sending a javelin of glory
half-way across the world.

The first light lay upon the crags, then deepened and spread,
penetrating the darkness below, which was no longer black, but dusky
purple. Rosemary's heart sang as she climbed, and the fragrance of the
lily thrilled her soul with pure delight. The path was smooth, now, and
thorns no longer hurt her feet. The hand that held the lily, however,
was bleeding, from some sharp thorn or projection of rock.

[Sidenote: The Blood-Stained Lily]

She wiped her hand upon her torn dress, and, as she did so, a drop of
blood stained the lily. She tried to get it off, but all her efforts
were fruitless. The crimson spread and darkened until half of the white
petals were dyed. She noted, with a queer lump in her throat, that the
lily was the same colour as the waxen heart that lay under the glass
case in the house she had so recently left.

But she still held it tightly, though it was stained and no longer
fragrant. Up somewhere in the sunrise Alden was waiting for her, and she
climbed breathlessly. She was exhausted when she reached the summit, and
the wreath of rue pressed heavily upon her temples.

She paused for a moment, realising that she had reached the end of her
journey. Rainbow mists surrounded the height, but, as she looked, they
lifted. She was not surprised to see Alden standing there. He had been
hidden by the mists.

With a little laugh of joy, Rosemary tried to run toward him, but her
feet refused to move. Then she called: "Alden!" and again, in a troubled
tone: "Mr. Marsh!"

[Sidenote: Calling in Vain]

But only the echo of her own voice came back to her, for Alden did not
move. Strong and finely-moulded, his youth surrounded him like some
radiant garment of immortality. Every line of his figure was eloquent of
his lusty manhood, and his face glowed not only from the sunrise, but
from some inner light.

"Service, sacrifice. Giving, not receiving; asking, not answer." The
words reverberated through her consciousness like a funeral knell. She
dropped the stained lily and called again, weakly: "Alden!"

But, as before, he did not answer. His eyes were fixed upon a distant
point where the coloured mists were slowly lifting. Rosemary, cold and
still, could only stand there and watch, for her feet refused to stir.

Hungrily, she gazed upon him, but he did not see, for he was watching
the drifting rainbow beyond. Then a cry of rapture broke from him and he
s