py radiance told him
that the trouble was departed from him as suddenly as it came; "and,"
he added, "dear friend, God has shown me marvellous things--I have
seen a soul in glory." The old physician's eyes filled with tears and
he said, "This is very wonderful and gracious."

The same day came a carriage from the Bishop to fetch Herbert, for the
Bishop desired to see him. He went in haste, and was amazed to see
that when the carriage came to the door of the Bishop's house, the
Bishop himself came out to receive him as though he had waited for
him.

The Bishop greeted him very lovingly and took him into his room, and
when the door was shut, he said, "Dear son, I sent you from me the
other day in bitterness of heart; for you had spoken the truth to me,
and I could not bear it; and now I ask your forgiveness; you found as
it were the key to my spirit, and flung the door open; and God has
shown me that you were right, and that the most secret shrine of my
heart, where the fire should burn clearest, was dark and bare. I gave
not God the glory, but laid violent hands upon it for myself; and now,
if God will, all shall be changed, and I will do my work for God and
not for myself, and strive to be humble of heart," and the Bishop's
eyes were full of tears. And he held out his hand to Herbert, who took
it; and so they sate for a while. Then Herbert said, "Dear father, I
will also tell you something. God has taken away from me the terrible
gift; also He has shown me the sight of a human spirit, made perfect
in suffering and patience; and I am very joyful thereat." So they held
sweet converse together, and were very glad at heart.

THE SNAKE, THE LEPER, AND THE GREY FROST

In the heart of the Forest of Seale lay the little village of
Birnewood Fratrum, like a lark's nest in a meadow of tall grass. It
was approached by green wood-ways, very miry in winter. The folk that
lived there were mostly woodmen. There was a little church, the stones
of which seemed to have borrowed the hue of the forest, and close
beside it a small timbered house, the Parsonage, with a garden of
herbs. Those who saw Birnewood in the summer, thought of it as a place
where a weary man might rest for ever, in an ancient peace, with the
fresh mossy smell of the wood blowing through it, and the dark cool
branching covert to muse in on every side. But it was a different
place in winter, with ragged clouds rolling overhead and the bare
bou