a minister, and
who, with all the fervor of youth, had devoted every talent and energy
to the sacred cause. How he had loved him once! How proud and happy
he had been at his success! And here were words, his last thoughts on
earth, breathed from the very depths of his heart, and thrilling with
love for himself and this boy. They stirred the man's heart as it had
not been stirred before since that dreary afternoon when all the joy
and sunshine fled out of his heart and left it so cold and bitter. He
had not realized before that Brother Noll had really ended his
pilgrimage, and passed out of the earth, which, to himself, was such a
weary abiding-place. Now, with the last whispers of that dear heart
before him, the whole bitter sense of his loss came upon him, and he
covered his face, sighing heavily. Back came the remembrance of the
long and happy days of boyhood, with visions of the shining meadows
where they strayed together; with visions of careless, joyful hours,
when they sailed and fished and hunted the woods for purple grapes and
glossy nuts; with visions of those calmer days when they grew up to
manhood together,--Noll always bright and brave and loving, and a
check upon his own wilder spirits. Now he was gone; and all the years
to come could never again bring joy so deep and love so everlasting.
Yet, true and dear to the last, he had breathed his life out in one
sweet message to himself, confiding his love and this boy to him as a
precious legacy. Trafford almost groaned when he thought of his loss.
Oh, what a cruel thing was Death! A fierce, pitiless robber, seeking
for the loveliest and brightest, it had lain in wait, all his life
long, despoiling him of whatever he set his heart upon, he thought,
and leaving him wrecked and desolate. He had thought that no death or
sorrow could ever move him again; yet here was his heart aching as
wretchedly as ever. Was there no place in the wide, wide earth where
such wretchedness could not pursue? He had hoped to find it in this
wild and barren Rock; yet here sorrow had crept in, bitter and
poignant as in the busy city.

Trafford rose from his chair, put away the message from out of his
sight, and sat down at his organ to still the pain in his heart with
the charm of its music.

Noll had had his supper, and was sitting, sad and solitary, by Hagar's
fire in the kitchen. He would wait a little, he thought, before going
back to the library, that Uncle Richard might have