there is _death_."

Again the word of God came to his memory, "Weep with them that weep."
Starting up hastily, the missionary sprang over the black beams, and
hurried down the hill, entered the village, and spent the greater part
of the remainder of that night in comforting the bereaved and the
wounded.

The cause of the pastor's grief was not removed thereby, but the sorrow
itself was lightened by sympathy, and when he returned at a late hour to
his temporary home, hope had begun to arise within his breast.

The widow's cottage afforded him shelter. When he entered it Harry and
his mother were seated near a small table on which supper was spread for
their expected guest.

"Tom Armstrong will recover," said the missionary, seating himself
opposite the widow and speaking in a hurried excited tone. "His wound
is a bad one given by a war-club, but I think it is not dangerous. I
wish I could say as much for poor Simon. If he had been attended to
sooner he might have lived, but so much blood has been already lost that
there is now no hope. Alas! for his little boy. He will be an orphan
soon. Poor Harry's wife is distracted with grief. Her young husband's
body is so disfigured with cuts and bruises that it is dreadful to look
upon, yet she will not leave the room in which it lies, nor cease to
embrace and cling to the mangled corpse. Poor, poor Lucy! she will have
to be comforted. At present she must be left with God. No human
sympathy can avail just now, but she must be comforted when she will
permit any one to speak to her. You will go to her to-morrow, Mrs
Stuart, won't you?"

As this was Mr Mason's first meeting with the widow since the Sunday
morning when the village was attacked, his words and manner shewed that
he dreaded any allusion to his own loss. The widow saw and understood
this, but she had consolation for him as well as for others, and would
not allow him to have his way.

"But what of Alice?" she said, earnestly. "You do not mention her.
Henry has told me all. Have you nothing to say about yourself--about
Alice?"

"Oh! what can I say?" cried the pastor, clasping his hands, while a deep
sob almost choked him.

"Can you not say that she is in the hands of God--of a loving _Father_?"
said Mrs Stuart, tenderly.

"Yes, yes, I can say that--I--have said that, but--but--"

"I know what you would say," interrupted the widow, "you would tell me
that she is in the hands of pirates, ruthless