ures had
remained immovable, no shadow of understanding had entered into the deep
eyes.

The warm, moist air of the southern summer, fragrant with a multitude of
flowers, stirred the curtain and lightly touched the girl's face. In the
drowsy heat of the afternoon she relaxed her vigil and, her eyes closed,
slowly slipped into the dream world, not wholly leaving the world about
her, never quite unconscious of the figure at her side.

As with closed eyes she drifted away from the present a song was blown
down from the North, blown from the great theater where Billy had taken
Kathleen and herself on Christmas eve. "He was despised and rejected."
The words chanted sorrowfully through the window, filling the homely
room with their pathos. The voice was soft and tender as though itself
"acquainted with grief," and without, the pines, too, sang, through
their thousands of tree tops, "despised, rejected"--whispering the words
as the wind moved their myriad leaves.

Then of a sudden a trumpet called, the walls of the little room fell,
and light--magnificent, terrible--streamed through the place. It glowed
triumphant about the bed, it moved among the cabins, their walls glowing
like brass, it touched the pines and their countless needles became each
a golden point of radiance. And through the dazzling light sounded the
great chorus, blared by the trumpets, sung by a thousand resinous
strings, chanted by multitudes of voices:

"King of kings and Lord of lords!"

The glory of the light, the majesty of the music enveloped the dreamer,
caught her up in a cloud, and bore her through the great spaces of the
universe. She moved along a radiant stream of splendor that pulsed with
triumphant harmonies. Voices and instruments sang to the heavens in
hallelujah. She left the earth, its narrow leagues measured in clay and
dross, and touched the world of heaven.

There was a slight sound in the room, the gurgling of a half-uttered
word, and Hertha was back in the cabin, the single line of sunlight
shining through the small window.

Mammy was smiling at her from the bed, a happy smile as though laughing
a bit that she had caught her baby napping. And Hertha answered with a
child's smile of recognition at being home close to its mother again.
She slipped her hand into the black one lying on the bed by her side.
Holding it close she drank in the look of deep, unstinted love on the
dark face. Then the cloud of unconsciousness moved lik