"At last!" she exclaimed. "At last you have come!"

There was a silence, prolonged, curious, in a sense thrilling. A girl
of wonderful appearance had risen to her feet and was looking eagerly
towards him. She was wearing the plain black dress of a working woman,
whose clumsy folds inadequately concealed a figure of singular beauty
and strength. Her cheeks were colourless; her eyes large and deep, and
of a soft shade of grey, filled just now with the half wondering, half
worshipping expression of a pilgrim who has reached the Mecca of her
desires. Her hair--her shabby hat lay upon the table--was dark and
glossy. Her arms were a little outstretched. Her lips, unusually
scarlet against the pallor of her face, were parted. Her whole attitude
was one of quivering eagerness. Maraton stood and looked at her in
wonder. The little cloud of sentiment in which he had been moving,
perhaps, made him more than ever receptive to the impressions which she
seemed to create. Both the girl herself and her pose were splendidly
allegorical. She stood there for the great things of life.

"I would not go away," she cried softly. "They forbade me to stay, but
I came back. I am Julia Thurnbrein. I have waited so long."

Maraton stepped towards her and took her hands.

"I am glad," he said. "It is fitting that you should be one of the
first to welcome me. You have done a great work, Julia Thurnbrein."

"And you," she murmured passionately, still clasping his hands, "you a
far greater one! Ever since I understood, I have longed for this
meeting. It is you who will become the world's deliverer."