“And have you known this all along, and never told me?” “How could I? If you had acted consistently to what you were, all through, there would never have been the slightest need for it.” “Still,” said she thoughtfully, “I think there must have been some purpose to fulfil in acting as I did.” “Yes, one--Marigold. And thank Heaven the purpose is fulfilled--and to our side the victory!” “What do you mean?” “It refers to the High Priest.” She started, and the colour dyed her cheeks. “What of him?” And seriously, too, he answered her: “Last night was a serious time for you and for me, and for others. Had the High Priest fallen, and through you, he would have been one more big stumbling-block in the path from Lucifram to Heaven--and there are many. They wanted a soul to fill the hole in the broken net, to make it smaller. And he was chosen. But, since his election, for over quarter of a century he has shown a remarkable attention to duties. He has sacrificed in that direction almost more than a good man sacrifices to his God. No sin against him--for narrowness and bigotry, if they be genuine, are rarely let to count. In fact, the one great blot on his life was that plot against the late High Priest, which Rosalie exploded, and thus saved him a life-long penalty, and received small thanks for it. And now you, Rosalie over again, but with the deeper light of Heaven around you, came to him once again. Had he fallen, he had gone to Hell, to fill an office most contemptible, with the additional pain of hard imprisonment; for he, judging his Master hardly for the same offence, unjustly, was falling into it himself--the common fate of sinners. And you and I again had long been parted--lost to each other--and, knowing little of futurity, I cannot say how long. For you could not have lived in the higher state, even though almost of it, with those untamed passions still alive in you.” “Ah! but it was St Armand. I had felt good for months--almost since little Patches went--and suddenly he came and put his arms around me, and I was ill and weak. What could I do?” “What, indeed? But I should have blamed myself. I should have known you even in the beggar state, as Patches did.” “Yes, he did--didn’t he? And you were so angry, and I thought you silly, because I thought he was getting too weak to think or see properly--and, being a doctor, I thought you should have known. And there he has been the cleverest of all--of both of us. I’m so glad I’m Rosalie, because it’s allowable to hate yourself. And I always used to hate myself when I was jealous of her. It _sounds_ rather mixed, but it doesn’t _feel_ mixed at all. I’m glad you’re Dr Quack instead of a scientist, because you’ve taught me so many nice things that they would shake their heads at. Do you think there are any scientists in Heaven?” “Oh yes. Hell too.” “And--and can they get any one to marry them?”