It came. Just when she felt that she could bear no more, just when the wild beating of her heart seemed as if it would choke her, the music changed, became suddenly all-conquering, a paean of triumph, and the gates swung back before her eager eyes. In spirit she entered the Holy Place, and the same hand that had admitted her lifted for her the last great Veil. For one moment of unutterable rapture such as no poor palpitating mortal body could endure for long, the vision was her own. She saw Heaven opened.... And then the Veil descended, and the Gates closed. She came down from the mountain-top, leaving the golden dawn very far behind her. She opened her eyes in darkness and silence. Someone was bending over her. She felt warm hands about her own. She heard a voice, sudden and imploring, close to her. "Avery! Avery darling! For God's sake, dear, speak to me! What is it? Are you ill?" "Ill!" she said, bewildered. His hands gripped hers impetuously. "You gave me such a fright," he said. "I thought you'd fainted. Did you faint?" "Of course not!" she said slowly. "I never faint. Why did you stop playing?" "I didn't," said Piers. "At least, you stopped first." "Oh, did I forget to blow?" she said. "I'm sorry." She knew that she ought not to suffer that close clasp of his, but somehow for the moment she was powerless to resist it. She sat quite still, gazing out before her with a curious sense of powerlessness. "You're tired out," said Piers softly. "It was a shame to keep you here. I'm awfully sorry, dear." She stirred at that, beginning to seek for freedom. "Don't, Piers!" she said. "It--it isn't right of you. It isn't fair." He knelt swiftly down before her. His voice came quick and passionate in answer. "It can't be wrong to love you," he said. "And you will never be any the worse for my love. Let me love you, Avery! Let me love you!" The words rushed out tempestuously. His forehead was bowed upon her hands. He became silent, and through the silence she heard his breathing, hard and difficult,--the breathing of a man who faces stupendous odds. With an effort she summoned her strength. Yet she could not speak harshly to him, for her heart went out in pity. "No, you mustn't, Piers," she said. "You mustn't indeed. I am years older than you are, and it is utterly unsuitable. You must forget it. You must indeed. There! Let us be friends! I like you well enough for that." He uttered a laugh that sounded as though it covered a groan. "Yes, you're awfully good to me," he said. "But you're not--in one sense--anything approaching my age, and pray Heaven you never will be!" He raised his head and looked at her. "And you're not angry with me?" he said, half wistfully. No, she was not angry. She could not even pretend to be. "But please be sensible!" she begged. "I know it was partly my fault. If I hadn't been so tired, it wouldn't have happened."