Chapter 70

MRS. KILROY OF ILVERTHORPE.

Face to face in my chamber, my silent chamber, I saw her: God and she and I only, there I sat down to draw her Soul through The clefts of confession--"Speak, I am holding thee fast, As the angel of recollection shall do it at last!" "My cup is blood-red With my sin," she said, "And I pour it out to the bitter lees. As if the angel of judgment stood over me strong at last Or as thou wert as these,"

--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_.

Howbeit all is not lost The warm noon ends in frost And worldly tongues of promise, Like sheep-bells die from us On the desert hills cloud-crossed: Yet through the silence shall Pierce the death-angel's call, And "Come up hither," recover all. Heart, wilt thou go? I go! Broken hearts triumph so.

--_Ibid_.