ul.
This is Rodney Steele as the story opens. The boat-train moves into
Charing Cross, and, after an absence of ten years, he finds himself once
more in London.

II

Many years ago, when our grandmothers were girls, they devoted their
spare moments to the making of bookmarkers; and on the marker, in
colored silk, they embroidered the letters GOD IS LOVE. Dr. Handley
Moule, Bishop of Durham, made effective use of such a bookmarker when he
visited West Stanley immediately after the terrible colliery disaster
there. He motored up to the scene of the catastrophe and addressed the
crowd at the pit's mouth. Many of those present were the relatives of
the entombed miners. 'It is very difficult,' he said, 'for us to
understand why God should let such an awful disaster happen, but we know
Him, and trust Him, and all will be right. I have at home,' the Bishop
continued, 'an old bookmarker given me by my mother. It is worked in
silk, and, when I examine the wrong side of it, I see nothing but a
tangle of threads crossed and recrossed. It looks like a big mistake.
One would think that someone had done it who did not know what she was
doing. But, when I turn it over and look at the right side, I see there,
beautifully embroidered, the letters GOD IS LOVE. We are looking at all
this to-day,' he concluded, 'from the wrong side. Some day we shall see
it from another standpoint, and shall understand.' This all happened
many years ago; but quite recently some who were present declared that
they never forgot the story of the bookmarker and the comfort that it
brought.

It was a bookmarker of exactly the same kind, and bearing precisely the
same inscription, that brought the fragrance of roses into the dusty
heart of Rodney Steele. Sitting alone in his Harley Street flat, he
found himself turning over the pages of a Bible that belonged to Mrs.
Jake, his housekeeper. Among those pages he found Mrs. Jake's marriage
'lines,' a photograph of her husband in military uniform, some pressed
flowers and--a perforated bookmarker! And on the bookmarker, in pink
silk, were embroidered the words: GOD IS LOVE. It reminded him of those
far-off days in which, as a little boy, he had delighted in the
possession of his first box of paints. He had begged his mother to give
him something to color, and she had pricked out those very words on a
card and asked him to paint them for her.

_God! Love!_

_Love! God!_

_God is Love!_

So said the bookma