CHAPTER XIX.
Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder?
—[Shakespeare.
A time came when one day as I stood in my lovely room that had really become to me a shrine, and looked up into the pictured face of the Christ above me, I fancied that the tender eyes looking down into mine no longer told of a deathless love alone, but carried in their depths a pity, a loving compassion which I had never noticed there before. Then as I turned toward my couch I even fancied that his hands reached out from the canvas and rested in benediction on my head. I stood a moment in blessed peace before him, then as the hands seemed to be withdrawn, I turned and lay down for an instant's rest. But strange thoughts and fancies crept into my brain, such as I had not known in years. I felt confused and bewildered, and started up restlessly from my pillow, only to fall back again in doubt, and something akin to dread. What could it mean? Could the old unrest of earth find place in this divine retreat? Then I heard unfamiliar voices. Someone said:
"Her color is better than it has been for several days, I think."
"Yes, there is no doubt but she is better to-day. There is really hope for her now, I am sure. But she came very near passing through the Gates."
"Very near passing through the Gates"! As though I had not passed through, and in returning left them so ajar that gleams of the heavenly radiance from beyond them will fall about my life forever!
I have been in my Father's house.
"We shall know each other there!"