— XIII —
REAL MONEY
THE two women passed inside the cottage, Mrs. Thornton holding out her hand again to the little lad; while Holmes and his wife followed hesitantly, awed. In the rear, Thornton grasped Madison's arm suddenly.
"I never saw such a beautiful face," he whispered tensely. "It's wonderful."
"Yes," assented Madison. "But everything here seems full of a rare, strange beauty, a hallowed something—it lifts one beyond material things. You feel it—a great, calm solemnity all about you."
He closed the door softly behind him.
Mrs. Thornton's eyes swept questioningly, anxiously and a little timidly about the plain, simple, quiet room; and then she spoke, her voice unconsciously hushed:
"He—he is not here?"
Helena shook her head, as she led Mrs. Thornton to a chair.
"Not now," she said in a low voice. "The strain of this afternoon has left him very weary and very tired—much has gone out of him in response to the faith he felt but could not see."
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