e other seasons have rather
beauty and splendour, while autumn keeps the glory for itself."

"I think it is glorious all the year round," said Faith;--"though to be
sure," she added with a sudden check, "perhaps I don't use the word
right."

"Yes, it is glorious,--but I think 'glorious' and 'glory' have drifted
a little apart upon the tide of human speech. Glory, always seems to my
mind a warm, glowing, effulgent thing,--but ice-peaks may be glorious.
The old painters encircled the heads of their saints with a 'glory' and
you could not imagine that a cold light."

Faith listened, with the eyes of one first seeing into the world of
wonder and beauty hidden from common vision. She did not answer, till
her thoughts came back to the road they were travelling, and catching
her breath a little she said,

"_This_ isn't a cold light."

"No, truly. And just so far as the saints on earth walk in a cold
light, so far, I think, their light is less glorious."

"I don't see how they can,"--said Faith timidly.

"They do--sometimes,--standing aloof like those ice-peaks. You can see
the white garments, but no glory transfigures them. Such a face as
Stephen's, Miss Faith, is worth a journey to see."

Faith thought so; wondered how many such faces he had seen. Her
meditations plunged her too deep for words.

"What are you musing about?--if I may ask," Mr. Linden said presently.

She coloured but answered, "I was thinking what one must be, to have a
face like Stephen's."

"That is the promise, you know--from 'glory to glory.' 'From grace to
glory' must come first. 'What one must _be_'--yes, that is it. But it
is good to measure the promises now and then."

Faith laid that last remark up in her heart, enshrining it in gold, as
it were. But she said nothing.

"How is it with you?" he said turning his eyes full upon her,--"you
have not told me lately. Are the clouds all gone?"

Her look met his, wistful, and simple as her answer.

"I see the light through."--

"'Unto the perfect-day'!" Mr. Linden said, his smile--slight as it
was--bringing a sort of illumination with it. After a few minutes he
turned to her again.

"Miss Faith, one whom Christ has called into his army should wear his
uniform."

"What, sir?"--she said, the colour starting readily.

"With the private vows of allegiance, there should be also a public
profession."

"Yes,"--she said, "I suppose so.--I am willing--I am ready."

Timid, modest, even shrink