the shading,
Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon."

The strong, tender arms of the tall man gently lowered the white form
under the cruel water; he staggered a moment in the swift stream,
recovered himself, raised her, white as death, and the voices of the
wailing tune came:

"Love, rest, and home
Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come!"

And the tall man, as he struggled to the shore with his almost
insensible burden, could be heard above the other voices and the wind
and the rush of the waters:

"Lord, tarry not, but come!"

The girl was hurried into the carriage, and the group quickly dispersed.
"Well, I'll be--" The tender-hearted little wife of the rough man in the
crowd who began that sentence did not permit him to finish it. "That'll
be a case for a doctor right away," remarked a well-known practitioner
who had been looking on.

Margaret and Mr. Lyon walked home in silence. "I can't talk about it,"
she said. "It's such a pitiful world."

IV

In the evening, at our house, Margaret described the scene in the park.

"It's dreadful," was the comment of Miss Forsythe. "The authorities
ought not to permit such a thing."

"It seemed to me as heroic as pitiful, aunt. I fear I should be
incapable of making such a testimony."

"But it was so unnecessary."

"How do we know what is necessary to any poor soul? What impressed
me most strongly was that there is in the world still this longing to
suffer physically and endure public scorn for a belief."

"It may have been a disappointment to the little band," said Mr. Morgan,
"that there was no demonstration from the spectators, that there was no
loud jeering, that no snowballs were thrown by the boys."

"They could hardly expect that," said I; "the world has become so
tolerant that it doesn't care."

"I rather think," Margaret replied, "that the spectators for a
moment came under the spell of the hour, and were awed by something
supernatural in the endurance of that frail girl."

"No doubt," said my wife, after a little pause. "I believe that there
is as much sense of mystery in the world as ever, and as much of what
we call faith, only it shows itself eccentrically. Breaking away from
traditions and not going to church have not destroyed the need in the
minds of the mass of people for something outside themselves."

"Did I tell you," interposed Morgan--"it is almost in the line of your
thought--of a girl I met the other da