ona, then at me.

"Have we to die again?" I asked.

"No," he answered, with a smile like the Mother's; "you have died into
life, and will die no more; you have only to keep dead. Once dying as we
die here, all the dying is over. Now you have only to live, and that you
must, with all your blessed might. The more you live, the stronger you
become to live."

"But shall I not grow weary with living so strong?" I said. "What if I
cease to live with all my might?"

"It needs but the will, and the strength is there!" said the Mother.
"Pure life has no weakness to grow weary withal. THE Life keeps
generating ours.--Those who will not die, die many times, die
constantly, keep dying deeper, never have done dying; here all is
upwardness and love and gladness."

She ceased with a smile and a look that seemed to say, "We are mother
and son; we understand each other! Between us no farewell is possible."

Mara kissed me on the forehead, and said, gayly,

"I told you, brother, all would be well!--When next you would comfort,
say, 'What will be well, is even now well.'"

She gave a little sigh, and I thought it meant, "But they will not
believe you!"

"--You know me now!" she ended, with a smile like her mother's.

"I know you!" I answered: "you are the voice that cried in the
wilderness before ever the Baptist came! you are the shepherd whose
wolves hunt the wandering sheep home ere the shadow rise and the night
grow dark!"

"My work will one day be over," she said, "and then I shall be glad with
the gladness of the great shepherd who sent me."

"All the night long the morning is at hand," said Adam.

"What is that flapping of wings I hear?" I asked.

"The Shadow is hovering," replied Adam: "there is one here whom he
counts his own! But ours once, never more can she be his!"

I turned to look on the faces of my father and mother, and kiss them ere
we went: their couches were empty save of the Little Ones who had with
love's boldness appropriated their hospitality! For an instant that
awful dream of desolation overshadowed me, and I turned aside.

"What is it, my heart?" said Lona.

"Their empty places frightened me," I answered.

"They are up and away long ago," said Adam. "They kissed you ere they
went, and whispered, 'Come soon.'"

"And I neither to feel nor hear them!" I murmured.

"How could you--far away in your dreary old house! You thought the
dreadful place had you once more! Now go and find them.--Your