s as they
went up towards the Celestial city, and I thought of Elspeth as I read
it. 'You are going now,' said they, 'to the paradise of God, wherein you
shall see the Tree of Life, and eat of the never-failing fruit thereof;
and when you come there you shall have white robes given you, and your
walk and talk shall be every day with the King, even all the days of
eternity. There you shall not see again such things as you saw when you
were in the lower regions, upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, and
death, for the former things are passed away....

'And the men asked, "What must we do in that holy place?" To whom it was
answered, "You must then receive the comfort of your toil, and have joy
for all your sorrow."' I thought of Elspeth's last words, 'Old and
weak,--old and weak, my dearie.' Surely they had come true: those aged
feet had barely touched the cold water. Gently and tenderly she had been
carried across to the green pastures and still waters in the paradise of
God.

CHAPTER XXIX

MISS DARRELL HAS A HEADACHE

I began to feel that Gladys had been away a long time, and to wish for
her return. I was much disappointed, then, on receiving a letter from her
about a fortnight after Elspeth's death, telling me that Colonel Maberley
had made up his mind to spend Easter in Paris, and that she had promised
to accompany them.

'I shall be sorry to be so long without your companionship,' she wrote.
'I miss you more than I can say; but I am sure that it is far better for
me to remain away as long as possible: the change is certainly doing me
good. I am quite strong and well: they spoil me dreadfully, but I think
this sort of treatment suits me best.'

It was a long letter, and seemed to be written in a more cheerful mood
than usual. There was a charming description of a trip they had taken,
with little graceful touches of humour here and there.

I handed the letter silently to Max when he called the next day. I
thought that it would be no harm to show it to him. He took it to the
window, and was so busy reading it that I had half finished a letter
I was writing to Jill before he at last laid it down on my desk.

'Thank you for letting me see it,' he said quietly: 'it has been a great
pleasure. Somehow, as I read it, it seemed as though the old Gladys
Hamilton had written it,--not the one we know now. Indeed, she seems much
better.'

'Yes, and we must make up our minds to do without her,' I answered, w