ave come to show my thanks to you for your
prayers and good offices. For God has heard them and given me life."
Then Brother Lawrence said, "Give the glory to God, my brother," and
the baron said, "Ay, I do that!" and Brother Lawrence smiled and bade
the monks depart from him and leave him with the Baron alone. And then
Brother Lawrence looked upon him for a while in silence, and his eyes
were full of a heavenly light and great joy. And presently he said, "I
have a thing that I must tell you, my brother. You asked of me whether
I knew your brother Christopher, and I answered you shortly enough,
but now I have leave to tell you; and I am he."

Then there was a long silence, and the Baron drew near and kissed him
on the cheek.

Then Brother Lawrence said, "And now, dear brother, I will tell you
all the truth; for the hand of God is laid upon me, and to-day I must
depart;" and then he told him of the vision and interpreted it saying,
"The Lord was merciful and let me give my life for thine; and I give
it, O how gladly; and I tell you not this for your pity or for your
praise, but that you may know that your life is not given you for
nought; God had good works prepared for me to walk in, and now must
you walk in them--and be not dismayed. He calls you not to the life of
prayer; but be loving and just and merciful to the poor and the
oppressed; for God has deeds fit for all to do; and though I could
have served Him faithfully in the cloister, you will serve Him better
in the world; only remember this, that life is lent you, and not
given, and you must increase it, that you may give it back more
worthily."

Then the Baron was full of heaviness, and said that he could not take
life on these terms; that both should live, or that if his brother
must die, he would die too. Then Brother Lawrence rebuked him
lovingly; and then began to talk of their childish days, saying with a
smile, "When I last saw you, dear brother, you promised me that you
would talk with me in the morning, and the morning is come now, and
you will keep your promise." And then presently he said, "Henry, we
are frail things, and it is a pitiful thing that so much of vanity is
mingled with our flesh; but I used to think as a child that I would
compel you some day to think me brave, and would make you grateful to
me for a service done you--and I think of this now and am glad; but
now I grow weak and can speak no more; but tell me of your life and of
all that