rished hope for
himself? that he had lived his lonely life year after year waiting until
he should no longer be bound by the promise made to his brother at their
parting? The promise was this; that he should not ask Prudence, "Prue"
his brother had said, to marry him until he himself should be dead; in
pity for the brother who had educated him and had in every way been so
generous, and who now pleaded brokenly for this last mercy, he had given
the promise, rather it had been wrung out of him, and for a little time
he had not repented. And then when he forgot his brother and remembered
himself, his heart died within him and there was nothing but hard work
left to live for; this only for a time, he found God afterward and worked
hard for him.

He had written to his brother and begged release, but no word of release
had come, and he was growing old and his health had failed under the
stress of work and the agony of his self-control, "the constant anguish
of patience."

But the letter in his pocket was of no avail now, Prudence had loved him
only as a brother all these long years of his suspense and hope and
waiting; that friend whose sudden death had moved her so had been in her
thoughts, and he was only her dear friend and--Jerome's brother.

It is no wonder that the bent shoulders drooped lower and that the
slouched hat was drawn over a face that fain would have hidden itself.
Prudence, his sister Prudence, was speaking to him and he had not heard a
word. How that young fellow in front was rattling on and laughing as
though hearts never ached or broke with aching, and now he was daring
Marjorie to a race, and the fleet-footed girl was in full chase, and the
two who had run their race nearly a quarter of a century before walked on
slowly and seriously with more to think about and bear than they could
find words for.

"I found comfort in that. Shall I tell you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "if you can make me understand."

"I think you will understand, but I shall not make you; I shall speak
slowly, for I want to tell you all I thought. The Lord was dead; he
had been crucified and laid away within the sepulchre three days since,
and they who had so loved him and so trusted in his promises were
broken-hearted because of his death. Our Christ has never been dead to
us, John; think what it must have been to them to know him _dead_. 'Let
not your heart be troubled' he said; but their hearts were troubled, and
he knew it