Playthings and tinsel are cast away.  The music of the dance dies in lingering, discordant fragments, and in its place comes the full tone of an organ and the majestic movement of a symphony.  The web of the daily living grows beautiful in the new light, for the Hand that set the pattern has been gently laid upon her loom.

[Sidenote:  Through all the Years to Come]

Through all the years to come, they are to be together; he and she.  There will be no terror in the wilderness, no sting in poverty or defeat—­hunger and thirst can be forgotten.  Wherever Destiny may point the way, they are to fare together—­he and she.

Somewhere, in a world whose only shame is its uncleanliness, they two are to make a home and keep the little space around them wholly clean.  Somewhere, they two will show the world that the old ideals are not lost; that a man and a woman may still live together in supreme and lasting content.  Somewhere, too, they will teach anew the old lesson, that it is unyielding Honour at the core of things that keeps them sound and sweet.

There is nothing in all life so beautiful as that first dream of Home; a place where there is balm for the tortured soul, new courage for the wavering soul, rest for the tired soul, and stronger trust for the soul caught in the snares of doubt and disbelief—­a place where one may be wholly and joyfully one’s self, where one’s mistakes are never faults, where pardon ever anticipates the asking, where love follows swiftly upon understanding and understanding upon love.

[Sidenote:  The Sceptre of the King]

“To Love and Understand!” He who holds the sceptre of the king may rule right royally.  There is solace for the tired traveller within the cloister of that other heart, and the pitiful chains which some call marriage would rust and decay at the entrance to that holy place.

The spotless peace within the inner chamber is his alone.  There his motives are never questioned, nor his words distorted beyond their meaning, and his daily purposes are ever read aright.

The dream is forever centred upon the coming of The Prince.  Sometimes, with the grim irony of Fate, he is seen when both are bound—­and there are some who deem a heartache too great a price to pay for the revelation.  Now and then, after many years, he comes to claim his own.

[Sidenote:  The Grey Angel and the Prince]

And sometimes, too, when one has long waited and prayed for his coming; when the sight has grown dim with watching and the frosty rime of winter has softly touched the dark hair, the Grey Angel takes pity and closes the tired eyes.

The lavender and the dead rose-leaves breathe a hushed fragrance from the heaps of long-stored linen; the cricket and the tiny clock keep up their cheery song, because they do not know their gentle mistress can no longer hear.  The slanting sunbeams of afternoon mark out a delicate tracery upon the floor, and the shadow of the rose-geranium in the window is silhouetted upon the opposite wall.  And then, into the quiet house, steals something which seems like an infinite calm.