iting for his will. Suddenly came the consciousness that he and his
will were one; that he had not to wait for his will, but had to
wake--to will, that is, and do, and so be. And therewith he said to
himself:--

"It is neither time, nor eternity, nor human consolation, nor
everlasting sleep, nor the satisfied judgment, nor attained ambition,
even in love itself, that is the cure for things; it is the heart, the
will, the being of the Father. While that remains, the irremediable,
the irredeemable cannot be. If there arose a grief in the heart of one
of his creatures not otherwise to be destroyed, he would take it into
himself, there consume it in his own creative fire--himself bearing the
grief, carrying the sorrow. Christ died--and would die again rather
than leave one heart-ache in the realms of his love--that is, of his
creation. 'Blessed are they who have not seen and yet have believed!'"

Over his head the sky was full of shining worlds--mansions in the
Father's house, built or building.

"We are not at the end of things," he thought, "but in the beginnings
and on the threshold of creation! The Father is as young as when first
the stars of the morning sang--the Ancient of Days who can never grow
old! He who has ever filled the dull unbelieving nations with food and
gladness, has a splendour of delight for the souls that believe, ever
as by their obedience they become capable of receiving it."

CHAPTER LXII.

THE CRYPT.

"When are you going down again to the chapel, Mr. Grant?" said lady
Arctura: she was better now, and able to work.

"I was down last night, and want to go again this evening by myself--if
you don't mind, my lady," he answered. "I am sure it will be better for
you not to go down till you are ready to give your orders to have
everything cleared away for the light and air to enter. The damp and
closeness of the place are too much for you."

"I think it was rather the want of sleep that made me ill," she
answered; "but you can do just as you please."

"I thank you for your confidence, my lady," returned Donal. "I do not
think you will repent it."

"I know I shall not."

Having some things to do first, it was late before Donal went
down--intent on learning the former main entrance, and verifying the
position of the chapel in the castle.

He betook himself to the end of the passage under the little gallery,
and there examined the signs he had observed: those must be the outer
ends of