onth.

But on the next day he was bidden early to the cottage; John had been
found sitting on the little bench outside his door, cold and dead,
with a strange and upturned look almost as though he had seen the
heaven opened.

He was buried a few days after; none were found to stand at the grave
but Herbert, and the clerk who came unwillingly.

Then, on the next Sunday, Herbert made a little sermon at Evensong
and told them all the story of John's life, and his atonement. "My
brothers and sisters," he said very softly, making a pause, the
silence in the church being breathless below him, "here was a true
saint of God among us, and we knew it not. He sinned, though not so
grievously as we thought, he suffered grievously, and he took his
suffering as meekly as the little child of whom the dear Lord said
that of such was the Kingdom. Dear friends, I tell you a truth from my
heart; that in the day when we stand, if we are given to stand,
beneath the Throne of God, this our poor brother will be nearer to the
Throne than any of us, in robes of light, and very close to the
Father's heart. May the Father forgive us all, and let us be pitiful
and merciful, if by any means we may obtain mercy."

That night, in a dream, it seemed as if some one came suddenly out of
a dark place like a grave, and stood before Herbert, exceedingly
glorious to behold. How the change had passed upon him Herbert could
not tell, for it was John himself, the same, yet transformed into a
spirit of purest light. And he smiled upon Herbert and said, "It is
even so, dear brother; and now am I comforted in glory--and now that
you have seen the truth, the Father would have me visit you to tell
you that the trouble laid upon you is departed. Only be true and
faithful, and lead souls the nearest way." And in a moment he was
gone, but seemed to leave a shining track upon the darkness.

The next morning Herbert awoke with a strange stirring of the heart.
He looked abroad from his window, and saw the dew upon the grass, and
the quiet trees awakening. And he could hardly contain himself for
gladness. When he went to the church, he knew all at once that his
sorrow had departed from him, and that he saw no deeper into the heart
than other men. The lights that had seemed to shine round others were
gone, and his heart was full of love and pity again.

His first visit was to the house of the old physician, who greeted
him very kindly; and Herbert with a kind of hap