, taking
care of me!" Then, in her thought, she added, without dreaming of
irreverence, "I think God must be like that!"

XVI

One Little Hour

[Sidenote: The Two Faces]

When she awoke in the morning it was with a bewildering sense of change.
Something had happened, and, in the first moment, she was not quite sure
whether a dream had not boldly overstepped the line into daylight. The
faded photograph, propped up on the table at the head of her bed, at
once reassured her, and Rosemary smiled, with a joy so great that it was
almost pain tugging at the fibres of her heart.

To an outsider, perhaps, the two faces would have been common enough,
but one of love's divinest gifts is the power to bestow beauty wherever
it goes. The old man, bent with years, with the snows of his fourscore
winters lying heavily upon his head, may seem an object of kindly pity
as he hobbles along with crutch or cane, going oh, so slowly, where once
his feet were fain to run from very joy of living. The light may be gone
from his faded eyes, his dull ears may not respond to question or call,
but one face, waiting at a window, shall illumine at the sight of him,
and one voice, thrilling with tenderness, shall stir him to eager
answer.

[Sidenote: Beauty the Twin of Love]

Or a woman, worn and broken, her rough hands made shapeless by toil, may
seem to have no claim to beauty as the word is commonly understood.
Sleepless nights, perchance, have dimmed her eyes, suffering and
sacrifice have seamed and marked her face, but those to whom she has
given herself see only the great nobleness of her nature, the royalty of
her soul. For the beauty of the spirit may transfigure its earth-bound
temple, as some vast and grey cathedral with light streaming from its
stained glass windows, and eloquent with chimes and singing, may breathe
incense and benediction upon every passer-by.

And so, for those to whom love has come, beauty has come also, but
merely as the reflection in the mirror, since only love may see and
understand the thing itself. Purifying, uplifting, and exalting, making
sense the humble servant and not the tyrannical master, renewing itself
for ever at divine fountains that do not fail, inspiring to fresh
sacrifice, urging onward with new courage, redeeming all mistakes with
its infinite pardon; this, indeed is Love, which neither dies nor grows
old. And, since God himself is Love, what further assurance do we
require of immort