trembling voice. "I am ashamed to be
so weak. I know what I ought to do, and I will do it. You may trust me."

He looked at me approvingly.

"That is well," he said briefly. "And now, as I am of no use here, I
will say good-night. Remember, excessive grief is mere selfishness;
resignation is heroism."

He was gone. I nerved myself to the task I had before me, and within an
hour the fair casket of what had been Zara lay on an open bier in the
little chapel, lights burning round it, and flowers strewn above it in
mournful profusion.

We left her body arrayed in its white satin garb; the cluster of
orange-blossoms she had gathered still bloomed upon the cold breast,
where the crucifix lay; but in the tresses of the long dark hair I wove
a wreath of lilies instead of the pearls we had undone.

And now I knelt beside the bier absorbed in thought. Some of the
weeping servants had assembled, and knelt about in little groups. The
tall candles on the altar were lit, and Father Paul, clad in mourning
priestly vestments, prayed there in silence. The storm of rain and wind
still raged without, and the windows of the chapel shook and rattled
with the violence of the tempest.

A distant clock struck ONE! with a deep clang that echoed throughout
the house. I shuddered. So short a time had elapsed since Zara had been
alive and well; now, I could not bear to think that she was gone from
me for ever. For ever, did I say? No, not for ever--not so long as love
exists--love that shall bring us together again in that far-off Sphere
where---

Hush! what was that? The sound of the organ? I looked around me in
startled wonderment. There was no one seated at the instrument; it was
shut close. The lights on the altar and round the bier burnt steadily;
the motionless figure of the priest before the tabernacle; the praying
servants of the household--all was unchanged. But certainly a flood of
music rolled grandly on the ear--music that drowned for a moment the
howling noise of the battering wind. I rose softly, and touched one of
the kneeling domestics on the shoulder.

"Did you hear the organ?" I said.

The woman looked up at me with tearful, alarmed eyes.

"No, mademoiselle."

I paused, listening. The music grew louder and louder, and surged round
me in waves of melody. Evidently no one in the chapel heard it but
myself. I looked about for Heliobas, but he had not entered. He was
most probably in his study, whither he had retired t