"I do odd things sometimes," said the priest, simply. "I thought that the sight of this poor woman"s resting-place might remind you and me of what has pa.s.sed, of what she did for the world--though no one knows it but our group of friends. I hope that it will remind us, remind you very solemnly, my friend, in your new responsibility, of what Christ means to the world. The shadows of the time of darkness, "When it Was Dark"

during the "Horror of Great Darkness," have gone from us. And this poor sister did this for her Saviour"s sake."

They stood by Gertrude Hunt"s grave as they spoke.

A slender copper cross rose above it, some six feet high.

"I wonder how the poor girl managed it," said Spence at length; "her letter was wonderfully complete. Sir Michael--Lord Fencastle, I mean--showed it me some years ago. She was wonderfully adroit. I suppose Llwellyn had left papers about or something. But I do wonder how she did it."

"That," said Father Ripon, "was what she would never tell anybody."

"_Requiescat in pace_," said Spence.

"In Paradise with Saint Mary of Magdala," the priest said softly.

THE SECOND PICTURE

_Quem Deus Vult Perdere._

The chaplain of the county asylum stood by the castellated red brick lodge at the end of the asylum drive, talking to a group of young ladies.

The drive, which stretched away nearly a quarter of a mile to the enormous buildings of the asylum, with their lofty towers and warm, florid architecture, was edged with rhododendrons and other shrubs.

The gardens were beautifully kept. Everything was mathematically straight and clean, almost luxurious, indeed.

The girls were three in number, young, fashionably dressed. They talked without ceasing in an empty-headed stream of girlish chatter.

They were the daughters of a great ironfounder in the district, and would each have a hundred thousand pounds.

The chaplain was showing them over the asylum.

"How sweet of you, Mr. Pritchard, to show us everything!" said one of the girls. "It"s awfully thrilling. I suppose we shall be quite safe from the violent ones?"

"Oh, yes," said the chaplain, "you will only see those from a distance; we keep them well locked up, I a.s.sure you."

The girls laughed with him.

The party went laughing through the long, spotless corridors, peeping into the bright, airy living-rooms, where bodies without brains were mumbling and singing to each other.

The imbecile who moved vacantly with s...o...b..ring lip, the dementia patient, the log-like, general paralytic--"G. P."--_things_ which must be fed, the barred and dangerous maniac, they saw them all with pleasant thrills of horror, disgust, and sometimes with laughter.

"Oh, Grace, _do_ look at that funny little fat one in the corner--the one with his tongue hanging out! Isn"t he _weird_?"

"There"s one actually _reading_! He _must_ be only pretending!"

A young doctor joined them--a handsome Scotchman with pleasant manners.

For a time the lunatics were forgotten.

"Well, now, have we seen _all_, Doctor Steward?" one of the girls said.

"All the worst cases? It"s really quite a new sensation, you know, and I always go in for new sensations."

"Did ye show the young leddies Schuabe?" said the doctor to the chaplain.

"Bless my soul!" he replied, "I must be going mad myself. I"d quite forgotten to show you Schuabe."

"Who is Schuabe?" said the youngest of the sisters, a girl just fresh from school at Saint Leonards.

"Oh, _Maisie_!" said the eldest. "Surely you remember. Why, it"s only five years ago. He was the Manchester millionaire who went mad after trying to blow up the tomb of Christ. I think that was it. It was in all the papers. A young clergyman found out what he"d been trying to do, and then he went mad--this Schuabe creature, I mean, not the clergyman."

"Every one likes to have a look at this patient," said the doctor. "He has a little sleeping-room of his own and a special attendant. His money was all confiscated by order of the Government, but they allow two hundred a year for him. Otherwise he would be among the paupers."

The girls giggled with pleasurable antic.i.p.ation.

The doctor unlocked a door. The party entered a fairly large room, simply furnished. In an arm-chair a uniformed attendant was sitting, reading a sporting paper.

The man sprang up and saluted as he heard the door open.

On a bed lay the idiot. He had grown very fat and looked healthy. The features were all coa.r.s.ened, but the hair retained its colour of dark red.

He was sleeping.

"Now, Miss Clegg, ye"d never think that was the fellow that made such a stir in the world but five years since. But there he lies. He always eats as much as he can, and goes to sleep after his meal. He"s waking up now, sir. Here, Mr. Schuabe, some ladies have come to see you."

_It_ got up with a foolish grin and began some ungainly capers.

"Thank you _so_ much, Mr. Pritchard," the girls said as they left the building. "We"ve enjoyed ourselves so much."

"I liked the little man with his tongue hanging out the best," said one.

"Oh, Mabel, you"ve _no_ sense of humour! That Schuabe creature was the funniest of _all_!"

THE THIRD PICTURE

A Sunday evensong. The grim old Lancashire church of Walktown is full of people. The galleries are crowded, every seat in the aisles below is packed.

This night, Easter night, the church looks less forbidding. The harsh note is gone, something of the supreme joy of Holy Easter has driven it away.

Old Mr. Byars sits in his stall. He is tired by the long, happy day, and as the choir sings the last verse of the hymn before the sermon he sits down.

The delicate, intellectual face is a little pinched and transparent. Age has come, but it is to this faithful priest but as the rare bloom upon the fruits of peace and quiet.

How the thunderous voices peal in exultation!

Alleluia!

Christ is risen! The old man turned his head. His eyes were full of happy tears. He saw his daughter, a young and n.o.ble matron now, standing in a pew close to the chancel steps. He heard her pure voice, full of triumph. Christ is risen!