“O, I have so longed to know if you were safe!” said the man as soon as he could speak.

Then straightway the girl forgot all her three years of training, and her success as a debutante, and became the grave, shy thing she had been to him when he first saw her, looking up with awed delight into the face she had seen in her dreams for so long, and yet might not long for.

The orchestra began again, and they sat in silence listening.  But yet their souls seemed to speak to each other through the medium of the music, as if the intervening years were being bridged and brought together in the space of those few waves of melody.

“I have found out,” said Elizabeth, looking up shyly with a great light in her eyes.  “I have found what it all means.  Have you?  O, I have wanted so much to know whether you had found out too!”

“Found out what?” he asked half sadly that he did not understand.

“Found out how God hides us.  Found what a friend Jesus Christ can be.”

“You are just the same,” said the man with satisfaction in his eyes.  “You have not been changed nor spoiled.  They could not spoil you.”

“Have you found out too?” she asked softly.  She looked up into his eyes with wistful longing.  She wanted this thing so very much.  It had been in her prayers for so long.

He could not withdraw his own glance.  He did not wish to.  He longed to be able to answer what she wished.

“A little, perhaps,” he said doubtfully.  “Not so much as I would like to.  Will you help me?”

“He will help you.  You will find Him if you search for Him with all your heart,” she said earnestly.  “It says so in His book.”

Then came more music, wistful, searching, tender.  Did it speak of the things of heaven to other souls there than those two?

He stooped down, and said in a low tone that somehow seemed to blend with the music like the words that fitted it,

“I will try with all my heart if you will help me.”

She smiled her answer, brimming back with deep delight.

Into the final lingering notes of an andante from one of Beethoven’s sublime symphonies clashed the loud voice of Lizzie: 

“O Bess!  Bess!  B-es-see!  I say, Bessie!  Ma says we’ll have to go over by the cars now if we want to get a seat.  The concert’s most out, and there’ll be a fierce rush.  Come on!  And grandma says, bring your friend along with you if you want.”  This last with a smirking recognition of the man, who had turned around wonderingly to see who was speaking.

With a quick, searching glance that took in bedraggled organdie, rose hat, and pink parasol, and set them aside for what they were worth, George Benedict observed and classified Lizzie.

“Will you excuse yourself, and let me take you home a little later?” he asked in a low tone.  “The crowd will be very great, and I have my automobile here.”