The mysterious news was wonderful! Men of science would come and live near her—perhaps in the woods across the creek. But her chief perplexity as she washed the dishes was whether the miracle would include Marvin. Probably not, because he was not a physical research man, much less a medical research man.

When the dishes were finished, she went down to the shore, Agricola following as usual. She mounted the rock and looked toward the west. The birches were doing off their gold to stand in silver. The hill was dark, but the sky was rich and deep. She turned toward her island, over which the moon would later rise, and saw a flotilla of little frozen clouds. They seemed like Dante’s celestial rose of white, each petal a redeemed soul. They were more angels than she had ever seen men in one day, and the littlest petals were the souls of children, which always behold the face of their Father. Under this so sudden enchantment the wonder of her father’s news was gradually forgot.

Her eye traveled up the river, and her brother seemed curiously near. How often she had seen him come sailing home, with brown throat bare to the winds and head thrown back to snuff the breeze.

Now all was changed, and she could not imagine him. What body celestial might he wear? If she could only catch one glimpse of his pure radiance, she would not be afraid. She would not act like the Little Red Leaf, to lock the door against a ghost even though she believed that Penaycee was safe in the lodge of the reindeer. She knew that in seeing Horatio’s body, with brown throat bare to the winds and head thrown back to snuff the breeze, she had seen but the least part of Horatio. How curious it all was—this ancient language that everybody spoke, about bodies and souls. How utterly it failed to fit the scientific fact that her brother’s body was of finer tissue than any imaginable spirit, and that it ended only in the stars.

She could think no more, and turned her gaze to the ore-boats coming up the river. They were very numerous this summer, these big instinctive animals hunting their prey so quietly. It took each one some three or four minutes to pass her island, which eclipsed each constellation in turn, but they advanced as inexorably as fate. Thus, in a day or two, Marvin would be coming.

She seemed past caring. She would just say no, and not attempt to explain. It was like death—it had to be gone through, but only once. She had heard that a drowning man lives through ages in a few seconds, but if ever she had to drown, she would set her teeth and stand it.

Agricola moved a little in his sleep and powerlessly barked in his throat. Long accustomed not to chase his natural prey, Agricola sometimes took it out on rabbits in his sleep. She was sure he never quite caught them—they changed and evaporated. She drew her hand softly along his head, and the noises ceased.

By this the moon had risen. She laid her own head on her arm, moved her back till it touched his, and drowsily watched the boats. Cities they were, forerunners of the greater cities that would cover the earth till there was no more solitude or beauty. Here came the largest of all—she knew it in the moonlight as it reached her misty island and disappeared.

How long it was in passing! An hour, a day, a year. Many years. Millions of years hiding it on the misty river. She watched for it in vain, and in its place saw—something else!

For there in the mist of the river Horatio seemed to stand beneath the moon, throwing her a kiss. And at that signal there were other faces beside him, growing in number like the opening petals of a rose. Tier on tier, a mighty orchestra, retreating upward till they were pearly dim, hiding the moon. Then arose a strange sweet music—voices of young stars—cry of a heavenly army—men and maidens chanting her father’s hymn. In their midst stood Horatio like another father, loved by the unborn who were not his own, yet whom he had loved with love divine, all love excelling.

With a thrill of unspeakable joy she awoke, and saw the great steamer emerge from behind her island.