then what, to her now fully roused imagination,
seemed the voice of the Master, saying, "Go show yourselves unto the
priests." Then followed the slow, half-unwilling, not hopeful march of
timeless feet; then a clang as of something broken, then a silence as
of sunrise, then air and liberty--long-drawn notes divided with quick,
hurried ones; then the trampling of many feet, going farther and
farther--merrily, with dance and song; once more a sudden pause--and a
melody in which she read the awe-struck joyous return of one. Steadily
yet eagerly the feet drew nigh, the melody growing at once in awe and
jubilation, as the man came nearer and nearer to him whose word had
made him clean, until at last she saw him fall on his face before him,
and heard his soul rushing forth in a strain of adoring thanks, which
seemed to end only because it was choked in tears.

The violin ceased, but, as if its soul had passed from the instrument
into his, the musician himself took up the strain, and in a mellow
tenor voice, with a mingling of air and recitative, and an expression
which to Mary was entrancing, sang the words, "And he was a Samaritan."

At the sound of his own voice, he seemed to wake up, hung his head for
a moment, as if ashamed of having shown his emotion, tucked his
instrument under his arm, and walked from the room, without a word
spoken on either side. Nor, while he played, had Mary once seen the
face of the man; her soul sat only in the porch of her ears, and not
once looked from the windows of her eyes.

CHAPTER XLIII.

MARY AND MR. REDMAIN.

A few rudiments of righteousness lurked, in their original
undevelopment, but still in a measure active, in the being of Mr.
Redmain: there had been in the soul of his mother, I suspect, a strain
of generosity, and she had left a mark of it upon him, and it was the
best thing about him. But in action these rudiments took an evil shape.

Preferring inferior company, and full of that suspicion which puts the
last edge upon what the world calls knowledge of human nature, he
thought no man his equal in penetrating the arena of motive, and
reading actions in the light of motive; and, that the fundamental
principle of all motive was self-interest, he assumed to be beyond
dispute. With this candle, not that of the Lord, he searched the dark
places of the soul; but, where the soul was light, his candle could
show him nothing--served only to blind him yet further, if possible,