It was almost time for the solo. Another page, another line! At least she would not look around. If anybody noticed her, he should think she knew all about what was going to happen next. They would perhaps think that Carey had been called away—as, indeed, he had; she caught at the words “called away”; that was what she would have to say when they asked her after service, called away suddenly. Oh! And such a calling! Would Grace ever speak to him again? Would they be able to keep it from her that that detestable Clytie had been at the bottom of it all? It wouldn’t be so bad if Grace had never met her. Oh, why had Cornelia been so crazy as to invite them together? Now! _Now! Another note!_ Into the silence of the climax of the chorus there came a clear, sweet tenor voice, just behind Cornelia, so close it startled her, and almost made her lose her self-control, so sweet and resonant and full of feeling that at first she hardly recognized that she had ever heard it before. “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts!” “Carey!” Her trembling senses took it in with thrill after thrill of wonder and delight. It was really Carey, her brother, singing like that! Carey, standing on the top step of the little stairway winding up from the choir room, close beside the organ. Carey with his hair rumpled wildly, his coat-sleeve half ripped out, a tear in the knee of his trousers, a white face with long black streaks across it, a cut on his chin, and his eyes blue-black with the intensity of the moment, but a smile like a cherub’s on his lips. He was singing as he had never sung before, as no one knew he could sing, as he had not thought he could sing himself, singing as one who had come “out of great tribulation,” as the choir had just sung a moment before, a triumphant, tender, marvellous strain. “Gee!” breathed Harry back by the door, in awe, under his breath, and the soul of Maxwell was lifted and thrilled by the song. Little Louise in her seat all alone gripped her small hands in ecstasy, and smiled till the tears came; and the father, who had found his friend too ill for his wife to leave him, and had stolen into church late by the side door and sat down under the gallery, bowed his head and prayed, his heart filled with one longing, that the boy’s mother could have heard him. Into Cornelia’s heart there flooded a tide of strength and joy surpassing anything she had ever known in pride of herself. Her brother, _her brother_ was singing like that! He had overcome all obstacles, whatever they might have been, and got there in time! He was there! He had not failed! He was singing like a great singer.