ever, for she said, "The Bishop will want thee to sing some of thy
Collects and Hymns and thou wilt like to please him. He is thy good
friend."

"I do not think so."

"He is. Thou may take that, on my word."

The evening brought a braver spirit. They talked of Boris and of his
open-hearted, open-air life, and the Bishop read aloud several letters
from young men then at the front. They were full of enthusiasm. They
might have been read to an accompaniment of fife and drums. Ian was
visibly affected and made no further demur about joining them. One of
them spoke of Boris "leading his volunteers up the hill like a lion";
and another letter described his tenderness to the wounded and
convalescents, saying "he spent his money freely, to procure them
little comforts they could not get for themselves."

They talked plainly and from their hearts, hesitating not to call his
name, and so they brought comfort to their heavy sorrow. For it is a
selfish thing to shut up a sorrow in the heart, far better to look at
it full in the face, speak of it, discuss its why and wherefore and
break up that false sanctity which is very often inspired by purely
selfish sentiments. And when this point was reached, the Bishop took
from his pocket a small copy of the Apocrypha and said, "Now I will
tell you what the wisest of men said of such an early death as that
of our dear Boris:

"'He pleased God, and he was beloved of him, so that living among
sinners, he was translated.

"'Yea speedily was he taken away, lest that wickedness should
alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul.

"'He, being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time.

"'For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him
away from among the wicked.'"

And these words fell like heavenly dew on every heart. There was no
comfort and honour greater than this to offer even a mother's heart. A
happy sigh greeted the blessed verses, and there was no occasion to
speak. There was no word that could be added to it.

Then Ian had a happy thought for before a spell-breaking word could be
said, he stepped softly to the piano and the next moment the room was
ringing with some noble lines from the "Men of Harlech" set to notes
equally stirring:

"Men of Harlech, young or hoary,
Would you win a name in story,
Strike for home, for life, for glory,
Freedom, God and Right!

"Onward! 'Tis our country needs us,
He is bravest, h