d of heaven looked at her mutely, with sweet, grave eyes, in
which there was much that confused her who was a stranger here, and once
more softly shook her head.

"Is it that he will not then?" said the other with a low voice of awe.
"Our Lord, who died--he--"

"Listen!" said the other; "I hear his step on the way."

The little Pilgrim rose up from the mound on which she was sitting. Her
soul was confused with wonder and fear. She had thought that an angel
might step between a soul on earth and sin, and that if one but prayed
and prayed, the dear Lord would stand between and deliver the tempted.
She had meant when she saw his face to ask him to save. Was not he born,
did not he live and die, to save? The angel maiden looked at her all the
while with eyes that understood all her perplexity and her doubt, but
spoke not. Thus it was that before the Lord came to her, the sweetness of
her first blessedness was obscured, and she found that here too, even
here, though in a moment she should see him, there was need for faith.
Young Margaret, who had been kneeling by her, rose up too and stood among
the lilies, waiting, her soft countenance shining, her eyes turned
towards him who was coming. Upon her there was no cloud nor doubt. She
was one of the children of that land familiar with his presence. And
in the air there was a sound such as those who hear it alone can
describe,--a sound as of help coming and safety, like the sound of a
deliverer when one is in deadly danger, like the sound of a conqueror,
like the step of the dearest beloved coming home. As it came nearer, the
fear melted away out of the beating heart of the Pilgrim. Who could fear
so near him? Her breath went away from her, her heart out of her bosom to
meet his coming. Oh, never fear could live where he was! Her soul was all
confused, but it was with hope and joy. She held out her hands in that
amaze, and dropped upon her knees, not knowing what she did.

He was going about his Father's business, not lingering, yet neither
making haste; and the calm and peace which the little Pilgrim had seen in
the faces of the blessed were but reflections from the majestic
gentleness of the countenance to which, all quivering with happiness and
wonder, she lifted up her eyes. Many things there had been in her mind to
say to him. She wanted to ask for those she loved some things which
perhaps he had overlooked. She wanted to say, "Send me." It seemed to her
that here was the