sunny valley beneath him. It all worked
together, said the delicate rising strain, outlining itself above the
soft thunder of the pedals, into something high and grave and
beautiful; it all ended in the peace of God. I sate there, with wife
and child, a pilgrim faring onwards, tasting of love and life and
sorrow, weary of the way, but still--yes, I could say that--still
hopeful. In that moment even my bitter loss had something beautiful
about it. It was THERE, the bright episode of my dear Alec's life, the
memory of the beloved years together. Maggie, seeing something in my
face that she was glad to see, put her hand in mine, and the tears rose
to my eyes, while I smiled at Maud; the burden fell off my shoulder for
a moment, and something seemed as it were to touch me and point
onwards. The music with a dying fall came to a soft close; the rich
light fell on desk and canopy; the old tombs glimmered in the dusty
air. We went out in silence; and then there came back to me, in the old
dark court, with its ivied corners, its trim grass plots, the sense
that I was still a part of it all, that the old life was not dead, but
stored up like a garnered treasure in the rich and guarded past. Not by
detachment or aloofness from happiness and warmth and life are our
victories won. That had been the dark temptation, the shadow of my
loss, to believe that in so sad and strange an existence the only hope
was to stand apart from it all, not to care too much, not to love too
closely. That was false, utterly false; a bare and grim philosophy, a
timid sauntering. Rather it was better to clasp all things close, to
love passionately, to desire infinitely, to yield oneself gladly and
joyfully to every deep and true emotion; not greedily and luxuriously,
flinging aside the crumpled husk that had given up its sweetness; but
tenderly and gently, holding out one's arms to everything pure and
noble, trusting that behind all there did indeed beat a great and
fatherly heart, that loved one better than one dreamed.

That was a strange experience, that sunlit afternoon, a mingling of
deepest pain and softest hope, a touch of fire from the very altar of
faith, linking the beautiful past with the dark present, and showing me
that the future held a promise of perfect graciousness and radiant
strength. Did other lives hold the same rich secrets? I felt that they
did; for that day, at least, all mankind, young and old alike, seemed
indeed my brothers and