vision. And even while she knelt there, lost in wonder, there
came to her the throbbing gladness of faith renewed, the certainty that
all would be well.

Piers' hand was on her head, stroking, caressing, soothing. By no words
did he attempt to comfort her. It was strange how little either of them
felt the need of words. They were together upon holy ground, and in
closer communion each with each than they had ever been before. Those
tears of Avery's had washed away the barrier.

Once, some time later, he whispered to her, "I never asked you to forgive
me, Avery; but--"

And that was the nearest he ever came to asking her forgiveness. For she
stopped the words with her lips on his, and he never thought of uttering
them again.

EPILOGUE

Christmas Eve and children's voices singing in the night! Two figures by
the open window listening--a man and a woman, hand in hand in the dark!

"Don't let them see us yet!" It was the woman's voice, low but with a
deep thrill in it as of full and complete content. "I knew they were
coming. Gracie whispered it to me this morning. But I wasn't to tell
anyone. She was so afraid their father might forbid it."

The man answered with a faint, derisive laugh that yet had in it an echo
of the woman's satisfaction. He did not speak, for already through the
winter darkness a single, boyish voice had taken up another verse:

"He comes, the prisoners to release
In Satan's bondage held;
The gates of brass before Him burst,
The iron fetters yield."

The woman's fingers clung fast to his. "Love opens every door," she
whispered.

His answering grip was close and strong. But he said nothing while the
last triumphant lines were repeated.

"The gates of brass before Him burst,
The iron fetters yield."

The next verse was sung by two voices in harmony, very soft and hushed.

"He comes the broken heart to bind,
The bleeding soul to cure,
And with the treasures of His grace
To bless the humble poor."

Then came a pause, while through the quiet night there floated the sound
of distant bells.

"Look!" said Piers suddenly.

And Avery, kneeling beside him, raised her eyes.

There, high above the trees, alone and splendid, there shone a great,
quivering star.

His arm slid round her neck. "The Star of Hope, Avery," he whispered.
"Yours--and mine."

She clung to him silently, with a closeness that was passionate.

And so the last verse, very clear and strong, came to them out