ts own personal look of loveliness;
yet all were alike in fitness to their place, in harmony with one
another, in the addition which each made to the singular and tranquil
splendor of the city.

As the little company came, one by one, to the mansions which were
prepared for them, and their Guide beckoned to the happy inhabitant to
enter in and take possession, there was a soft murmur of joy, half
wonder and half recognition; as if the new and immortal dwelling were
crowned with the beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than all the
dreams of it had been; and yet also as if it were touched with the
beauty of the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved. One after
another the travelers were led to their own mansions, and went in
gladly; and from within, through the open doorways came sweet voices of
welcome, and low laughter, and song.

At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends,
Doctor McLean and John Weightman. They were standing in front of one
of the largest and fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed softly
with radiant flowers. The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's
shoulder.

"This is for you," he said. "Go in; there is no more pain here, no
more death, nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies are all
conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the
help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all
the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the suffering, are
here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you."

The good man's face was lighted with a still joy. He clasped his old
friend's hand closely, and whispered: "How wonderful it is! Go on, you
will come to your mansion next, it is not far away, and we shall see
each other again soon, very soon."

So he went through the garden, and into the music within. The Keeper
of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, searching eyes.
Then he asked, gravely:

"Where do you wish me to lead you now?"

"To see my own mansion," answered the man, with half-concealed
excitement. "Is there not one here for me? You may not let me enter
it yet, perhaps, for I must confess to you that I am only--"

"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate--"I know it all. You are John
Weightman."

"Yes," said the man, more firmly than he had spoken at first, for it
gratified him that his name was known. "Yes, I am John Weightman,
Senior Warden of St. Petronius' Church. I wish