Once more his spirit rose upon the wave of a hope which he could neither
logically justify nor dare to refuse; for hope is hope whencesoever it
spring, and needs no justification of its self-existence or of its
sudden marvelous birth. The very hope was in itself enough for itself.
And now he was near his home; his Annie was waiting for him; and in
another instant his misery would be shared and comforted by her! He was
walking toward the wonder-sign in the heavens. But even as he walked
with it full in view, he saw it gradually fade and dissolve into the
sky, until not a thread of its loveliness remained to show where it had
spanned the infinite with its promise of good. And yet, was not the sky
itself a better thing, and the promise of a yet greater good? He must
walk onward yet, in tireless hope! And the resolve itself endured--or
fading, revived, and came again, and ever yet again.
For ere he had passed the few yards that lay between him and Annie yet
another wonder befell: as if the rainbow had condensed, and taken shape
as it melted away, there on the pathway, in the thickening twilight of
the swift-descending November night, stood a creature, surely not of the
night, but rather of the early morn, a lovely little child--whether
wandered from the open door of some neighboring house, or left by the
vanished rainbow, how was he to tell? Endeavoring afterward to recall
every point of her appearance, he could remember nothing of her feet, or
even of the frock she wore.
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