VIII

... A great volume of sound suddenly enveloped and caught away the two
singing names, and the spell was broken. Miriam dropped her eyes;
Spinrobin looked up. It was Mr. Skale's voice upon them with a shout.

"Splendid! splendid!" he cried; "your voices, like your names, are made
for one another, in quality, pitch, accent, everything." He was
enthusiastic rather than excited; but to Spinrobin, taking part in this
astonishing performance, to which the other two alone held the key, it
all seemed too perplexing for words. The great bass crashed and boomed
for a moment about his ears; then came silence. The test, or whatever it
was, was over. It had been successful.

Mr. Skale, his face still shining with enthusiasm, turned towards him.
Miriam, equally happy, watched, her hands folded in her lap.

"My dear fellow," exclaimed the clergyman, half rising in his chair, "how
mad you must think us! How mad you must think us! I can only assure you
that when you know more, as you soon shall, you will understand the
importance of what has just taken place...."

He said a good deal more that Spinrobin did not apparently quite take in.
He was too bewildered. His eyes sought the girl where she sat opposite,
gazing at him. For all its pallor, her face was tenderly soft and
beautiful; more pure and undefiled, he thought, than any human
countenance he had ever seen, and sweet as the face of a child. Utterly
unstained it was. A similar light shone in the faces of Skale and Mrs.
Mawle. In their case it had forged its way through the more or less