ion to God. Her religion is no merely inherited thing--not hers
at second-hand, this "link with God." It is a real thing to her, found
for herself, made part of herself, and so her sure foundation. It has
come to her in a flash, a never-to-be-forgotten illumination of the
words: "_The Power of an Endless Life_." She faces life now glad and
free.

In her "den" on that Christmas Eve she is described thus to us by Elsie
Inglis:

"Ann had put holly berries over the pictures, and the mantelpiece,
too, was covered with it. Between the masses of green and the red
berries stood the solid, old-fashioned, gilt frames of long ago,
the photographs in them becoming yellow with age. Hildeguard turned
to them from the portraits on the walls. She stood, her hands
resting on the edge of the mantelpiece. Then suddenly it came to
her that her whole attitude towards life and death had altered. For
long these old photographs had stood to her as symbols of a past
glowing with happiness. Though the pain still lingered even after
time had dulled the edge, yet the old pictures typified all that
was best in life, and the dim mist of the years rose up between the
good days and her.

"But now, as she looked, her thoughts did not turn to the past. In
some unexplained way the loves of long ago seemed to be entwined
with a future so wonderful and so enticing that her heart bounded
as she thought of it.

"'Grow old along with me;
The best is yet to be.'

"Only last Christmas those words would have meant nothing to her.
Then her bark seemed to be stranded among shallows. She felt that
she was an old woman, and 'second bests' her lot in the coming
years. There could never be any life equal to the old life, in the
back-water into which she had drifted.

"But to-day how different the outlook! Her ship was flying over a
sunlit sea, the good wind bulging out the canvas. She felt the
thrill of excitement and adventure in her veins as she stood at the
helm and gazed across the dancing water. It seemed to her as if she
had been asleep and the "Celestial Surgeon" had come and 'stabbed
her spirit broad awake.' Joy had done its work, and sorrow;
responsibility had come with its stimulating spur, and the ardent
delight of battle in a great crusade. New powers she had discovered
in herself, new