red face. 'Is there no Gloria to-night, Angelo?'

'I cannot sing it now, sweet Rosalie! The Hosanna is for heaven; not for
a world in which Love is, and Death may enter. If I am to lose thee, my
soul must chant the Miserere. Ah! that thought unmans me. I cannot part
from thee, sweet wife. Cling closer, closer to me, Rosalie. There! Death
must be strong to untwine that clasp! But he alone is strong--and
Love'--

'Love is stronger far!' cried the startled Rose, as she buried her face
in the bosom of her husband, to hide the unwonted tears which dimmed her
trustful eyes.

'Parting! there is no parting for those whom God has joined. His ties
are for eternity. The Merciful parts not those whom He has made for each
other. Even if we must chant the Miserere here, together will we chant
the Gloria before the throne of our Creator. Ah, Angelo, do you not feel
that but _one_ life throbs in our _two_ hearts? Parting and Death are
only seeming!'

Thus sped time on until midnight was upon the earth. The little group
were still together; mystic thoughts and previsions were upon them.
Zophiel read at intervals weird passages from the Book of Life; Jemschid
touched, now and then, the face of the Madonna, and some unwonted spirit
of sorrow brooded over the harp of Angelo.

'Rosalie! once more the Miserere ere we sleep,' said he. Scarcely had he
commenced the solemn chant, when, suddenly resting his hand on the
chords, he cried: 'Hark! brothers. It is the voice of Anselm--he calls
he calls us--but I hear not what he says. Listen!'

Lo! a Shining One from the court of the Great King suddenly stands among
them. His gossamer robes seemed woven of the deep blue of the fields of
space through which he had just passed, and the stars were glittering
through the graceful folds bound with rare devices, wrought from the
jasper, onyx, and chrysoprase of the heavenly city.

'Brothers!' said the sweet voice of the beautiful vision, 'the term of
exile is past; the Father has sent me to recall His children.'

But the heart of the artists sank, for the human love was strong in
their bosoms.

Jemschid gazed upon the betrothed bride; the unfinished picture; and
tears rushed into his sad eyes.

The Angel was touched with pity for the double grief of artist and
lover, and said:

'Gaze not so sorrowfully upon the unwedded maiden; the unfinished
picture! She shall yet be thine-and the picture shall be dear to thy
fellow men. Lo! I am Rubi, the a