Newman to float before her as if it were unreal. The gorgeous procession, the full pomp and panoply of the ancient Roman Church, aided by the wealth of English adherents, now came in sight; the tramp of the stirring music swelled louder, and the vast crowd knelt to the glorified vestals with a common impulse. As the twelve thrones, carried on high, passed through the portal, Lesbia’s rustic little maid, simpleton as she was in the things of this world, gazed up into her young mistress’s face with a rapt expression that was truly angelic, a gleam of the Divine Nature breaking forth even from such a very lowly type of it as she. The kneeling crowd rose as the last chords died away down the aisles of the interior, but there was more to see yet; for overhead the rainbow spanned the towers of the Abbey with a brilliancy probably never before known in smoky London, and indeed seldom seen anywhere. Certainly, the weather for the last few hours had been very exceptional; still the coincidence was impressive, even for the least imaginative and superstitious among that motley multitude.
Two hours afterwards, Mrs Newman clasped her daughter in her arms, while a burst of tears gave her oppressed brain relief.
‘Praised be God, my own darling Lesbie, for these most wonderful events! A weight, if an unreal one, is taken off my mind. The Dream is all fulfilled now, and still I have you safe.’
the end.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
