I just despise that 'saddest-when-I-sing' business.

You can sing! Now you go over there and do it! Ireland has had her statesmen, warriors, actors, and poets; now you be her voice! You stand right out there before the cathedral door, and I'm going to come down the aisle playing that accompaniment, and when I stop in front of you--you sing!" The Angel's face wore an unusual flush.

Her eyes were flashing and she was palpitating with earnestness.
She parted the bushes and disappeared.

Freckles, straight and tense, stood waiting.

Presently, before he saw she was there, she was coming down the aisle toward him, playing compellingly, and rifts of light were touching her with golden glory.