summer and winter, seed-time and harvest; but in none of them
all would she have part!

He shut the door to keep out their hideous shining, and because the
dark was intolerable lit a candle, and paced the little room, faster and
faster yet. He saw before him the long ages of eternity that would roll
on, on, on, and never bring her. She would exist no more. A dark mist
filled the little room.

"Oh, little hand! oh, little voice! oh, little form!" he cried; "oh,
little soul that walked with mine! oh, little soul, that looked so
fearlessly down into the depths, do you exist no more for ever--for
all time?" He cried more bitterly: "It is for this hour--this--that men
blind reason, and crush out thought! For this hour--this, this--they
barter truth and knowledge, take any lie, any creed, so it does
not whisper to them of the dead that they are dead! Oh, God! for a
Hereafter!"

Pain made his soul weak; it cried for the old faith. They are the tears
that fall into the new-made grave that cement the power of the priest.
For the cry of the soul that loves and loses is this, only this: "Bridge
over Death; blend the Here with the Hereafter; cause the mortal to robe
himself in immortality; let me not say of my Dead that it is dead! I
will believe all else, bear all else, endure all else!"

Muttering to himself, Waldo walked with bent head, the mist in his eyes.

To the soul's wild cry for its own there are many answers. He began to
think of them. Was not there one of them all from which he might suck
one drop of comfort?

"You shall see her again," says the Christian, the true Bible Christian.
"Yes, you shall see her again. 'And I saw the dead, great and small,
stand before God. And the books were opened, and the dead were judged
from those things which were written in the books. And whosoever was not
found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire, which
is the second death.' Yes; you shall see her again. She died so--with
her knee unbent, with her hand unraised, with a prayer unuttered, in the
pride of her intellect and the strength of her youth. She loved and she
was loved; but she said no prayer to God; she cried for no mercy; she
repented of no sin! Yes; you shall see her again."

In his bitterness Waldo laughed low:

Ah, he had long ceased to hearken to the hellish voice.

But yet another speaks.

"You shall see her again," said the nineteenth-century Christian, deep
into whose soul modern unbelie