His love was now boundless; his large charity embraced everything, and going off he saluted everybody. “Good-evening, Mrs. Pincher.--Good-night, Lydia.” “Well, 'e _is_ a Father, too, and no mistake!” somebody was saying behind him as he went away with Glory. The moon was at the full, and while they were passing through the streets it struggled with the gas from the shop windows as the flame of a fire struggles with the sunshine, but when they passed under the trees it shone out in its white splendour like a bride. The immeasurable vault above was silvered with stars, too, through depth on depth of space, and all the glorious earth and heaven seemed to smile the smile of love. A strong south breeze was blowing, and as it shook the trees of the park, that blessed patch of Nature in the midst-of the toiling city seemed to sing the song of love! Their hands found each other and they walked along almost in silence, afraid to break the spell of their dream lest they should awake and find it gone. It seemed wonderful to him that they were together, and he could hardly believe it was reality, though the touch of her hand filled him with a strange physical exultation which he had never felt before. He seemed to be walking on the clouds, and she too was swaying by his side as if her blood was dancing. Sometimes she dried her glistening eyes, and once she stopped and swung in front of him and looked long at him and then raised her face to his and kissed him. “Whether you like it or not your life is bound up with mine for ever and ever!” she whispered. “It had to be,” he answered. “I know it now. I can no longer deceive myself.” “And we shall be happy? In spite of all you said we shall be very happy, eh?” “Yes, that will be quite forgotten, Glory.” “And forgiven,” she said, and then between a sigh and a blush she asked him to kiss her again. “My love!” “My soul!” The wind swept the hood of her cape about her head and he could smell the fragrance of her hair. He tried to think what he had done to deserve such happiness, but all the suffering he had gone through seemed as nothing compared to a joy like this. The great clock of Westminster swung its hollow sounds into the air, which went riding by on the wind like the notes of an organ, now full and now as soft as a baby's whisper. They could hear the far-off rumble of the vast city which fringed their blessed island like a mighty sea, and through the pulse of their clasped hands it seemed as if they felt the pulse of the world. An angel had come down and breathed on the face of the waters, and it was God's world, after all. He took her home, and they parted at the door. “Don't come in to-night,” she whispered. She wished to be alone, that she might think it all out and go over it again, every word, every look. There was a lingering hand-clasp and then she was gone.