ciples, and He commanded us to be
lights in the world."

"Of course--to set good examples."

"That is not quite the whole," said Mr. Shubrick; "though people do
take it so, I believe."

"I have always taken it so," said Dolly. "What more can it be?"

"Remember the words--'Whatsoever _doth make manifest_ is light.' There
is the key. There are good examples--so called--which disturb nobody.
There are others,"--he spoke very gravely,--"before which sin knows
itself, and conscience shrinks away; before which no lie can stand.
Those are the Lord's light-bearers."

"Sandie, what has got you into this vein of moralising? Is this talk
for Christmas Eve, when we ought to be merry? Don't you lead a dreadful
dull life on board ship?"

"No," said he. "Never. Neither there nor anywhere else."

"Are you always picking at the wick of that light of yours, to make it
shine more?"

"By no means. No lamp would stand such treatment. No; the only thing
for us to do in that connection is to see that the supply of oil is
kept up."

"Sandie, life would be fearful on your terms!"

"I do not find it so."

And, "Oh no, Christina!" came from Dolly's lips at the same time.
Christina looked from one to the other.

"I had better gone to the Sistine," she said. "I suppose you would tell
me there to look at Michael Angelo's picture of the Last Judgment. But
I assure you I never do. I make a point not to see it."

"What do _you_ enjoy most in this old city, Miss Copley?" Mr. Shubrick
said now, turning to her.

"I hardly can tell," said Dolly; "I enjoy it all so very much. I think,
of all--perhaps the Colosseum."

"That old ruin!" said Christina.

"But it is such a beautiful ruin! Have you seen it by moonlight? And I
always think of the time when it was finished, and full, and of the
things that were done there; and I fancy the times when the moonlight
shone in just so after the days when Christians had been given to the
lions. I never get tired of the Colosseum."

"You, too!" exclaimed Christina. "What pleasant and enlivening
contemplations!"

"Yes," said Dolly. "Grand. I see the moonlight shining on the broken
walls of the Colosseum, and I think of the martyrs in their white
robes. There is no place brings me nearer to heaven, and the world
looks so small."

"Dolly Copley!" cried Christina. "Do you want the world to look small,
as long as you are obliged to live in it?"

"It looks big enough," said Dolly, smiling, "as soon a