. . "Only a look" . . . "But
who can comprehend the unfathomable influence of a look?--It may
come to a soul wounded and despairing--a soul caught in a wide-
sweeping tempest--a soul sad and weary, longing to give up the
struggle. . ."
Where did those words, ringing faintly in her consciousness, come
from? She didn't know, was now too sleepy to ponder deeply. But they
had come; that was a promising token. To-morrow more would come; the
Valedictory would flow on out of her soul--or into her soul,
whichever way it was0-in phrases serene, majestic, ineffable.
Missy's eyelids fluttered; the street lamp's halo grew more and more
irradiant; gleamed out to illumine, resplendently, a slender girl in
white standing on a lighted stage, gazing with lumincus eyes out on
a darkened auditorium, a house as hushed as when little Eva dies.
All the people were listening to the girl up there speaking--the
rhythmic lift and fall of her voice, the sentiments fine and noble
and inspiring:
"Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in passing. . .
So, on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another.
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