As with closed eyes she drifted away from the present a song was blown down from the North, blown from the great theater where Billy had taken Kathleen and herself on Christmas eve. "He was despised and rejected." The words chanted sorrowfully through the window, filling the homely room with their pathos. The voice was soft and tender as though itself "acquainted with grief," and without, the pines, too, sang, through their thousands of tree tops, "despised, rejected"--whispering the words as the wind moved their myriad leaves. Then of a sudden a trumpet called, the walls of the little room fell, and light--magnificent, terrible--streamed through the place. It glowed triumphant about the bed, it moved among the cabins, their walls glowing like brass, it touched the pines and their countless needles became each a golden point of radiance. And through the dazzling light sounded the great chorus, blared by the trumpets, sung by a thousand resinous strings, chanted by multitudes of voices: "King of kings and Lord of lords!" The glory of the light, the majesty of the music enveloped the dreamer, caught her up in a cloud, and bore her through the great spaces of the universe. She moved along a radiant stream of splendor that pulsed with triumphant harmonies. Voices and instruments sang to the heavens in hallelujah. She left the earth, its narrow leagues measured in clay and dross, and touched the world of heaven. There was a slight sound in the room, the gurgling of a half-uttered word, and Hertha was back in the cabin, the single line of sunlight shining through the small window. Mammy was smiling at her from the bed, a happy smile as though laughing a bit that she had caught her baby napping. And Hertha answered with a child's smile of recognition at being home close to its mother again. She slipped her hand into the black one lying on the bed by her side. Holding it close she drank in the look of deep, unstinted love on the dark face. Then the cloud of unconsciousness moved like a mask over the heavy features and the light of life was gone. But to the girl the room was again illuminated with the golden radiance of her dream. Again the trumpets blared, the drums beat. She heard the requiem of the despised. From across the deep spaces of the universe voices sang to her of the poor in spirit. The great majestic syllables throbbed through the little cabin, carrying their triumph to her listening heart. CHAPTER XXXVI