I tried to
say it was nothing, but stuck. Thomas helped me out, and without a shake
or quiver in his voice, he answered for me.

"'Yes, indeed, mother, we'll not forget it.'

"'And perhaps you can help him a bit still. He will be needing it,' she
added.

"I assure you, sir, that quiet steadiness of Thomas and herself braced
me up, and I was able to make my promise. And then she said, with a look
that somehow reminded me of the deep, starlit night outside, through
which I had just come, 'And you, Mr. Craven, you will give your life to
God?'

"Again my voice failed me. It was so unexpected, and quite overwhelming.
Once more Thomas answered for me.

"'Yes, mother, he will, sure,' and she seemed to take it as my promise,
for she smiled again at me, and closed her eyes.

"I had read of triumphant death-bed scenes, and all that before, without
taking much stock in them, but believe me, sir, that room was full of
glory. The very faces of those people, it seemed to me, were alight. It
may be imagination, but even now, as I think of it, it seems real. There
were no farewells, no wailing, and at the very last, not even tears.
Thomas, who had nursed her for more than a year, still supported her,
the smile on his face to the end. And the end"--Craven's voice grew
unsteady--"it is difficult to speak of. The minister's wife repeated the
words about the house with many mansions, and those about the valley
of the shadow, and said a little prayer, and then we all waited for the
end--for myself, I confess with considerable fear and anxiety. I had
no need to fear. After a long silence she sat up straight, and in her
Scotch tongue, she said, with a kind of amazed joy in her tone, 'Ma
fayther! Ma fayther! I am here.' Then she settled herself back in her
son's arms, drew a deep breath, and was still. All through the night
and next day the glory lingered round me. I went about as in a strange
world. I am afraid you will be thinking me foolish, sir."

The stern old professor was openly wiping his eyes. He seemed quite
unable to find his voice. At length he took up the list again, and began
to read it mechanically.

"What! What's this?" he said, suddenly, pointing to a name on the list.

"That, sir, is John Craven."

"Do you mean that you, too--"

"Yes, I mean it, if you think I am fit."

"Fit, Jack, my boy! None of us are fit. But what--how did this come?"
The professor blew his nose like a trumpet.

"That I can hardly tell m