ut of the dream had stepped the dreamer into the
realness of things; how suddenly the seeker saw; how to the wanderer,
the Way was opened.

Just how she sensed this Mrs. Vanderpool could not have explained, nor
could Zora. Was there a change, sudden, cataclysmic? No. There were to
come in future days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restless
cry: "It is all right--all right!" But more and more, above the doubt
and beyond the unrest, rose the great end, the mighty ideal, that
flickered and wavered, but ever grew and waxed strong, until it became
possible, and through it all things else were possible. Thus from the
grave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing of dark and bowed
worshippers, the Angel of the Resurrection rolled away the stone.

"What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool repeated.

Zora looked up, almost happily--standing poised on her feet as if to
tell of strength and purpose.

"I have found the Way," she cried joyously.

Mrs. Vanderpool gave her a long searching look.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been waiting."

"I'm sorry--but I've been--converted." And she told her story.

"Pshaw, Zora!" Mrs. Vanderpool uttered impatiently. "He's a fakir."

"Maybe," said Zora serenely and quietly; "but he brought the Word."

"Zora, don't talk cant; it isn't worthy of your intelligence."

"It was more than intelligent--it was true."

"Zora--listen, child! You were wrought up tonight, nervous--wild. You
were happy to meet your people, and where he said one word you supplied
two. What you attribute to him is the voice of your own soul."

But Zora merely smiled. "All you say may be true. But what does it
matter? I know one thing, like the man in the Bible: 'Whereas I was
blind now I see.'"

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a little helpless gesture. "And what shall you do?"
she asked.

"I'm going back South to work for my people."

"When?" The old careworn look stole across Mrs. Vanderpool's features.

Zora came gently forward and slipped her arms lovingly about the other
woman's neck.

"Not right off," she said gently; "not until I learn more. I hate to
leave you, but--it calls!"

Mrs. Vanderpool held the dark girl close and began craftily:

"You see, Zora, the more you know the more you can do."

"Yes."

"And if you are determined I will see that you are taught. You must know
settlement-work and reform movements; not simply here but--" she
hesitated--"in England--in France."