had felt just as she did now after her lover had for the first time
clasped her to his heart, when, as night came on, she had sat by his side
on the marble bench, while the Christian procession passed. She had
taken the chanting train for the wandering souls of the dead and--how
strange! No--she was not mistaken. She heard at this moment the
selfsame strain which they had then sung so joyfully, in spite of its
solemn mode. She did know when it had begun, but again it filled her
with a bitter-sweet sense of pity. Only it struck deeper now than
before, for she knew now that it applied to all human beings, since they
were all the children of the same kind Father, and her own brethren and
sisters.

But whence did the wonderful music proceed--Was she--and a shock of alarm
thrilled her at the thought--was she numbered with the dead? Had her
heart ceased to beat when the Saviour had taken her in His arms after her
ride through blood and darkness, when all had grown dim to her senses?
Was she now in the abode of the blest?

Andreas had painted it as a glorious place; and yet she shuddered at the
thought. But was not that foolish? If she were really dead, all terror
and pain were at an end. She would see her mother once more; and
whatever might happen to those she loved, she might perhaps be suffered
to linger near them, as she had done on earth, and hope with assurance to
meet them again here, sooner or later.

But no! Her heart was beating still; she could feel how strongly it
throbbed. Then where was she?

There certainly had not been any such coverlet as this on her bed in the
Serapeum, and the room there was much lower. She looked about her and