n of the spirit soaring upwards unfettered by the
flesh--the pure spirit, not released from the pitiful human clay without
a fierce struggle. At that moment Desmond loved the singer--the singer
who called to him out of heaven, who summoned his friend to join him, to
see what he saw--"the vision splendid."

John began the third and last verse. The famous soldier covered his face
with his hand, releasing John's eyes, which ascended, like his voice,
till they met joyfully the eyes of Desmond. At last he was singing to
his friend--_and his friend knew it_. John saw Desmond's radiant smile,
and across that ocean of faces he smiled back. Then, knowing that he was
nearer to his friend than he had ever been before, he gathered together
his energies for the last line of the song--a line to be repeated three
times, loudly at first, then more softly, diminishing to the merest
whisper of sound, the voice celestial melting away in the ear of
earth-bound mortals. The master knew well the supreme difficulty of
producing properly this last attenuated note; but he knew also that
John's lungs were strong, that the vocal chords had never been strained.
Still, if the boy's breath failed; if anything--a smile, a frown, a
cough--distracted his attention, the end would be--weakness, failure. He
wondered why John was staring so fixedly in one direction.

Now--now!

The piano crashed out the last line; but far above it, dominating it,
floated John's flute-like notes. The master played the same bars for the
second time. He was still able to sustain, if it were necessary, a
quavering, imperfect phrase. But John delivered the second repetition
without a mistake, singing easily from the chest. The master put his
foot upon the soft pedal. Nobody was watching him. Had any one done so,
he would have seen the perspiration break upon the musician's forehead.
The piano purred its accompaniment. Then, in the middle of the phrase,
the master lifted his hands and held them poised above the instrument.
John had to sing three notes unsupported. He was smiling and staring at
Desmond. The first note came like a question from the heart of a child;
the second, higher up, might have been interpreted as an echo to the
innocent interrogation of the first, the head no wiser than the heart;
but the third and last note had nothing in it of interrogation: it was
an answer, all-satisfying--sublime. Nor did it seem to come from John at
all, but from above, falling like