“Well, after I had resigned my will, and prayed for strength, I closed my eyes, and it seemed as if a great vision flashed before me in the darkness. The Serpent seemed to have turned round, and to show that from the back it was all hollow, and in its three tails, so black and dingy from the inside, three dwarfed jesters sat, with caps and bells, all grinning and pointing, as if to make a mock of everything. And then a fire of purest light and radiance, with a centre of unearthly brightness, more beautiful than any sight I ever saw, rolled over everything, and burnt the hollow symbol to a cinder with its all-conquering strength.” Rosalie’s eyes were shining as they looked across into his. “And in my mind the same thing must have happened. For somehow no longer I thought upon the Serpent. All was changed. Whatever humble love I had to give, and strength to ask, were given and claimed by some wise reasoning Being far above, whose faintest breath could shrivel into cinders this grinning mockery worshipped of man.” “What of the cinder?” “Oh! I remember it never burned away. It shone like a little ball of gold within the fire, and I wondered at the time why it had never disappeared.” Then suddenly she got up and crossed the room and knelt down beside him, and clasped her hands upon the arm-chair. “And I believe it,” she said. “I could never think of going back to the Serpent after the higher thing; I loved to see the pure white light within that glorious fire. It was so peaceful, restful, strong and light-giving. I hardly think I could have spent the week that followed, with all its brilliant lights and gloomy blackness, and everything so fresh and new, had I not had that light so pure and still to think upon. It was divinest comfort to me even when the blackness tried to quite obscure it, and set such a terrible gap betwixt me and every living thing.” “And after this you left the temple and went to Mr. Barringcourt?” “Yes; there was nothing more to stay for. And I think the same thing led me to him that has now led me to you—calling ‘On! on! on!’ in spite of everything.” “And when you got there?” “Then he healed me, by a very natural process it seemed, that had little of the miracle about it. But I felt no pain, and I remember he was very much surprised at it.” “And the cure was perfect?” “Yes, I think it was too perfect. My tongue became most glib and voluble. Words slipped out I often wished unsaid.” “You had had no practice in restraining them?” “Well, no. But I think myself Mr. Barringcourt really did oil the wheels of my tongue too freely, because I don’t think by nature I should ever be given to answering back. But when I was there that seemed the one thing in life I was capable of.” She had risen from her knees and walked towards the fireplace. “But what reason should he have for doing so?” Rosalie looked at him sideways. Then suddenly she laughed.