The first syllable, however, sang in him with an exquisitely sweet authority.  He was aware of some glorious new thing in the penetralia of his little spirit, vibrating with happiness.  Some portion of himself sang with it.  “For it really did vibrate,” he said, “and no other word describes it.  It vibrated like music, like a string; as though when I passed her she had taken a bow and drawn it across the strings of my inmost being to make them sing....”

“Come,” broke in the sonorous voice of the clergyman whom he found standing in the hall; “I’ve been waiting for you.”

It was said, not complainingly nor with any idea of fault-finding, but rather—­both tone and manner betrayed it—­as a prelude to something of importance about to follow.  Somewhat impatiently Mr. Skale took his companion by the arm and led him forwards; on the stone floor Spinrobin’s footsteps sounded light and dancing, like a child’s.  The clergyman strode.  At the dining room door he stopped, turning abruptly, and at the same instant the figure of the young girl glided noiselessly towards them from the mouth of the dark corridor where she had been waiting.

Her entry, again, was curiously effective; like a beautiful thought in a dream she moved into the hall, and into Spinrobin’s life.  Moreover, as she came wholly into view in the light, he felt, as positively as though he heard it uttered, that he knew her name complete.  The first syllable had come to him in the passageway when he saw her partly, and the feeling of dread that “Mir—­” might prove to be part of “Miranda,” “Myrtle,” or some other enormity, passed instantly.  These would only have been gross and cruel misnomers.  Her right name—­the only one that described her soul—­must end, as it began, with M. It flashed into his mind, and at the same moment Mr. Skale picked it off his very lips.

“Miriam,” he said in deep tones, rolling the name along his mouth so as to extract every shade of sound belonging to it, “this is Mr. Spinrobin about whom I told you.  He is coming, I hope, to help us.”

VI

At first Spinrobin was only aware of the keen delight produced in him by the manner of Skale’s uttering her name, for it entered his consciousness with a murmuring, singing sound that continued on in his thoughts like a melody.  His racing blood carried it to every portion of his body.  He heard her name, not with his ears alone but with his whole person—­a melodious, haunting phrase of music that thrilled him exquisitely.  Next, he knew that she stood close before him, shaking his hand, and looking straight into his eyes with an expression of the most complete trust and sympathy imaginable, and that he felt a well-nigh irresistible desire to draw her yet closer to him and kiss her little shining face.  Thirdly—­though the three impressions were as a matter of fact almost simultaneous—­that the huge figure of the clergyman stood behind them, watching with the utmost intentness and interest, like a keen and alert detective eager for some betrayal of evidence, inspired, however, not by mistrust, but by a very zealous sympathy.