"Magnificent, are they not?" said Mr. Erskine. "But the English version holds its own," he added musingly.
"'And I saw, as it were, a sea of glass mingled with fire; and them that had gotten the victory over the beast, and over his image, and over his mark, and over the number of his name, stand on the sea of glass, having the harps of God.'"
"Yes, that was it. You see, my boy, if you had indeed gotten the victory, and passed on into the exceeding glory and the joy, it did not so much matter if, for a little space, we broke our hearts down here."
It was a strange, wholesome ten minutes for Cadet Kindred; and I think as he stood there looking down at Cherry, he took the measure of his smallest storm flag more accurately than he had ever done before. In fact he could hardly find it to measure, but seemed to hear the empty halyards whipping against the staff. And that girl had been staying her heart with the thought of his victory and crown!
"That was the first hard day," said Mr. Erskine; "and the letters did not come for a week. What was our next reading, love? Magnus would like to hear them all."
But now Cherry's answer burst forth:
"Papa—I cannot!"
The father's hand came tenderly on her head.
"That is too much to ask," he said. "Those days are better out of sight. Go and get your hat, love, and we will try to reach our dear friends down the hill. Poor little girl!" he said, as Cherry sprang away; "it was a very hard time for her. And everybody looked to her for comfort. Violet would come up and cry on her shoulder, and Rose would beg her to go down and talk to your mother; and Cherry went and came, and reasoned and hunted up possible causes, and cheered everybody but herself. With a smile always ready, but pale as the winter sunshine. You see the lines were down, so that we could not telegraph, and when the first train broke through, even then there was no letter. She is a brave heart."
"She is the very dearest girl in all the world!" Magnus said eagerly.