hy?"

"Because, as I said before, neither Art nor fortune justifies her, and
what she gets will spoil her."

He ended in confusion; some thought unexpressed overthrew him just here,
and he could not instantly gather himself up again.

"Do not fear," was the calm answer. "She is sacredly safe from that,--as
safe as I am. For so young a person, she is rich in safeguards, though
she seems to be alone; and she is brave enough to use them. If you come
to the church to-morrow, you will be converted from the error of some of
your worst thoughts."

"I told you in secret once, Heaven knows under what insane infatuation,
what I could tell you now with husband or child for audience,--there is,
there has ever been, but one voice for me."

For answer the organist lifted the lid of the artist's piano, touched a
few notes, and sang.

Was that the voice that once brought out the applause of the people,
rushing and roaring like the waves of the sea?

The same, etherealized, strengthened,--meeting the desire of the trained
and cultured man, as once it had the impassioned aspiration of youth.

He stood there, as of old, completely subject to her will; and of old
she had worked for good, as one of God's accredited angels. Every evil
passion in those days had stood rebuked before the charmed circle of her
influences: a voice to long for as the hart longs for the water-brooks;
a spirit to trust for work, or for love, or for truth,--"truest truth,"
and stanchest loyalty, as one might trust those who are delivered
forever from the power of temptation.

When she had ended the song, she had indeed ended. Not one note more.
Closing the piano, she walked about the room, looking at his pictures
one after another, pausing long before some, but the silence in which
she made the circuit was unbroken.

At last she came to the last-painted picture, where a soldier lay dying,
with glory on his face, victory in his eyes. Beside this she remained.

"There's many a realization of that dream," she said.

The words seemed to sting the artist as though she had said instead,
"Here's one who is in no danger of realizing it."

"I thought," said he, "I might one day prove for myself the emotions
attributed to that soldier."

She hesitated before answering. A vision rose before her,--a vision of
fields covered with the slain, unburied dead. Here the paths of honor
were cut short by the grave. She looked at Adam von Gelhorn. Here was no
warrior exce