We peeped into the hall through the screen. I
could see where I used to sit, the same dark pictures looking down.
We went to the chapel, with its noble classical woodwork, the great
carved panels, the angels' heads, the huge, stately reredos. Some
one, thank God, was playing softly on the organ, and we sate to
listen. The sweet music flowed over my sad heart in a healing tide.
Yes, it was not meaningless, after all, this strange life, with the
good years shining in their rainbow halo, even though the path led
into darkness and formless shadow. I seemed to look back on it all,
as the traveller on the hill looks out from the skirts of the cloud
upon the sunny valley beneath him. It all worked together, said the
delicate rising strain, outlining itself above the soft thunder of
the pedals, into something high and grave and beautiful; it all
ended in the peace of God. I sate there, with wife and child, a
pilgrim faring onwards, tasting of love and life and sorrow, weary
of the way, but still--yes, I could say that--still hopeful. In
that moment even my bitter loss had something beautiful about it.
It was THERE, the bright episode of my dear Alec's life, the memory
of the beloved years together.
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