ly being
deprived of the employment of a term, indefinite, indeed, but
absolutely limited; but man at large does not know of what he is
deprived, and what he must inherit in the aeons that await him. It is
the uncertainty of death that is its most dreadful part, and, with
that hanging over our race, the wonder to me is not only that we, for
the most part, put the subject entirely out of mind, but that we can
ever think seriously of anything else."

"I remember," answered Angela, "once thinking very much in the same
way, and I went to Mr. Fraser for advice. 'The Bible,' he said, 'will
satisfy your doubts and fears, if only you will read it in a right
spirit.' And indeed, more or less, it did. I cannot, of course,
venture to advise you, but I pass his advice on; it is that of a very
good man."

"Have you, then, no dread of death, or, rather, of what lies beyond
it?"

She turned her eyes upon him with something of wonder in them.

"And why," she said, "should I, who am immortal, fear a change that I
know has no power to harm me, that can, on the contrary, only bring me
nearer to the purpose of my being? Certainly I shrink from death
itself, as we all must, but of the dangers beyond I have no fear.
Pleasant as this world is at times, there is something in us all that
strives to rise above it, and, if I knew that I must die within this
hour, I _believe_ that I could meet my fate without a qualm. I am sure
that when our trembling hands have drawn the veil from Death, we shall
find His features, passionless indeed, but very beautiful."

Arthur looked at her with astonishment, wondering what manner of woman
this could be, who, in the first flush of youth and beauty, could face
the great unknown without a tremor. When he spoke again, it was with
something of envious bitterness.

"Ah! it is very well for you, whose life has been so pure and free
from evil, but it is different for me, with all my consciousness of
sins and imperfections. For me, and thousands like me, strive as we
will, immortality has terrors as well as hopes. It is, and always will
be, human to fear the future, for human nature never changes. You know
the lines in 'Hamlet.' It is

"'that the dread of something after death,--
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns,--puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of.