uld come to be--a
great city, proud and prosperous, beloved of homing hearts, and blessed
in its purity and peace.

"Beloved," I sighed through a gathering mist of consciousness. I felt
some hot tears falling on my face. I felt a kiss seal my lips. I felt a
breathing in my ear.

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she said. "I've only brought you sorrow and
pain, but you've brought me love, that love that is a dazzling light,
beside which the sunshine is as darkness."

"Berna!" I raised myself; I put out my arms to clasp her. They clasped
the empty air. Wildly, wildly I looked around. She was gone!

"Berna!" Again I cried, but there was no reply. I was alone, alone. Then
a great weakness came over me....

I never saw her again.

THE LAST

It is finished. I have written here the story of my life, or of that
portion of it which means everything to me, for the rest means nothing.
Now that it is done, I too have done, so I sit me down and wait. For
what am I waiting? A divine miracle perhaps.

Somehow I feel I will see her again, somehow, somewhere. Surely God
would not reveal to us the shining light of the Great Reality only to
plunge us again into outer darkness? Love cannot be in vain. I will not
believe it. Somehow, somewhere!

So in the glow of the great peat fire I sit me down and wait, and the
faith grows in me that she will come to me again; that I will feel the
soft caress of her hand upon my pillow, that I will hear her voice all
tuned to tenderness, that I will see through my tear-blinded eyes her
sweet compassionate face. Somehow, somewhere!

With the aid of my crutch I unlatch one of the long windows and step out
onto the terrace. I peer through the darkness and once more I have a
sense of that land of imperious vastitudes so unfathomably lonely. With
an unspeakable longing in my heart, I try to pierce the shadows that
surround me. From the cavernous dark the snowflakes sting my face, but
the great night seems good to me, and I sink into a garden seat. Oh, I
am tired, tired....

I am waiting, waiting. I close my eyes and wait. I know she will come.
The snow is covering me. White as a statue, I sit and wait.

* * * * *

Ah, Berna, my dear, my dear! I knew you would return; I knew, I knew.
Come to me, little one. I'm tired, so tired. Put your arms around me,
girl; kiss me, kiss me. I'm weak and ill, but now you've come I'll soon
be well again. You won't leave me any mor