rdihood, dissipation, and blood,
that even now Gideon trembled at his presumption, and was chilled by a
momentary doubt of the efficiency of his labor. Drawing unconsciously
nearer to the mute subject of his thoughts, he threw his arms across
the coffin and buried his face between them.

A stream of soft music, the echo of some forgotten song, seemed to
Gideon to suddenly fill and possess the darkened room, and then to
slowly die away, like the opening and shutting of a door upon a flood
of golden radiance. He listened with hushed breath and a beating
heart. He had never heard anything like it before. Again the strain
arose, the chords swelled round him, until from their midst a tenor
voice broke high and steadfast, like a star in troubled skies. Gideon
scarcely breathed. It was a hymn--but such a hymn. He had never
conceived there could be such beautiful words, joined to such exquisite
melody, and sung with a grace so tender and true. What were all other
hymns to this ineffable yearning for light, for love, and for infinite
rest? Thrilled and exalted, Gideon felt his doubts pierced and
scattered by that illuminating cry. Suddenly he rose, and with a
troubled thought pushed open the door to the sitting-room. It was Mr.
Jack Hamlin sitting before a parlor organ. The music ceased.

"It was YOU," stammered Gideon.

Jack nodded, struck a few chords by way of finish, and then wheeled
round on the music-stool towards Gideon. His face was slightly
flushed. "Yes. I used to be the organist and tenor in our church in
the States. I used to snatch the sinners bald-headed with that. Do you
know I reckon I'll sing that to-morrow, if you like, and maybe
afterwards we'll--but"--he stopped--"we'll talk of that after the
funeral. It's business." Seeing Gideon still glancing with a troubled
air from the organ to himself, he said: "Would you like to try that
hymn with me? Come on!"

He again struck the chords. As the whole room seemed to throb with the
music, Gideon felt himself again carried away. Glancing over Jack's
shoulders, he could read the words but not the notes; yet, having a
quick ear for rhythm, he presently joined in with a deep but
uncultivated baritone. Together they forgot everything else, and at
the end of an hour were only recalled by the presence of a silently
admiring concourse of votive-offering friends who had gathered round
them.

The funeral took place the next day at the grave dug in the