Rosalie became confused, and mixed the two together. How could she help it, seeing both had come together? But no words were there for utterance. She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes to his face—eyes that had grown in sadness and in beauty throughout a lifetime—and then she shook her head. “Dumb?” said he. She nodded. “Is that what you came to pray about?” Again she nodded. She looked up at him, and her eyes sank. After all, it was the secret of a life, for none knew of these daily visits to the temple, and now a stranger had discovered it—the secret which had been guarded so jealously all these years. “And you come in here to pray often?” She shook her head vehemently, and pointed outside. “I see. You stay outside?” Again she nodded. Then he held the curtain aside, and she passed out, he following her. The church without was black. Rosalie gave a muttered cry of dismay—the building was so large, its pews, and steps, and labyrinths all so intricate. But her companion produced a light that glowed like a thin taper, but burnt with a clearer and a stronger light, and plainly lit the church around them. “Never trust to the church to give you light,” said he whimsically, “unless, as now, you penetrate to the Holy of Holies!” Rosalie smiled; she felt it was but polite, unaccustomed as she was to strangers. Together they walked down the long aisle, and once she stole a glance up at him sideways, with great curiosity, to see what he was like. But the stranger was looking at her, and she bent her head downward again. She evidently did not possess the gift of sweet unconsciousness of self. “I presume you wished to come away?” he said at the end of their journey, before he opened the heavy doors. She nodded. Then he laid his hand upon her shoulder. “The Serpent must be very cruel and hardened if he withstand such a prayer as that you offered.” There was more amusement than pity in his voice and expression. Rosalie felt, but did not understand it. Never had anyone in her narrow life been able to put so much expression into a mere hand-touch. In gratitude she could have taken and kissed it many times. They passed out on to the high steps leading from the temple. The rain was coming down in torrents. The street lamps glistened through it, and the passers-by were infrequent. “How are you going home?” he said. The outside world seemed to have separated them. She pointed to her feet. “Walking? Well, hurry and don’t get wet. It would be a pity to spoil the prayer by leaving no time for its fulfilment. Good-night!” Then he moved away a step or two, and she stopped to put up her umbrella. Suddenly, however, he turned round, and came with quick strides toward her. “See, here is my card. When you have made headway with the Serpent, and received an answer to your prayer, come and see me!” And he scribbled on the back of the card “Admit Bearer,” and then handed it to her, once more leaving her standing on the steps.