward
the door of the library. He entered, and she lifted her eyes.

"Don't move," he said quickly. "I have been seeing you sitting like
that, all the evening. It is a reverie come true. Only I have walked
out of my end of it, and into yours. May I stay a little while?"

Her face answered him in a very natural way. There was a wonder in
her eyes, and in the smile that crept over her lips; there were
wonder and waiting