swelled
like the distant coming of a vast procession as yet unseen. She stood as
it were on a mountain-top before the closed gates of heaven, waiting for
the moment of revelation.

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