life came to me
all at once when I met Harold for the first time!"

"There are many kinds of love," continued the old woman in her quiet
voice, "and it was given to those two to know the best kind of all. They
gained strength from each other; they worked as one. In these crowded
streets they have left traces of their simple, earnest lives--lives of
self-sacrifice and devotion to humanity. They made no noise in the
world. Harold Waring was not eloquent; he was not a profound scholar; he
said very little about creeds. And yet all sorts of believers and
unbelievers trusted this man, and looked up to him, because he was
simply an interpreter of Divine love. Harold and Meta lived long enough
to reveal their Master's sweetness to the people. And the sweetness
lingers with us still."

Mrs. Beaton took off her spectacles and wiped her eyes. Then she looked
up at Elsie with a smile, and shook her head over her own weakness. "My
tears are for myself--not for them," she said. "I still miss them, and I
am too old to go amongst those who miss them even more than I do. I
shall never forget Mr. Waring's face when he came to tell me about the
legacy. He was tall and fair, with clear eyes that had the blue of
heaven in them."

"And Jamie's eyes are like his," interrupted Elsie.

"Yes; that's true. The boy was more like his uncle than his father. I
only saw Mr. James Waring once or twice, and I always distrusted him.
Well, as I was saying, Harold Waring's face was beautiful with hope and
happiness. 'We shall have a home, Mrs. Beaton,' he said; 'we shall have
a home!'"

"That hope was never realised!" sighed Elsie.

Mrs. Beaton's look was very bright.

"Don't you think that it is realised now?" she asked. "I have often
fancied that it is the want unanswered here which is most fully
satisfied hereafter. It makes the new life all the fresher and sweeter,
you see. They wanted a home; but home is not a place, it is a state.
There can be no home at all if there is not that mystical house, 'not
made with hands,' where spirits blend and dwell together for ever."

Just then the parlour-door opened quietly, and Andrew Beaton came into
the room. "Mother is giving you some of her notions," he said. "She says
that all the joys of heaven must first have had their beginnings in our
souls on earth."

"'To him that hath, shall be given,'" the old lady quoted. "Miss Kilner,
I'm afraid you find me very wearisome, my dear. You wanted to hear abo