The two sauntered together into the near-by cathedral where, as a tiny, half-scared boy, Harry had gone clinging to his big sister’s hand. Now the tall blind man held her arm, and his cane on the pavement was echoed by the high arches; suddenly a great glory of music broke forth from the organ, magic uplifting notes shook the walls, and piercing with gladness the shadows of centuries, rehallowed the old sanctuary with melody. Fawcett stood leaning slightly against a column, his heroic head uplifted as if he were looking through the vaulting, his whole being suffused with an inward light, and his sensitive ear revelling in the lovely harmonies. The voices of men and women raised in chorus burst forth in a mighty Hallelujah; the organ thrilled in glorious fulness, and again the voices repeated the refrain until it echoed from the wall like a song of triumph of good over evil, of light over darkness. A glad smile broke over the blind man’s face as, pressing his dear companion’s hand, he exclaimed: ‘Oh, how beautiful that is!’ [Sidenote: Back to his Post.] He returned to his work in March, seemingly in fully restored health. His reception at the Post Office and the House of Commons showed how deep had been the love and anxiety called forth by his illness. He lived in the hearts of all classes—his bitterest antagonists, Conservatives as well as Socialists, loved and trusted him; never was a man more of a democrat and less of a demagogue. [Sidenote: Humble friends.] The old woman who for many years had the care of Fawcett’s rooms at Cambridge had been much distressed by his illness, and had said to the Master of Trinity Hall, ‘Poor Mrs. Fawcett would miss him so terribly.’ ‘Why should she miss him more than any woman would miss the husband she loved?’ sympathetically asked the Master. ‘Because he is such a happy noisy man; whenever he is in the house you know it, he is always shouting so,’ was the tearful reply. A poor old shoemaker who had never spoken to Fawcett, but whose shop the Postmaster-General passed daily on his way to his work, gave voice to the public feeling when he said, ‘If Professor had died, I should have missed him dreadfully. He always looked so pleased and cheery, it did one good.’ CHAPTER XXX AMONG THE BLIND A Leader of the Blind—Honours—His Last Speech. [Sidenote: What he meant to the Blind.] What his happy, successful life meant to the blind, and how he heartened them by his hearty personality, cannot be overestimated.