warmer and brighter, and he
began to look up out of his depths of anguish. It was long coming,--it
seemed at times to be utterly unattainable,--it was sometimes almost
within his heart, and then it fled from him; but at last it came, and
abode with him,--this peace which a poor, wandering soul feels after
it has found its Lord. Then he was at rest. He came out into Hagar's
kitchen one sunshiny afternoon, and, in answer to the old negress'
look of wonder and surprise at seeing him there, said, with a grave
joy thrilling his words,--

"Hagar, I have found him; and I do not think that his peace will ever
leave me, or that my heart will ever forget him."

Hagar got up off the bench where she was sitting, and came slowly
forward, saying, brokenly, "Bress de Lord, bress de Lord! dat's all
Hagar ken say. Oh, chile, ef ye knew how dis ole heart felt ter hear
ye say dem words! ef ye only c'u'd know! But ye nebber will till dis
ole woman gits such a tongue as de Lord'll gib her when she gets ter
heaben. Den Hagar ken tell ye!"

She followed him to the door, and sat down there in the sunshine,
softly blessing him again and again as she watched him follow the
thread of a path which led around to the piazza. Trafford paused
here, on the smooth sand by the piazza-steps, and looked out upon the
sea. It was like a new sea, and the very earth seemed not as of old,
for now God reigned over them, and it was his sunshine which fell so
brightly and broadly everywhere, and his smile and the knowledge of
his forgiveness which filled his heart with such utter peace and
tranquillity. This great joy and calm held him quiet for a little
space, and, when he turned about, his eyes fell upon the little
breadth of grass waving there by the step. One or two gay, crimson
asters nodded in the warm wind, planted there by the same hand that
watered and cared for the bit of turf. Trafford sat down by them,
stroking the turf's green blades, and gazing at the warm-hued flowers
through tears. "Gone--gone," they seemed to whisper as they softly
rustled. Somehow these tender, soulless things brought up the boy's
memory most vividly. He remembered how Noll sat on the same bit of
turf only those two short weeks ago with the warm wind blowing his
curly locks about his eyes while he looked off upon the sea. Who
thought of danger or death then? Who thought of death lying in wait in
that calm, shadowy sea? Trafford's tears fell thick and fast upon the
gree