Then everything vanished, and deep gloom, that was not, however, dark to her, settled round them.  Taking Arthur by the hand, she spread her white wings and circled upwards.  Far, far they sailed, till they reached a giant peak that split space in twain.  Here they alighted, and watched the masses of cloud tearing through the gulfs on either side of them, and, looking beyond and below, gazed upon the shining worlds that peopled space beneath them.

From the cloud-drifts to the right and left came a noise as of the soughings of many wings; but they did not know what caused it, till presently the vapours lifted, and they saw that alongside of and beneath them two separate streams of souls were passing on outstretched pinions:  one stream, that to their left, proceeding to their earthly homes, and one, that to the right, returning from them.  Those who went wore grief upon their shadowy faces, and had sad-coloured wings; but those who returned seemed for the most part happy, and their wings were tipped with splendour.

The never-ending stream that came flowed from a far-off glory, and that which returned, having passed the dividing cliff on which they stood, was changed into a multitude of the red snow-flakes with the glowing hearts, and dropped gently downwards.

So they stood, in happy peace, never tiring, from millennium to millennium.  They watched new worlds collecting out of chaos, they saw them speed upon their high aerial course till, grown hoary, their foundation-rocks crumbling with age, they wasted away into the vastness whence they had gathered, to be replaced by fresh creations that in their turn took form, teemed with life, waxed, waned, and vanished.

At length there came an end, and the soughing of wings was silent for ever; no more souls went downwards, and none came up from the earths.  Then the distant glory from which the souls had come moved towards them with awful mutterings and robed in lightning, and space was filled with spirits, one of whom, sweeping past them, cried with a loud voice, “Children, Time is dead; now is the beginning of knowledge.”  And she turned to Arthur, who had grown more radiant than the star which gleamed upon his forehead, and kissed him.

Then she would wake.

Time passed on, and gradually health and strength came back to Angela, till at last she was as powerful in mind, and—­if that were possible—­ except that she was shorn of her lovely hair, more beautiful in body than she had been before her troubles overwhelmed her.  Of Arthur she thought a great deal—­indeed, she thought of little else; but it was with a sort of hopelessness that precluded action.  Nobody had mentioned his name to her, as it was thought wiser not to do so, though Pigott and Mr. Fraser had, in as gentle terms as they could command, told her of the details of the plot against her, and of the consequences to the principal actors in it.  Nor had she spoken of him.  It seemed