For the first time in his life Spinrobin, abashed and trembling, gazed upon something in human guise that was genuinely sublime—­perfect with a stainless purity.  The mere sight produced in him an exaltation of the spirit such as he had never before experienced ... swallowing up his first terror.  In his heart of hearts, he declares, he prayed; for this was the natural expression for an emotion of the volume and intensity that surged within him....

How long he sat there gazing seems uncertain; perhaps minutes, perhaps seconds only.  The sense of time’s passage was temporarily annihilated.  It might well have been a thousand years, for the sight somehow swept him into eternity....  In that tearoom of Skale’s lonely house among the mountains, the warmth of an earthly fire upon his back, the light of an earthly oil-lamp in his eyes, holding buttered toast in exceedingly earthly fingers, he sat face to face with something that yet was not of this earth, something majestic, spiritual and eternal ... visible evidence of transfiguration and of “earth growing heaven....”

* * * * *

It was, of course, stupid and clumsy of Spinrobin to drop his teacup and let it smash noisily against the leg of the table; yet it was natural enough, for in his ecstasy and amazement he apparently lost control of certain muscles in his trembling fingers....  Though the change came gradually it seemed very quick.  The volume of the clergyman’s voice grew less, and as the tide of sound ebbed the countenance of the housekeeper also slowly altered.  The flames that a moment before had burned so whitely there flickered faintly and were gone; the glory faded; the splendor withdrew.  She even seemed to dwindle in size....  She resumed her normal appearance.  Skale’s voice ceased.

The incident apparently had occupied but a few moments, for Mrs. Mawle, he realized, was gathering the plates together and fitting them into the spaces of the crowded tea-tray with difficulty—­an operation, he remembered, she had just begun when the clergyman first began to call upon her name.

She, clearly, had been conscious of nothing unusual.  A moment later, with her customary combination of curtsey and bow, she was gone from the room, and Spinrobin, acting upon a strange impulse, found himself standing upright by the table, looking wildly about him, passing his hand through his scattered hair, and trying in vain to utter words that should relieve his overcharged soul of the burden of glory and mystery that oppressed it.

A pain, profoundly searching, pierced his heart.  He thought of the splendors he had just witnessed, and of the joy and peace upon those features even when the greater wonder withdrew.  He thought of the power in the countenance of Skale, and of the shining loveliness in the face of Miriam.  Then, with a blast of bitterest disappointment, he realized the insignificance of his own self—­the