suspended
space as he was borne along, and after, when the smoke gave way, and
air, blessed air, was wafted in, there was the Presence. If it had not
been for that he could not have borne the awfulness of nothing that
surrounded him. Always there was the Presence!

There was a bandage over his eyes for days; people speaking in whispers;
and when the bandage was taken away there were the white hospital walls,
so like the walls of smoke at first in the dim light, high above him.
When he had grown to understand it was but hospital walls, he looked
around for the Presence in alarm, crying out, "Where is He?"

Bill Ward and Tennelly and Pat were there, huddled in a group by the
door, hoping he might recognize them.

"He's calling for Steve!" whispered Pat, and turned with a gulp while
the tears rolled down his cheeks. "He must have seen him go!"

The nurse laid him down on the pillow again, replacing the bandage. When
he closed his eyes the Presence came back, blessed, sweet--and he was at
peace.

The days passed; strength crept back into his body, consciousness to his
brain. The bandage was taken off once more, and he saw the nurse and
other faces. He did not look again for the Presence. He had come to
understand he could not see it with his eyes; but always it was there,
waiting, something sweet and wonderful. Waiting to show him what to do
when he was well.

The memorial services had been held for Stephen Marshall many days, the
university had been draped in black, with its flag at half-mast, the
proper time, and its mourning folded away, ere Paul Courtland was able
to return to his room and his classes.

They welcomed him back with touching eagerness. They tried to hush their
voices and temper their noisiness to suit an invalid. They told him all
their news, what games had been won, who had made Phi Beta Kappa, and
what had happened at the frat. meetings. But they spoke not at all of
Stephen!

Down the hall Stephen's door stood always open, and Courtland, walking
that way one day, found fresh flowers upon his desk and wreathed around
his mother's picture. A quaint little photograph of Stephen taken
several years back hung on one wall. It had been sent at the class's
request by Stephen's mother to honor her son's chosen college.

The room was set in order, Stephen's books were on the shelves, his few
college treasures tacked up about the walls; and conspicuous between the
windows hung framed the resolutions con