mancipation from that unnecessary
vow of hers; to tell him that she had tried to write again--and
discovered that she could not. But she did not tell him after all.
For that could only hurt and shame him--in the hour of his penitence.
So she was silent, and he continued with appealing eagerness.

"I haven't been the end of your talent," he repeated. "Don't you
realize, dear, that your talent isn't ended at all?"

"You mean--Eric?"

"Yes, I mean that you've handed on your gift to Eric. And he's going
to have the chance I wasn't unselfish enough to let you have. Don't be
afraid for him--he's going to have his chance, And he'll know what to
do with it! I believe you'll be the mother of a great man--and that
Eric will probably be the father of great men. I believe it will go on
and on and on--what you are, what you might have done."

"But, Ted--Eric is only a child. We cannot be sure yet--

"I believe!" he insisted. "I believe _this_ is to be your work--the
work I haven't stopped."

And as she listened, there came to her, too, a faith in Ted's prophecy.
Her gift would have its fruition in Eric--and perhaps in Eric's sons
and his sons' sons. She was granted a vision of a torch passed on from
one trustworthy hand to another throughout the years; and beholding
that vision, she was aware that nothing she had suffered mattered at
all. She could face the stars now with a heart at peace. She could
watch the earth's miracles, feeling herself a part of them. From the
earth sprang flowers; from her flesh had sprung her son--her son who
had been born to carry on the torch. She had created beauty
indeed--beauty that would outlive her life in her son's art.

Even Peter's image was blurred for her as she beheld her supreme vision.

And then she recalled Charlotte's words: "I sometimes question if those
of us who catch a glimpse of a happiness perfect and transcendent ever
experience the reality. I doubt, in fact, if any reality could stand
unimpaired by that vision."

Charlotte was mistaken. There were visions which became realities;
this final vision of hers would become a reality--and it would be none
the less perfect and transcendent for that.

Sheila laid her hands on her husband's shoulders. "I'm glad that I've
lived!" she said. And again, with a little sob, "Oh, my dear, I'm glad
that I've lived!"

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The Torch Bearer, by Reina Melcher Marquis