of resurrection. He felt it in the swelling buds of the branches that
sometimes swayed before him, and found it in the scent of the cedar as
he crushed a bit of it in his hand.

Easily, yet carefully, he went around the base of the hill to the
street, where his house was the first upon the right-hand side. The gate
creaked on its hinges and he went quickly up the walk, passing the grey
tangle of last Summer's garden, where the marigolds had died and the
larkspur fallen asleep.

Within the house, two women awaited him, one with anxious eagerness, the
other with tenderly watchful love. The older one, who had long been
listening, opened the door before he knocked, but it was Barbara who
spoke to him first.

"You're late, Father, dear."

"Am I, Barbara? Tell me, was there a sunset to-night?"

"Yes, a glorious one."

[Sidenote: Seeing with the Soul]

"I thought so, and that accounts for my being late. I saw a beautiful
sunset--I saw it with my soul."

"Give me your coat, Ambrose." The older woman stood at his side, longing
to do him some small service.

"Thank you, Miriam; you are always kind."

The tiny living-room was filled with relics of past luxury. Fine
pictures, in tarnished frames, hung on the dingy walls, and worn rugs
covered the floor. The furniture was old mahogany, beautifully cared
for, but decrepit, nevertheless, and the ancient square piano,
outwardly, at least, showed every year of its age.

Still, the room had "atmosphere," of the indefinable quality that some
people impart to a dwelling-place. Entering, one felt refinement,
daintiness, and the ability to live above mere externals. Barbara had,
very strongly, the house-love which belongs to some rare women. And who
shall say that inanimate things do not answer to our love of them, and
diffuse, between our four walls, a certain gracious spirit of kindliness
and welcome?

In the dining-room, where the table was set for supper, there were
marked contrasts. A coarse cloth covered the table, but at the head of
it was overlaid a remnant of heavy table-damask, the worn places
carefully hidden. The china at this place was thin and fine, the silver
was solid, and the cup from which Ambrose North drank was Satsuma.

On the coarse cloth were the heavy, cheap dishes and the discouraging
knives and forks which were the portion of the others. The five damask
napkins remaining from the original stock of linen were used only by the
blind man.

[Sidenot