to the face of the great soldier, who in turn stared as
steadily at John; and John was singing like a lark, with a lark's
spontaneous delight in singing, with an ease and self-abandonment which
charmed eye almost as much as ear. Higher and higher rose the clear,
sexless notes, till two of them met and mingled in a triumphant trill.
To Desmond, that trill was the answer to the quavering, troubled
cadences of the first verse; the vindication of the spirit soaring
upwards unfettered by the flesh--the pure spirit, not released from the
pitiful human clay without a fierce struggle. At that moment Desmond
loved the singer--the singer who called to him out of heaven, who
summoned his friend to join him, to see what he saw--"the vision
splendid."

John began the third and last verse. The famous soldier covered his
face with his hand, releasing John's eyes, which ascended, like his
voice, till they met joyfully the eyes of Desmond. At last he was
singing to his friend--_and his friend knew it_. John saw Desmond's
radiant smile, and across that ocean of faces he smiled back. Then,
knowing that he was nearer to his friend than he had ever been before,
he gathered together his energies for the last line of the song--a line
to be repeated three times, loudly at first, then more softly,
diminishing to the merest whisper of sound, the voice celestial melting
away in the ear of earth-bound mortals. The master knew well the
supreme difficulty of producing properly this last attenuated note, but
he knew also that John's lungs were strong, that the vocal chords had
never been strained. Still, if the boy's breath failed; if anything--a
smile, a frown, a cough--distracted his attention, the end would
be--weakness, failure. He wondered why John was staring so fixedly in
one direction.

Now--now!

The piano crashed out the last line; but far above it, dominating it,
floated John's flute-like notes. The master played the same bars for
the second time. He was still able to sustain, if it were necessary, a
quavering, imperfect phrase. But John delivered the second repetition
without a mistake, singing easily from the chest. The master put his
foot upon the soft pedal. Nobody was watching him. Had any one done
so, he would have seen the perspiration break upon the musician's
forehead. The piano purred its accompaniment. Then, in the middle of
the phrase, the master lifted his hands and held them poised above the
instrument.